Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Fowl play

Last fall we noticed we had a surplus of roosters in the coop when the poor hens began to look...uh...stressed.

Now, if you've ever witnessed chicken sex, you know it's not pretty. There's nothing consensual about it. I joke that I know what every hen thinks when she's having sex, "Just once I'd like to have sex without having my face rubbed in the dirt." And, frankly folks, that's as pleasant as it gets. I'll spare you the other details.

When my mother became so offended by this that she refused to come to the chicken coop any more, we tossed all of the roosters but two out of the fenced area around the coop to fend for themselves. Our abundance of roosters became my husband's favorite joke.

When neighbors announced they were expecting a baby, Mark would say, "That kid's going to need a pet. I'll bring you a rooster." When work took a local guy away from home too often, Mark would say, "Your wife would feel safer if she had a rooster. He'd crow if something unusual was happening outside at night. I'll drop one off for you."

When I went to the chicken coop recently, I knew Mark had made one rooster joke too many. I called him from my cell phone.

"Did you notice anything unusual when you let the chickens out of the coop this morning," I asked.

"No," he said. "What is it?"

There before me stood yet another rooster. How did I know he was new? Well, we've never had a white rooster in the bunch. I tossed him a handful of corn and went on my way.

Mark suggested that the new rooster had wondered here from a house that also has chickens about a quarter mile down the road. I thought - and still think - otherwise. Somewhere, we have a couple of neighbors secretly snickering as they try to guess what our reaction was when we first spotted that new rooster - rooster No. 12.

I wish I could provide more details about the newcomer, but he disappeared as mysteriously as he appeared. There's no trail of feathers to suggest fowl - I mean foul - play.

Did he wonder back up the street? Did someone feel guilty and come take the old fellow home? We may never know.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

A weekend of llamas

This was a full weekend of llamas. From traveling to Virginia to deliver two angora goats to a friend and shear her llama, Eubie, to a llama trek on Saturday.

Seeing my friend and Eubie (see previous post - Wrapped up in llama) again was a treat. I had hoped Eubie was as still as sweet as he was a year ago, and he didn't disappoint us. Plus, seeing him adjusted to his new environment was a treat.

Each morning my friend opens to the gate to the pasture and lets Eubie and her nine goats (now 11 - with the two new girls) roam freely over her 150-acre farm. In the evening, they all come home and she goes and closes the gate behind them.

The farm is pretty vertical. Seeing a herd of goats and a llama scale the mountainside beside her house is a treat. It gives you insight into how llamas must look and behave in the wild. Eubie makes climbing the mountain look easy, but it's not above him to leave the goats long enough to stroll by the house in the hopes of scoring a carrot treat.

Although we feared wet weather may cancel our llama trek at Divine Llama Vineyards yesterday, it was a very nice hike. Gretchen and Katie were great guests. We took another male llama from Four Ladies and Me farm with our two boys for the first time. Our alpha male was determined to let the new guy know the rank and file on the crew. Gretchen and Katie tolerated his snorting well.

All three llamas enjoyed wading in the stream as the guests enjoyed their picnic lunch. It's hard to say who enjoys these outings more - the guests, the llamas or us.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Bob-Bob-White

Maybe it was nostalgia. Maybe it was a second glass of Divine Llama's Cabernet Franc. Regardless of what it was, a little over a year ago, Mark and I sat at the bar here in the kitchen and huddled by this computer. We were ordering chickens, which lead to ordering ring-neck pheasants, which lead to ordering quail.

In the 70s, when temperatures rose in the spring and summer, families in my neighborhood headed outside for hamburger and hot dog dinners, watermelon cuttings and homemade ice cream gatherings. As the adults shot the breeze, kids would amuse themselves with things like catching fireflies, which we called lightnin' bugs. On these occasions you could always hear two bird songs - Whip-or-will, whip-or-will and Bob-bob-white, bob-bob-white.

When we moved home and settled down out on the swing on the screened in porch in the evenings, I was surprised - or disappointed rather - by the lack of those songbirds.

So buying chickens turned to ring-neck pheasants, because they're so darn beautiful, and to quail because I want to hear those songs again. The pheasants were hardy and easy to raise. They quickly transitioned to the chicken coop and then off into the wild. While we haven't seen them here, we have received reports from them down the road at a neighbor's house.

The quail - or Bob Whites - were a whole different story. These babies were only the size of my thumb when they arrived. We quickly learned that they needed a heat lamp to keep the temperature right in order for them to survive and their water had to be set up so they didn't fall in and get wet. These are merciless baby birds who attack and kill each other for merely getting wet.

About 25 of them survived. I've been waiting and longing to hear them sing "bob-bob-white." I stand by their cage and whistle it, but nothing happens.

Mark came into the house the other day and played a sound bite from his cell phone. He'd been over to their cage near the chicken coop late in the evening and captured it for me - two simple little bob-bob-white calls. I was music to my ears. An evening or two later we were out there later than usual and I heard it myself. Mark and I both froze, locked eyes and smiled.

Soon, we'll turn some of them out into the wild, where we hope they can survive and fill these woods up once again with their songs. The others we're going to keep in the cage and see if they'll catch and raise some of their own young. It's just too much work for us. If you think raising a puppy or kitten is tough, try a quail. And, keep listening for it.....bob-bob-white, bob-bob-white...

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Strange birds

Chickens are strange birds. I never thought you could get attached to a chicken, but I was mistaken.

When the first second-hand chickens arrived on this farm, we named one large rooster who was missing an eye - Popeye. My niece and nephew named the hens. Then a friend's son sold us three silkies. This is a beautiful girlie-looking breed that lay tiny eggs. Since the Silkies were all hens, we named the Marsha, Jan and Cindy. We've had a rooster named Rocky.

We have found it interesting that when friends and neighbors bring children to the farm to see the llamas, they are often more interested in the chickens. Two boys that came to visit, got inside the coop and caught chickens so they could pet them.

Chloe, a friend's daughter, asked me to catch a chicken so she could pet one. The poor child got in trouble at the beach that summer when she was telling family members that she went to a farm where she could pet llamas and chickens. They accused her of lying and her mother had to let them know that Chloe was telling the truth.

My friend's son and my nephew can turn a Silkie upside down and rub its chest until it falls asleep. It is rather amazing to see.

Another friend inherited her hens from a friend who was relocating and could not take them with her. They were raised completely as pets. The eggs are just a bonus.

Currently, we have two roosters that have become my favorites. Their names are Fred and Ricky. They reside in the llama barn in the backyard, away from the chicken coop.

Fred and Ricky stand outside the garage door and wait for their breakfast. If I'm running late or sleeping in, they crow outside the bedroom window to ensure I know they're waiting. When I pull up the driveway in the evenings, they run to greet me and ask for dinner. In the middle of the night, I can hear one of them crow and all the roosters from the neighboring farms can be heard in a distance answering his call.

Fred and Ricky are good pals with our alpha male llama . They snuggle up to him in the winter to stay warm. The male that shares the pasture with the alpha males chases Fred and Ricky. He's just playing. He thinks it's a nice alternative to playing with the other llama. Male llama games often end like those of children - with one one party getting tired of the game and kickin' the other party's butt.

Ricky has even been spotted perching on the alpha male's back a couple of times. Gosh, I wish I could get a good photo of that!

At one time every egg the hens hatched was a rooster. That's when we decided to relocate a few here at the house. We tried several times before we managed to get two roosters to stay here - free range. The problem was when the alpha male llama's companion started playing chase the chickens. One rooster always ran into the woods rather toward the house and under the fence. We're not sure if those roosters got lost, went exploring or became dinner for an opossum, owl or some other wild critter.

Initially, Fred was called Chicken No. 1. As Chicken No. 2 disappeared into the woods, we'd introduce Chicken No. 3 and so forth. I think Ricky was Chicken No. 4 or 5. We received a report that one of the numbered chickens showed up at a neighbor's house down the street.

I was sad when Popeye died. Prior to his death, Popeye Jr. was hatched, who is still alive today. That eased the loss of Popeye Sr. a bit. It was sad when Rocky passed as well as several others. But, when Fred and Ricky go, I admit it....I'm going to need a bereavement day.

Monday, April 19, 2010

Wrapped up in llama

This "skirting table" is covered with fiber - llama fur, if you will - from Eubie. We sheared Eubie about this time last year before shuttling him to his new owner, Norma, a dear friend in Virginia.

For Christmas, I spun yarn from Eubie's fiber and knit it into a shawl for Norma. Although Norma received her Christmas gift late, she bragged on it and has drummed up some business for me.

The fiber on this table is the last of the fiber we sheared off Eubie last year. The idea is that the washed fiber is spread out on the screen so most of the the short cuts and the trash fall through, leaving the good fiber suitable for spinning.

Fiber - from wool to polyester - is measured in microns. Eubie's fiber is pretty darn sweet llama fiber. Sooo soft. I'll soon be busy spinning and knitting it into another cozy wrap. The timing is just about perfect since we'll soon be visiting again for Eubie's annual shearing.

Periodically, people who raise llamas will get a call from someone who has decided to reduce their heard or can't take care of them any longer or something along those lines. We got one of those calls last year about Eubie. Norma had been talking about possibly getting a guard llama for her goats. When we received a call about someone wanting to give away a young male, we checked into it.

There are basically two types of people when it comes to llamas. Those who see them and are immediately captivated by them and those who just don't get the llama thing at all. Those who know llamas can spot a winning personality pretty easily. A winning confirmation for an excellent show llama is a different matter.

When you walk into a pasture and can wrap you arm around a llama's neck, you know you've got a special personality. With male llamas, you need to be sure that they weren't handled too much as cria. If so, they might mistake your for a llama and become difficult to handle.

We took Eubie home, sheared him and kept him about a month before taking him to his new home. He was such a charmer. It was hard to give him away.

So here I am. Getting ready to spin the rest of last year's Eubie fleece and looking forward to seeing Norma and Eubie. I'll try to get a photo of them and the shawl I knit for Norma to share after our visit.

In the meantime, if you know of anyone who needs to find a home for llama, keep the llama rescue in mind. The "Eubies" of the world need and deserve a good home.

Friday, April 16, 2010

No spear to spare

One might not think a few shoots of asparagus emerging from the ground would create much cause for conversation, but in my case recently it has.

About a week ago my friend Sue came over to knit. As we chatted, she said her asparagus was coming up. We had a similar conversation last year, and I had been overcome with asparagus envy. We ordered a few two-year-old roots and planted them in the hopes of having a few homegrown spears this spring.

I had completely forgotten about the asparagus and made a mental note to check on their progress the next day. I have a hard time keeping up with my mental notes so a few more days passed before I saw a Twitter post about asparagus from BlondeChicken. Her post set me in motion.

I went outside and up the hill to see, if by chance, we might have fresh asparagus for dinner. There they were, three or four beautiful asparagus spears. Not even a handful - not a spear to spare - but very exciting considering they had emerged through considerable overgrowth.

My parents once had a nice little crop of asparagus, so I called to see if Mom could answer a few questions. She said she had an article about raising asparagus that she'd share with me. The next day, she handed me a yellowed article she had clipped from the local newspaper in 1996.

I began to chuckle as soon as I glanced at it. The woman, A.-C., who wrote the article has been a colleague of mine for the past two years. When she came to visit a few days later, I showed her the article that my mother had saved for more than a decade. What I didn't show her were the actual asparagus plants. You see, A.-C.'s article addresses the challenges of growing asparagus, including the need to "control the inevitable weeds" (See picture)

Maybe we would have had a bumper crop if we'd been better at weeding, but these few spears had survived among tall thick weeds, which I had attempted to eliminate last year before declaring the weeds could have at it. They were inspiring. If asparagus can survive this, I decided, we should order more.

I Googled "two-year-old asparagus plants" to see if I could find more plants to buy. I found them at Asparagus Gardener in Cookeville, Tenn. Their Web site indicates that the farm also raises angora rabbits.

When I called to place the order, I spoke with a woman whose name I believe is Rose. I mentioned that I also have angora rabbits. The conversation quickly turned from asparagus to rabbits and llamas and sheep and spinning and knitting. When I finished placing my order nearly an hour later, I felt like I had a new friend in Tennessee.

Tomorrow we'll be planting 25 more asparagus plants. Maybe....maybe...I'll even pull a few weeds. Certainly, I'll be having more asparagus conversations with Sue and A.-C. and maybe even Rose and BlondeChicken next spring.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Egg-stra, Egg-stra...

Yesterday I ordered a "Farm Fresh Eggs For Sale" sign to go at the end of our driveway.

At the moment there are eight dozen eggs in my refrigerator. And, I've already taken a tray of deviled eggs to a pot-luck dinner this week.

Let me put this in perspective. I dream of actually paying the mortgage with income from this farm before I actually reach retirement age, but currently this place is still a small hobby farm.

Mark and I used to watch Martha Stewart with her hen house and talk about how we'd have a few chickens to produce fresh eggs for us if we were ever able to move home to the family farm. Setting up the hen house was one of the first things we did when we made that move. Initially we filled our hen house with hand-me-down hens. Those are hens that a local kid in 4-H wanted to pass off so she could get new chicks.

Last spring, I packed up eggs and took them to a new farmer's market on several Saturdays. Business didn't really cover the cost of my gas into town. I bagged up llama poop and sold it and then took honey too. Eventually, other obligations began to make more sense than carting my eggs off to the farmer's market when the profit margin was low to non-existent.

This was about the same time that we decided to order some new chicks. And these are the girls that are filling my fridge up with eggs right now. I'm fairly certain that as I type, they are in the coop competing to see who can lay the most eggs today. I'm starting to think about the farmer's market again.

This is where I start to sound like the shrimp guy from Forest Gump. We've eaten boiled eggs, scrambled eggs, fritatta, omelets and a host of other egg dishes. If I need to take a dish somewhere, you can bet I'm taking deviled eggs or a pound cake (they require about five eggs).

I recently read an article in Hobby Farm Home magazine about how to freeze eggs to use in baked goods later. I've done that once and suspect I'll be freezing some today.

I've noticed someone down the road is taking orders for fresh sausage. I'm going to place an order today and see if I can exchange some eggs for sausage - or at least a discount. The barter system worked out pretty well with another local farmer.

I've even shared a few eggs with Dave and Laura at Kitchen Roselli. (Much to my surprise, Mark just called to say they'd added a link on their site about yesterday's blog and commented on the very eggs I'm writing about.) I think Dave and the boys have a bit of a competition going over who can make the best omelet in the family.

So Egg-stra, Egg-stra. If you're in the area and want to buy or barter for some farm fresh eggs, just let us know. According to the North Carolina Extension Office, we can sell up to 30 dozen a week without getting official with grading and such. If we get to that point, you'll see a blog about chicken pie, chicken and dumplings, fried chicken....And, please post your egg recipes here.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Bees are buzzing

We went to the Yadkin County Beekeepers meeting this week. All the local bee folks are a buzz with how many new hives they're setting up this year, what's blooming and how busy the bees already are.

Our honey customers have been getting concerned about dwindling supplies from last season, so that contributes to our excitement.

Angie Hauser made a nice presentation with materials from N.C. State University that will help local beekeepers respond to "killer bee" questions that fortunately do not arise quite as often among beekeepers as spitting questions do for llama owners. (Yes, we have llamas on this farm too, as well as angora rabbits, chickens, two dogs and a crazy cat.) Put your minds at ease for the moment, there's no official record of killer bees in North Carolina.

I grew up watching my father and grandfather work bees from the safety of our house. After Pa died, Dad quit working with them. A few years ago, he came to the barn at feeding time and said he was thinking about setting up a hive of bees again.

My husband, Mark, and I told him we had some interest in bees too, and a plan was put into action. That was on a Tuesday. When I got home from work the next day, I noticed something that appeared to be a disease on my Japanese maple. A closer look revealed it was a swarm of bees. (Whew! I couldn't believe I had not noticed some kind of plant funk that could have become that large.)

I ran through the yard, as best as a woman can in heels, waving my arms at my husband who was mowing. He finally stopped to see what I was going nuts about this time. Yep, that's not a scene that's all that unusual to him (maybe we'll share more on this later). He came and admired the swarm hanging from the lower limb of this small tree.

I picked up speed again as I ran into the house to call Pop. He didn't have a hive ready, but called a neighbor who did and was willing to sell him one. Mark, Mom and I kept our eyes on the swarm as Pop went to get the hive.

It had been years since I saw someone handle bees. Dad (aka Pop) put a scrap of carpet on the ground under the swarm. Then, he put the hive on it. Using a soft bee brush, he gently brushed the swam downward near the entrance to the hive. Dad identified the queen in short order and told us if she went into the hive, we'd be good to go. In just a few minutes, the bees began to fly into the hive - following that queen. It was pretty amazing to witness.

A couple of hours later, when all the bees were cozy inside their new home, Mark and Dad transported the hive from our front yard to their new location. Dad was very pleased. He did a little jig in the front yard. It was one of those magical, unforgettable farm day memories.



First attempt at blogging. Patience please ;)