Their Heirloom Difference

I don't know if it's just my seeds, or if this is a smaller anecdote indicative of a larger reality, but my heirloom scarlet runner beans are kicking the pansy assess off the generic purple podded pole beans.

Um. Also? The heirlooms have not been attacked by slugs ONCE.

Can't say the same for the purple podded poles!

Notice the munched bits on the edges of the leaves? Damn slugs.

But -

Full leafed and victorious. No nibbled edges. No ugly dark green spots. These were planted side by side in the same soil, light conditions, etc. The heirlooms came up faster and are climbing the trellis faster than the generic podded pole bean. The heirloom is healthier, a more vibrant shade of green and seems generally more robust in all the important ways.

I think the jury just got in people, and it's not looking good for the non organic, generic, laboratory made beans. Not good at all.

That being said, a cat has decided to shit in my other yellow wax bean patch. Because my neighbors don't believe in keeping their cats contained. Because the world is their oyster. Either that or it was my 12 year old, snottier than snot, itty bitty bitch-kitty Rose who snuck (sneaked?) into the pea patch and took a dump in my beds.

Prove it, Ma. Just prove I did that.

Karma's a bitch. Maybe I'll go take a dump in her food bowl.

I would totally never do that. That's grody.

Let's Go See Goats!

Well, hell. Now I want goats.

The Tot and I were graciously invited some time ago by Wendy at Beyond The Sidewalks to come visit her goats when they kidded in the spring. Spring has now sprung and I emailed Wendy, set up a time and off we went!

Wendy's property is located on the Olympic Pennisula - a fair jaunt away from our humble abode in South King county. Over the hills and a great big bridge (a TOLL bridge, as the Tot kept telling me), round twisty turny roads, over a causeway and up through the trees, we eventually came down a quiet, secluded lane and found her property, nestled in the dripping trees.

Dripping because the day that we went was the day the clouds gathered and started hurtling rain at us in a frenzy, as if trying to keep up with themselves and failing.

No bother. We brought rain coats. We travel well. And I'm a mossback* so I love the rain.

We pulled up and met Wendy at her new barn - a beautiful and sweet smelling brand new building that is in the process of becoming lived in. Paint has been slung. Game on.

After the exchange of goods (soap/market bag for goat cheese - yummmm) we headed off the see the goats. And chickens. And pigs. And llama.

Are those carrots I see in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?

What super fun! The babies romped, climbed and nibbled at our jackets and fingertips. The older, regal ladies daintily swallowed as many carrots and apple slices as they could get down. The boys bawled from their enclosure. And Willow the Llama sat under the trees, silently mocking us for standing in the pouring rain.

I took about a million pictures of the babies but they move so fast that none of them turned out super well.

We went over to say hello to the boys, who are kept in their own enclosure, and then saw the other gals and met one of the sweetest goats I've ever come across - Buttons. I think her name was Buttons. I got caught up in the names, they were all so awesome! I remember Boots and Buttons and I think it was Buttons who was the calmest, quietest, most contented, sweetest little thing ever. I was just stroking her head and pretty soon her eyes started to clooooosse and her head started to drrooooooop. Sweet baby.

So honestly there is nothing more distracting in it's all encompassing cuteness than a baby goat. Just a ridiculous amount of cuteness. Cute overload. OD on the cute. So cute and sweet I went in a diabetic coma for a little bit.

Then we checked out the pot bellied pigs and I got no pictures because I was so distracted by The Tot's response to actual, live pigs (not the hard plastic ones that go to sleep in our hard plastic farm at night!) that I forgot I even had my phone in my back pocket. They snorted, squealed and snuffled around for a bit and then got out in the rain for some hydration. The Tot watched them from the safety of my hip, boring her fingers and knees into me in a rush of fear/excitement at seeing actual pigs UP CLOSE. Absolute wonder. This entire time, though, our talking and oohing and ahhing was punctuated by an eery, sonorous calling from the leaking trees - the neighbor's peacocks. I've never really heard a peacock yell like that before. It was startling. Especially since the land I was standing on was so quiet and calming.

We peeked at the chicken house (bigger/better than mine - made for many more hens than I have!) and went back to the barn. On the way I spied the most killer greenhouse made from mostly reclaimed object on the next door neighbor's property.

I loved it so much I had to snap a pic:

It was finally time to leave and I packed a hungry and tired Tot into the Ion and Wendy opened the gate for us. A more gracious host couldn't be imagined and her little farm was a sweet, soggy oasis hidden in the trees. The goats are a wonder and I'm super smitten with the Mini Nigerian Dwarf's height and general look. I love them! I wonder if goats are in my future!

As we twisted and turned our way over slick roads back to the highway, settled in with fish crackers and juice, I thought about what seeing those animals meant to The Tot. I grew up never seeing a cow, or horse, or pig or anything up close. I knew them from story books and pictures. Occasionally I would see one in a field, but we grew up in suburbia and the closest thing to nature was the giant tract of woods across the street (which we frequented often) and the only animals in there were birds and homeless people.  I can't imagine what seeing those pigs in all their chubby glory, up close, rooting and squealing obstreperously, did for her. I can't wait to get our land so she can decide what her farm animal will be (as long as it's not a horse. Mama ain't got the strumph for a horse) and can really get her hands dirty with farm work.

A wonderful day all in all. Visit Wendy's site HERE for more information on her Goat's and who's for sale. And her blog is on my blogroll to the right. 


*native Northwesterner

Pallet as Garden Tool Organizer

I had an extra pallet. So I made it into a garden tool organizer. One that would stand up to the elements while still looking her best.

Up above, before it is filled. I actually didn't screw this to the house, but used, you guessed it, zip ties wound around the top and then stapled to the house. My drill is broken and I want to take the pallet with me when we leave, hence the introduction of staples and zip ties.

Then....

It stores toddlers, too!

Just kidding.

All the yard tools go in there handles down and are kept up and out of the way. You could do this inside, too, if you wanted. We are coming into a somewhat wetter summer period (June-mid July) so if this is not protected enough by our roof overhang I will just move it inside and, you guessed it, zip tie it to the wall!

Thanks to Creative Recycling Ideas. They feature lot's of good ideas to reuse simple things - go like their FB page for more ideas! (link will take you there.)

The Roo That Crowed

Good name for a children's book, ye ken?*

This morning I was filling the hen's food dish and I heard a small, fragile, cock a dockle derrrr come from the other side of the yard.

I froze, hunched over the open door to the coop, my heart lurching unfortunately in my chest.

No, I thought.

Oh, no no no.

Then - another small, cracking, tremulous cock a dockle derrrrrr - the end falling off as if in a question mark.

I peered over the fence at the 13 restless meat birds. One (the biggest) roo was pacing proudly, tail in full upright feather, cocking his head this way and that. Cock a dockle derr!

Well. Y' know. Okay. So I knew that was going to happen, but, like most things in my life right now, I just chose not to worry about it until I had to worry about it. Namely today. Insert expletive here.

I built Mr. High and Mighty a bachelor pad in the garage, thinking, perhaps naively, that if I could just shut him in the dark he wouldn't crow until I fetched him later in the morning. Kind of like - hey it's dark! Let's sleep! Now it's incredibly light! Go dig for bugs and chit chat all you like!

Replete with water, food, wood shavings and something to stand on. Basically it's a New York apartment -  enough space to turn around in, but that's about it. He'll sleep there at night and join the outside chickens during the day. Not too bad a gig, really.

Then I texted my friend who is splitting the chicken endeavor with me and she was either really super surprised or really super trigger happy with the send button because this is what I got back:

"a light"

"Guy"

"But vocal. Shit."

Nice.

I weighed a comparable roo and he was 5.5 lbs. I don't know how long I can go back and forth ferrying 3 roos from backyard tractor to garage bachelor pad so we might be butchering in 2 segments - 3 roos next weekend and the hens to follow at the end of June.

I'm a bit surprised they started cockle dockle derrrring this early. They are 2 months 1 week old (or thereabouts) and I was thinking/hoping they would go at least 3 months before the big beefcake manly-man routine started up. But now I guess we are stuck with it.

And, insult to injury, I'm not even sure I got the right roo! Two of them look exactly alike!!  So I grabbed the one closest to me as night was falling and I guess we will find out tomorrow if Lindsey put Mr. Right in the Bachelor Pad or not.

My town does not have any stipulations about whether or not we can have roos in the city (certain towns are adamant that you not have roosters - including Seattle) but they do have an ordinance about how many chickens you can have per acreage and let's just say I'm pushing the envelope a bit. Actually, you could say that I took the envelope, tore it in half, threw it on the ground and had my dog take a crap on it.

I have decided that if the city comes a knocking, I'll feign ignorance, they will give me a warning and then I'll have to butcher the chickens super quick so that by the time the inspector comes back they are all gone. I think that's probably the best way to go. I'll put the roos in the garage for now.

I'm not usually one to thwart the law like this, but I didn't read the ordinance until I already had the chickens. I mean, I read it beforehand, but mis-read it and when I read it again and actually realized what it said, I already had the chicks in our spare room.

Oops.

So here we are. Crowing roosters and weeks to go before slaughter.

What is that they say about Karma again?




*Dark Tower speak for "you think?" or "you know?" Also, me being a giant dork.

Famer-In-Training

I did not take this video.

The H did.

And for someone who says he does not want to be a farmer, he sure takes a lot of time to take care of my chickens when I'm at work!

He even shuts them in the coop at night, usually before I can get to it, and I have heard him talking to them on more than one occasion.

At least this video explains the random eggs scattered around the coop the last couple of days!

And then there were 13...

Oh, for fuckssake.

One of the rooster meat birds died.

Just out of nowhere went tits up while I was at work the other day. The H texted to say the bird died and then apparently TURNED OFF HIS PHONE so I couldn't get in touch with him for an hour. (He probably didn't turn it off, he just doesn't have the Siamese Twin relationship with his iPhone that I do.) Michele at WabiSabi Home and Garden calls it her iBoyfriend. I totally agree with that....

The H said that he looked out at the Chicken Tractor and just saw feet poking up. Never a good sign, right? And like the awesome H that he is, went out and wrapped Mr. Dead Roo in plastic bags and deposited him in the trash.

I have wracked my brain for indicators of imminent demise that I may have missed, but can't think of any! Except for the case of the random bloody diarrhea (which I did not chronicle here - you're welcome) the birds have all been very healthy, neat and tidy. I did notice diarrhea starting a week ago but they randomly have that, so I didn't think much of it. Then there was a little (stress: little) blood and then nothing for, like 3 days. Then angel of death.

Odd.

In typical Lindsey fashion, I hauled him out of the trash when I got home, and, wearing a goodish mix of work slacks, mud boots, dress sweater and garden gloves, unwrapped him and took a gander.

Graphic image to follow (it's not that bad - he just looks like he's sleeping, which is, coincidentally, what my dad used to say when we encountered road kill. "Don't worry, guys, he's just sleeping.")

Hmmm. Mystery dead chicken. He was actually one of the bigger dudes as well, so I was bummed that he died, because so far the hardiest appear to be the tiny hens. And the runt.

What's even more interesting is that when he died (and when the other chicks died, as well) the other chickens went to the edge of the tractor, as far away as possible, and sat down looking away from him. They formed an outward facing crescent with tails toward the deceased and heads towards better times. 

Anyhow. That makes final chicken count at 13, with butchering to take place in about a month. Perhaps 3 weeks. My friend got a lead on a plucker that attaches to a drill bit. I have no idea how that actually will work, but I'm up for anything. I have been lacing their feed with Diatomaceaous Earth to keep the parasites at bay. And no, that's not what killed him. Because it would've killed more of them than just him.

A word about my relationship with things I have to kill. Repeat after me: "Everyone has to eat."

That seems to sum it up.

And yeah, I could become a vegetarian, but then I would turn into a raging bitch on crack, and who wants that? I submit no one.

A Word About Trash - and Two Movies

Last night my head exploded.

Twice.

The first time is when I looked in the trash can and saw, for the 400 thousandth time, a plastic salad container. From the H. For the 400 thousandth time.

I don't know how many times I have told him that most plastic in our area is recyclable and not to throw them away. Probably as many times as I've found one in the trash. So...right around 400,000 times.

After I heaved a big dramatic sigh and fished it out from underneath coffee grounds and egg shells (you don't have to say it. I know. All compostable. Fuck.) I turned and told him that the next time I find one of these shells in the trash I'm going to shove it straight up his ass.

To which he replied: "promise?"

Good Grief.

The second explosion happened as I was cruising my Trailers App for iPad and came across two movies that had me in tears. Just with the promos.

Trashed is a film that examines our worldwide culture of garbage and how we manage it. From over consumption to  waste management to the dead zones currently multiplying in our seas. It appears that a subcategory would be our obsession with plastic.

Last Call at the Oasis is a movie about water. Fresh water. Water consumption. Poisoning of water. You name it and they cover it. This movie is out now in theaters. And I've never heard of it. Probably because I turn up my nose at network TV, but lets face it, this movie trailer isn't going head to head with a Burger King commercial and winning.How many of YOU have heard of it???

Anyhow. Go check them out. Then come to me for tissues, because I got's plenty.

My head full and heart heavy, I retired to bed. To think. Until the Valerian root kicked in and put me to sleep. But whatever.

The Backyard Veggies household is about to get a big, fat, trash makeover. And it ain't gonna be pretty. I know a certain good looking H who's going to be very put out.

I took a look at our pantry this morning and it was all prepackaged food (pasta, tuna fish, cereal, cereal bars [something the tot will actually eat right now], baking products, bags of dried fruit). So while the content is round about good food, the packaging is worrying.

Time for more bulk buying, my internet compadres. Which means seeking out more stores that sell things in bulk. We already buy our flour, sugar, brown sugar, oats, dried fruit (most of it, anyways) and nuts in bulk, but it's time to rip an Emeril and kick this bitch up a notch.

Also, no more sandwich bags. No more ziploc.

No more plastic garbage bags. We are going cold turkey on plastic. I'm gonna need to staff that out for a good alternative - thoughts? I could use paper, but...I use my own shopping bags and don't usually get store bags. Also, all I can hear when I use paper grocery store bags are trees crying. No good. I've been using the plastic bags that do make it into our home to line wastepaper baskets and stuff like that. No more. We are going to free ball it from now on.

Hmmmm.

Also, we are going to fix what breaks. Sounds positively juvenile, doesn't it? But so many things just break and we throw them away instead of fixing them. I'm thinking of appliances, bookshelves, household goods, etc.

I'm going to start making our laundry detergent from soap I make myself, not from ivory mixed with washing soda and borax.

I'm not going to use baby wipes at home anymore. We are going to use the pile of cloth diapers  and just wet then down and wash them/hang dry. I'm thinking only baby wipes for traveling.

More wash but less drying b/c it is Spring and I can dry that stuff outside.

Sometimes it's what's in front of us that matters. And not just the reminder that we all consume WAY too much. It's what grabs our attention right in front of us. Case in point: If I leave a hamper in the hallway, the H will throw dirty clothes in it. If I move the hamper to the dryer, he'll throw his dirty clothes in it. If I move it to the bedroom, he'll throw his dirty clothes in it. The action stays the same, yet is tweaked to my satisfaction by where I place the hamper.

If I remove the large trash can from the kitchen, he will seek out the smaller trash can under the sink. And consequently put less trash in it, forcing him to stick the plastic salad container in the strategically located recyclable box by the back door. And, following logic, put the compostable material in the compost bucket also strategically located RIGHT ON THE COUNTER. With the big giant letters that spell out "COMPOST".

How are you going plastic free?

And, you know what? I'm sick and tired of Democrats, Republicans and the Tea Party people saying that everyone who believes green house gas emissions are poisoning our environment and heating up our planet are ridiculous, frivolous, closet extreme terrorists. Cut that shit out. Our planet is heating up. Methane gas, produced by huge CAFOS cow lots and shit tons of plastic and gas rotting in our landfills is having a NEGATIVE effect on our environment and leading to chronic disease, birth defects and the poisoning of our water. The earth is the only home we have. We are destroying it. How we leave our environment is our legacy. And 200 years from now, no ones gonna give a good God Damn if you were able to improve your retirement portfolio by 1/5 of a percentage point by investing in Monsanto Chemicals, or what stupid spending bill you passed in congress that had absolutely no effect on climate change.

It's not a conspiracy theory. It's not a money making empire. It's not made up. I know facts and science are hard to digest sometimes when it means you have to change your actions, but the fact of the matter is that this is the new reality and anyone who disagrees out of stupidity or religious views will be left behind to stew about it surrounded by semiautomatic weaponry 20 feet below the earths surface in their bunker.


Now that I've offended someone out there - let's all figure out how to go more plastic free and reduce our garbage!! Wheeee!!