Written On A Vine Leaf

Vignette 1

Introduction to a Junkyard by Ron Little

"Ronny, the driver's door won't lock."  
"I'll take a look at it.*fumble, fumble*  Try it now."  
"Now it not only won't lock but I can't open the door from the outside."  
"Hunh.  Well, we needed a new door anyway."

Vignette 2

These are the broilers, just two weeks shy of butchering.  Frankly, I never felt bad about butchering the Cornish Rock Cross broilers.  They were unattractive, unclean animals.  But these Red Broilers have been pleasant, good looking, clean birds from the beginning.  Look at that rooster!  I will actually feel bad for these guys.  Until I eat them. 

These are the only two out of their group that will remain past mid-October.  They are Cagney and Lacey II.  The one is a Buff Orpington and the other an Ameraucana.  Good to see them asserting their rights to roost space.

And these little guys are really growing fast.  They've gotten much more active as they've feathered out.  I was a little worried about them spending so much time under their brooder lamp.  But they seem to have perked up. 

Vignette 3

Ronny requested new seating for the living room.  
Craig still would rather sit on the floor.  
Typical. 

Time Running Out On Your Tomato Plants?

As the season winds down, we may still have tomatoes on the vine but fear for their safety.  Will they ripen before the weather changes?  What can we do to make use of these little late season  beauties? 

Fried Green Tomatoes are a traditional use for Early tomatoes, but I don't see why they can't come into play as September comes to a close and October sweeps her doorstep for our visit.  But the Farm Bureau magazine had a wonderful suggestion that I plan on using in the coming week.  It's called Green Tomato Cake (Better Than A Movie). 

It calls for:
2 cups chopped green tomatoes
1 tablespoon salt
1/2 cup butter
2 cups white sugar
2 eggs
2 cups all purpose flour
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1 tsp ground nutmeg
1 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt 
1/2 cup raisins
1/2 cup chopped pecans
whipped topping, mint sprigs and pecans for garnish


Place chopped tomatoes in a bowl and sprinkle with 1 tablespoon salt.  Let stand 10 minutes.  Place in a colander, rinse with cold water and drain.  Pat tomatoes dry.  


Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Grease and flour a 9"x13" baking pan.


Blend butter and sugar together.  Add eggs, and beat until batter is creamy.   

Sift together flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, soda and 1/4 tsp salt.  Add raisins and nuts to the dry mixture; add all dry ingredients to batter, and mix well.  Dough will be very stiff.  


Stir in drained tomatoes.  Pour batter into the prepared pan and bake for 40-45 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the cake's center comes out clean.  


Garnish slices with whipped topping, mint and pecans. 

Now, I happen to know that it is not necessary to ever employ a sifter.  You can achieve the same effect by using a whisk to blend the ingredients.  It adds lightness and evenly distributes the different ingredients throughout the mass.  I also don't care for mint or pecans.  (I realize these are fighting words to Southerners and I apologize for my Yankee ways.)   I can see substituting walnuts.  I don't require a mint garnish, thank you.  The whipped cream should be real whipped cream in my opinion, not the heretofore revered but now reviled Cool Whip.* 

I wonder if tea, hot cocoa or cold milk would be the best beverage to accompany such a treat?  Have you had experience with Green Tomato Cake?  What do you think? 



*For a funny take on why Cool Whip is not cool:   http://www.jonathanfields.com/blog/horrifying-12-day-cool-whip-experiment/

Enemy of the Month

This creature is the new object of my hatred.  It is a cabbage worm, although its diet is not restricted to cabbage.  More like the Cabbage Family.  It has chewed through many a leaf on my considerable garden of broccoli.  Where yesterday there were lovely leaves, today there are lacy leaves and chewed stumps on a few plants.  I went over the plants with a presbyopic squint three times just to be sure I had gotten all the little destroyers.  I learned that the innocent curl of a leaf was a deception, and that if one examined the curl one would find a bit of webbing had created a tent for said vicious insects.

I've never been squeamish about bugs anyway, but by the time I was done I had squirted a considerable amount of buggage between my fingers or against the side of the raised beds.  The chickens did not seem to be interested in them, although the littlest ones found a great joy in torturing the three that I tossed into the brooder.  But I am nothing if not compassionate, so I decided on a speedy death for the worms from henceforth. There is nothing worse than interminable death sentence appeals and court reviews and petitions for clemency.  I hold full responsibility as Judge, Jury and Executioner.  My only regret is that I ran out of bugs. 

No Lions Or Tigers, Just Bears

 
Since the arrival of Chloe, I have been engaging in (mostly) twice daily walks.  With the bridge being closed for repair my walking had been fairly limited, just up to the stop sign and back.  But the bridge is now able to support pedestrian traffic.  Okay, most people would not make that statement, but I figure if I can pick my way through the tools and materials and brave the planks over the gaps then it's fair game!  I have had two excellent walks this way, all the way down to Wheeler Road and back. 

Yesterday, whilst enjoying a splendid pace in perfect weather, a lady pulled over as she passed me and informed me that there had been a bear sighting in the neighborhood.  Since she seemed to think that this necessarily curtailed any further walking, I granted her the courtesy of complying with her and turned around a few yards short of my normal turn around point.  I went home and called upon my faithful friend, The Internet, and did some research on the correct way to proceed from here. 

I would also like to state for the record, that I am an old hand at walking in bear/mountain lion/wild dog/snake/vicious-animal-of-choice country.  But I am slightly more prudent in my declining years and wanted to have the best possible advice available in 2011.  According to my sources*, there are certain items which no Prepared Walker in 'dangerous' territory should be without. 

1.  A dog.  This was perfect news since I happen to have one.  The logic of this advice was that bears think dogs are wolves and they avoid wolves. 

2.  A whistle.  I wasn't sure if this was for calling for help or for scaring the bear, but it is for startling the bear, to be used if a bear should get close enough to you to charge. 

3.  Bear Repellent.  God forbid you should need to use bear repellent.  It is the last line of defense in a bear attack. 

4.  A cell phone.   The article does not explain the purpose of the cell phone.  One can only imagine it is either for you to call for help if you have been attacked and survive, or for the person who finds your body and needs to call for help.  Perhaps your imagination is not so bloody as mine and you imagine exchanging numbers with the bear for the purposes of building friendship across species lines.  I hope all your bears wear pink tutus and ballerina slippers. 

There were assorted other cautions:  Bear attacks are more likely to happen in Spring when they are leaving hibernation.  Bears are more likely to be drawn to areas of human habitation in the Fall as they prepare for hibernation.  While bears may seem to be the perfect candidate for an up-close and intimate photograph, this is discouraged.  Finally, the advice we all learned from television to "lie down and play dead" is in error.  Bears, being very curious animals, will be unable to resist the temptation to investigate. 

So, armed with knowledge, I go forth in boldness to walk my dog.  Who knew it was such a risky activity? 

*Read more: How to Take a Hike in Bear Country | eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_2102572_hike-bear-country.html#ixzz1YcdWpA8L  

Image:  http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_1xHCqFHSKVo/TMRzHN5POGI/AAAAAAAAA8k/zgYkTx3Jd8o/s1600/rat-terrier.jpg

Definition: Farm

Farm:  noun:  An area of land and its buildings used for growing crops and rearing animals, typically under the control of one owner or manager.  verb: Make one's living by growing crops or keeping livestock.  

In Old English "feorm" meant "provisions, stores of food, supplies, possessions..."  Other Old English words lend additional flavor:   feormian ("to provision, sustain") and feorh ("life, spirit").  

 

This evening I read a blog where the writer insisted on making a distinction between A Real Farm and what Home Farmers are doing.  Of course there is a distinction.  But not necessarily the one she was making.  I've been on many farms over the years and I know what A Real Farm is.  A Real Farm is a business:  They sell the fruits of their labors in order to support their family.  Toward that effort they employ machinery, many acres, large numbers of animals, following the pattern of farming that has been set down at least since WWII.  As a Home Farmer my intention is much more simple.  It is to provide my own family with healthy, home grown meats and vegetables.  I am not in business, nor providing (for the most part) food for other people.  I will never plant a quarter of an acre in corn or whatever;  Why should I when I can grow 64 corn plants in less than one raised bed?  I'm using techniques geared toward doing the most I can with the limited space I have.  Not that I can't do better.   But does that mean that I can't call my 5 acres of forest and garden and poultry and rabbit a farm?  


I stand on the roof of my hen house and I shout out into the woods "This is my farm!  It is full of Life and Spirit!  It provides and sustains!  It grows and it breeds!"  The hens and the rabbits and the garden all wonder what the fuss is about.  "Nothing.  Go back to sleep, little ones.  You have eggs to lay, vegetables to grow, meat to provide.  You know who you are."  And Good Enough Farm shrugs at all the nonsense and settles back into slumber.  

Moving Toward Autumn

 
Having moved the baby chicks into the brooder side of the hen house earlier in the week, I was concerned about maintaining a warm enough temperature in there for them.  I have a light hanging on their side, but the night time temperatures are quite chilly!  I had hung a sheet in there last time, isolating the heat to one side, but this time I took a slightly different approach.  I put a medium sized cardboard box in there, with the heat lamp angled so that it shone into the box.  Trapped heat, snug little house = Perfection. 

When we got back home from the Kingdom Hall all the teenage chickens were perched on the new roosts, and the Old Biddies did their mild, chiding clucks which reprove me for being so late in shutting their little door.  After checking on the little ones, I made the momentous decision to shut the Summer Door on the house.  It is a screened doorway, allowing for a wonderful cross breeze during the summer months.  But we have moved on now and the death of summer became Official as I shut the door and latched it.  Even the Biddies seemed surprised.  I bade the feather dusters good night and hurried to the house. 

Time to scrub up the tea kettle and roust the dormouse from the teapot.  *sigh*  He's so grumpy when he gets woken up. 


image from teddy-talk.com

Putting It All Behind Me

I think that few things stifle my creativity more than disappointment or grudge-holding.  If I've had a certain expectation and it is not met, or if I'm holding onto bad feelings, it's a sure killer of any positive actions.  I don't want to clean or do laundry or play with my animals because I'm having a pity party.  Thank goodness for friends who help me to see the error of my ways:  Holding onto bad feelings is like drinking poison and waiting for someone else to die.  

I was blessed to imbibe a multi-ingredient antidote to my bad attitude by making a visit to Mrs. G's Providence Farm. 

1. Nutmeg, my former goat, had kidded earlier in the week and we were able to pay our respects to her kids and congratulate her on a job well done.  
2. We watched the month old Freedom Rangers being their happy little chicken selves. 
3. I was astonished at how wonderfully hideous her Guineas are and look forward to watching my own pair grow into truly ugly polka dotted, vulture-faced adults. 

Brushing all my disgruntlement from me, like the dried mud on the backs of the pigs, we said our goodbye's with hugs and happiness.  I came home to my own mini-farm with a renewed sense of purpose and acceptance.  

I spent the day today making adjustments to the chicken house:  adding roosts for the new generation coming up, moving the baby chicks from my living room to the brooder side of the house, cleaning and readjusting the hanging feeders/waterers.  I cleaned up all the mess from my endeavours and filled the bed of the pickup twice with lumber pieces and empty pine/feed bags and assorted farm/household debris.  I was able to look at what I had accomplished with a clean spirit and a lesson learned:  The weight of ill will is crippling.  Instead of holding onto my heavy thoughts and paralyzing emotions, I should have 'rolled them on Jehovah' who is able to bear such burdens with ease.  (Psalm 37:5)

Rollin' yer burden.  Yer doin' it rong.

Ricochet Rabbit

For all of you youngsters out there unfamiliar with Ricochet Rabbit, he was a rabbit who worked as a sheriff.  His trademark schtik was to pronounce the phrase "Bing, Bing, Bing!  Ricochet Rabbit!", upon which he would then ricochet his body off the surrounding walls and disable his foes.  I'm sure that is clear as mud, but the point here is that My Mind has more in common with little ole Ricochet than I would like to admit.  It starts out here and ends up there with many a stop in between.  Sometimes I pick up valuable information that way.  Today was a case in point.

While perusing my Facebook wall, I saw a friends photo of a bar of soap.

Being the gluttonous person that I am, that reminded me of Raisin Bread.  Ah, Raisin Bread!  I thought about that lovely sweet glory as I took Chloe for a walk.  I thought to myself, 'Has anyone ever made a raisin paste and used it in Raisin Bread?'  Once upon a time, that would have been a simple musing that would have just floated away on a thought cloud.  But with the Wondrous Internet at my beck and call, I could ask this question to the great masses out there wherever they are.  I received only a few truly on target replies, but some of the results were not to be missed.

1.  Again, showing my age, I recall with tremendous fondness Sunshine Raisin Biscuits.  If you have ever longed for them, King Arthur Flour has a recipe for an evocation of them.  I intend to make them in my Fall Cookie Baking Ritual. 

2.  The method for making raisin paste:  1/2 cup chopped or processed raisins, 3/4 cup water.  Combine in saucepan.  Bring to boil.  Reduce heat and simmer until the water has evaporated or soaked into the raisins.  Takes about 15 minutes.  Let cool. 
   It is suggested by some sites that you calculate the amount of paste you want, then double that for your raisin measure.  To illustrate:  If you require 1/2 cup raisin paste, use 1 cup raisins. (Having now done this, I recommend as little water as possible. Maybe as little as a teaspoon.   No  mere pulsing in the food processor here, but all thrusters on till it's a gooey mess.  Simmer, maybe add in your cinnamon, a little sugar for thickening purposes.  You want it as thick as possible or else it's a nasty mess when you spread it out on your dough.)

3.  Studies have shown that raisin paste has antioxidant properties, inhibits spoilage of meat (!) with no discernable alteration of taste, inhibits the growth of mold in breads and lowers the glycemic index in bread.

4.  Fats which would normally be used in baking can be replaced by raisin paste, lowering the fat content but maintaining a sense of satiety.  The body registers the raisin paste as a fat, although it is not. 
(Use Google Translate on the link.  Sorry, but it's in German.)

5.  I rest secure in the knowledge that others long ago used raisin paste in the manner which I imagined.  La Farine Breads explains that a Cinnamon Challah is made by rolling out the Challah dough thin, spreading raisin paste across it, rolling and then braiding it, 'ensuring balanced flavor in every bite.' 

All the things I never knew!  I suppose raisin paste should now become a staple food in my house.  I can see using it as a spread on toasted, buttered, homemade bread.  Stuffing it into a pocket on a porkchop.  Thinning it for a sauce.  The possibilities are endless.

UPDATE:  I made raisin bread last night, using the directions for raisin paste.  One loaf came out alright, although it is much more crusty--maybe because of the steaming from the raisin paste?  The other loaf collapsed inside from the 'weight' of the paste and the only creatures to enjoy a part of that  were the chickens who ate the crust.  The rest went into the trash as it was almost sodden.  All in all, I'm glad I tried it and got it out of my system.  I think now that one of the glories of raisin bread is the Isolated Treasure of hitting a raisin here or there.  The fact that the paste is everywhere through the bread actually detracts from the pleasure.  I live and learn. 

Just A Spoonful of Medicine

This is a Chloe Update. 
I had been daily sneaking peeks at her incision to make sure there was no redness or swelling.  There never was any.  Today she had some patches of pink on her underbelly near her hind legs.  Nowhere near the incision, but suspicious.  Operating on the assumption that we were dealing with some infection, I dosed her with Colloidal Silver.  I measured a dropperful into the palm of my hand and she licked it up.  Within an hour she was  exhibiting normal Chloe behavior. 


The following falls into that category: 

• We went for a walk up the driveway and to the bridge as a test run, and she wanted to go further.
• She has wanted to play a slightly gentler version of Kill the Pig twice today.
• She has twirled herself in circles repeatedly.
• She has vacated the Pity Chair and is now at her proper place, on the floor by my feet.
• She stood on her hind legs and danced for joy.  

I think it's safe to say I have my Chloe back.

The Way to a Dog's Heart

Tuesday will be a week from Spay Day for Chloe.  I would like to say that she is back to her normal self.  But she is not.  She is cranky.  She is fearful.  She is quick to nip and snarl.  She is not at all herself.  

I have read many articles which answer the question:  Does Spaying change my dog's personality?  They all claim that if it does, it is for the better.  Now, I can only go by males, but they seem to shrug off the whole thing within a few hours.  My cats that I've had neutered didn't seem to be fazed.  The goats that I personally "fixed" were kicking up their heels by the end of the day.  But I guess women are just a whole different animal.  

Rather than handling this as an aggression issue or feeling the need to assert myself as pack leader, I'm trying to put myself in her paws.  She's sore, she can't run around like she loves to, and they had me put her on a reduced portion of food due to an extra two pounds.  Just the 'diet' would be enough to make me bite someone! So, I've decided that the only recourse I have is to Re-love her.  I make sure that I introduce myself to her each time I approach.  I offer my hands for sniffing.  I reward her for any pleasantness which she bestows upon me.  (I have quartered some small liver treats and carry them around with me.)  If she voluntarily approaches me, that's a treat.  If she allows me to pet her, that's a treat.  If she comes when I call her, that's a treat.

  

It's a sign of progress that she's out of her crate, on her favorite chair, with her Pig.  We hope you feel better soon, Chloe.  

Back Up To Speed

What a cause for rejoicing!  The Squatter Twins have quit their Egg Strike!  Faithful Squeaky never disappointed me; There was always one blue-green egg waiting in the corner of the hen house.  But today, I reached a hand into the darkness of that corner and came up with three beautiful eggs! 

In another six weeks or so, the young pullets will be discovering their purpose in life and fighting for egg laying rights, the Buff Orpington Rooster will be coming of age, the Broilers will be ready to butcher and all will be right on Good Enough Farm. 

The freezer will be full of home raised chicken and home grown veggies.  An investment in Solar Lanterns will be made, as will a hand cranked radio/flashlight.  We've got blankets and a well stocked pantry.   We've got 4 Wheel Drive and Acoustic guitars and a supply of good books.  We don't much care for winter, but we'll be ready when it comes. 

God willing. 

New Chicks on the Block

I was fortunate enough recently to have two friends who were willing to go in on a chick order with me.  I placed the order, checking compulsively that I had done it all right, and then waited.  Within a week I got that early morning phone call heralding the arrival of a box of chicks.  Thank God that Chloe is still out of sorts, so I have not had to deal with her prey drive and baby birds at the same time.  


I will confess to being woefully unprepared for these girls.  I came home with a rough plan in place.  I would put an old shower curtain in the bathtub, a cake pan for food, actual chick waterer (!) and a brooder light hung off the bath spout.  I shut the bathroom door behind me and went back to bed.  


After I woke up and took care of house business, we went out and bought a big bin to put everybody in.  I think that is my brooder of choice at this point.  They are easy to clean, high enough to keep them from escaping, and useful for feed storage.  This is what they looked like once they were in their proper home:  

Now, remember, these are not all mine.  I set about trying to distinguish who was who so when I had to divide the orders I would look like I knew what I was doing.  

These are four of the five Pearl Guineas.  They are smaller than the other chicks and have exotic coloration.  When grown they will be a dark gray with white dots through out their plumage.  This is the Old Fashioned, Original color of Guineas.  I will end up with two of these, useful for tick control and sounding alarms when something is wrong. 

These are White Leghorns, and they all go to A.R.S.  I try to avoid light colored hens as I find them much more subject to attack from predators.  

These are the Barred Plymouth Rocks.  Half for me, half for A.R.S.  I lost both of mine from my earlier order this year, so I'm really going to be protective of these babies.  I love their appearance as adults.  To me they are the Quintessential Hen.  

The hardest ones to separate were the Red Broilers and the New Hampshire Reds.  But I did some image studies and was able to see that the NH Reds had some markings on their backs and a lighter colored chest and abdomen.  The NH Reds are mine, and The Chicken Disciple gets 6 of the Broilers.  

I had not intended to create an entertainment center, but as it turns out, the chicks put on a Shadow Play for us as they carry on their little fuzzy lives.  

The Chick Bin is living on top of the kitchen counter at this point.  That puts it safely out of Chloe's reach.  Unless she figures out how to get the ladder out of my closet, open it, climb it, and remove the protective covering on the bin.  I'll probably have that nightmare later.  

So, with the addition of these girls I should have a nicely rounded out flock.  I've got a Rooster and some lovely girls.  I've got some keets for insect control and alarm duty.  I've got Broilers for some fine Winter Eating.  If I can just keep the dog and the hawks away, I'll have accomplished a dream.  

Feels good just to think about it.