We lost one of our Silver Laced Wyandotte’s sometime during the night. It’s our first, but probably not last death. I’d long ago stopped doing a head count when latching our coop as the girls truly put themselves to bed around dusk. This was after orating on this virtuous trait of the bird yesterday to friends Jay and Anna who are going to be chicken, rabbit and dog sitting so I can leave town and regain some semblance of a sense of humor. A scattering of feathers triggered my peaking over the edge of the planter box and it was a grisly sight. Naturally I want to share.
Today is a frightfully annoying stereotypical Monday. Much started, less finished and suddenly it’s time to pick up the boy from school. The boy whom with which I had to have a conversation regarding what constitutes a legend. In other words the difference between legendary and infamous and how that might translate into the short attention span world of 7th grade. As it turns out he’s being greeted or crowned with the nickname legend. This is not due to his Lacrosse skills but rather his ability to get five detentions within the span of 15 minutes last Thursday. Yeah, it’s apparently like that.
My day off from the parenting gig this weekend was Sunday and it was spent helping out (well I plucked feathers from a wet, dead hen) butchering and documenting the transformation of two hens into delicious chicken stock as well as crock potted chicken stew at Garden Girl Farm. I’m thankful for friends in helping with the restoration of my sense of humor and sanity. I don’t know where to start so will leave you with this teaser. One of these images does not fit, or maybe it’s that two don’t.
A guy’s got to eat.
It’s Frisky Friday, the airborne version. Time flies when one is collecting eggs.
We know how projects with children evolve. They initially are enthusiastic, there the two of you are together hard at work and suddenly it dawns on you, as the parent that for some time now you’ve been working on whatever the creative endeavor is in solitude. This might be one of those times. Henry, my son came up with the name for our flock and has expressed interest in running a small egg subscription business. But who’s really going to be on the bicycle making deliveries?
Being on of those people who thinks visually I’m thrilled to announce that we have a label thanks to the artistic inclinations of StrangeMagee. Take a peek.
I’m thinking that I might have a second rooster on my hands, just a gut feeling with the help of suggestive visuals. If that’s the case I want a blue chick from Garden Girl Farm. Had a chance to visit with these girls, and guy last week.
And because it’s Monday, a song for you,
When Chaka Khan is released from the comforts of his cat carrier as he sleeps indoors due to a neighborly dislike of his less then gentle morning vocalizations he has consistently got the rooster’s equivalent of morning wood. Making the assumption that the majority of my readers are over the age of eighteen I thought this worthy of being visually documented. The hens are at best benignly indifferent, the majority which are larger than Chaka sometimes just give him a good peck on the head.
Who wouldn’t like to live in a house with clean lines and a modern esthetic? Even if you can’t you’re chickens can. Traci Fontyn an architect who was laid off from her job revamped her priorities and is now building modular coops.
Here’s the link to the full article. http://www.centraldistrictnews.com/2011/01/24/kippen-house-makes-modern-chicken-coops-for-the-urban-agriculturalist
Maybe it was the leftover baked acorn squash I fed them. I think I’ve figured out who has started laying the blue eggs. Here she is, alone in a nesting box while the others are out pillaging the backyard.