September 2012

Per the ever so scientific method of weighing oneself holding the box and then weighing oneself without the box and noting the difference, we have just stored 15.2 pounds of potatoes in our root cellar. I think that is exciting. When I first harvested them, I was disappointed. There didn’t seem to many. But now I recall that the seed potatoes we purchased didn’t even total 1 pound. That is quite a haul. Again, our biggest problem this year was that they went dry. Apparently my ingenious method of taking chicken wire, securing it into a short barrel with zip ties and planting potatoes in soil causes too much air circulation around the roots and they dry out quite a bit. We had a very dry summer, so that didn’t help. I’m going to try another way next year. Keith has some ideas.

So far, the Chieftains did the best, with the Russets pulling in close second. The Russian Banana Fingerling were sort of growing on the side of the house and I pulled the plant up and popped it in a planter, so that was the lowest yield, as we only started from one plant.

I will definitely grow both the Chieftains and the Russets next year.

I just had to Google “Storing Potatoes for the Winter” and so have them layered between newspaper in a cardboard box and laid up against, but not quite touching, the cement wall in the cooler part of the basement where no windows are facing. Hopefully they’ll stay cool and dry there and not cause any rot.

We decided to retire early tonight to watch The Dictator in bed. I said, “Not it” and so Keith had to go out to put the chickens away. I pulled out my phone to play a little Free Cell.

I got a text.

“I need help.”

I went outside to find Keith looking straight up. One of the Barred Rocks (my favorites) was on top of the coop. Everyone else was inside.

How is it that I somehow found MYSELF on top of a ladder in my pajamas trying to catch a chicken? I ask this in earnest because that is what happened.

She shied away from me and Keith was able to grab her from the other side. We almost high-fived.

We are a good team. Today, one of the Orpingtons had an 18inch long stream of flypaper stuck across ALL of her rear feathers. We had to catch her, not an easy feat, gently extract each feather and then she lay on her back in my lap while Keith got a cloth wet with hot water.

I was surprised she let me wipe each feather not to mention lay like that in my lap. We put her down and she ran for the ear of corn we put in the ground as bait-already being devoured by the others. We almost high-fived then too.

Both times, we realized we aren’t high-fivers and I just gave him a little pat on the ass. You know, that’s the equivalent of a “married-couple high five.” Look it up.

I just witnessed chicken rape. Jerry chased one of the Barred Rocks (a younger one) through most of the backyard, then had his way with her once he caught her. Kids, sex between a rooster and a hen is a natural thing, an act of love. When a mommy chicken and a daddy chicken…Oh who am I kidding? I need to go wash my eyeballs.