Chickens



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Keith and I attended the Hampton Area Chamber of Commerce Toast to the Coast at the Ashworth by the Sea in Hampton Beach.

The Old Salt had a splendidly decorated table.

BEHOLD! The Great Kale Caper. GO HERE FOR PART 2



Ladies and gentlemen. Boys and girls. DaisyPatch fans of all walks of life (ok, there’s ladies, then there’s gentlemen and then there’s boys, and…we have girls. What other walks of life might there be reading this here post in cyberspace? Manatees? Probably not. Opposable thumbs aren’t necessary to log onto the Internet, so I guess it IS a possibility, but it doesn’t seem likely. Also, they don’t walk, really. Don’t they sort of pull themselves by their front fins. Feet? Paddles? Fins is probably correct. I hope manatees ARE reading my blog. I HAVE had some new followers find me as of late. Hi! Welcome. Are you manatees? If so, I will try to make the DaisyPatch more manatee-friendly for you.) Where was I? Right. (God, I do that a lot, don’t I?) Um. RIGHT! You heard it here first. Drum roll please…

edible South Shore has given me my own column. I get to continue to inflict my self-deprecating stories on the readers of this fine, fine publication. My column starts in the Fall of 2012. I have proposed several topics for the first article and have been told to do whatever I want. (Insert evil laugh here.) Really? REALLY? REALLY? Really? (the one in italics denotes a squeaky voice. So, first it was a normal voice. Really? Then it was louder. REALLY? Then it was a shout. REALLY? Then bring it on down to a squeak of surprise. Really? With me?)

No big deal. Piece of cake. Ready for the name of the column? Brace yourself. It is the epitome of cuteness. It is a play on words which is exactly my style. I thought of it in the middle of the night. Home Sweet Homestead. I know, right? F’ing brilliant. I am looking forward to it. The Fall article in the column is TBD, but GUESS what the following 4 articles will be about. Guess. Yup. Cluckers. They will arrive in about 6 weeks and I will cataloguing (‘guing or ‘ging? Hm. Going with ‘guing) everything we’re going through to get ready for them. Then I will be diligently documenting every little peep, squeak and chicken scratch they make as we assimilate them into the Patch, and into our family. Our homestead. I will also promise to be honest and make note of every screw up made by yours truly. Because that’s what this is all about…learning as we go.

(So, was this manatee-friendly enough?)


The following is a letter I wrote to Laurie and Kezia of edible  on 2/24.

Hello!
 
Happy sugaring season. We tap trees this weekend and I am rolling around in seed catalogs like a chicken in a dust bath (look at me with the poultry analogy as if I have owned them for years). 
 
Baby chicks arrive the week of 4/16 in case Michael wanted to bring the photo snapper. I am giddy. I consulted www.thebump.com and have all the names picked out. 
 
Mr. Cooper (Hawk) is waiting. He perches in the tippity-top of the tree across the street and I swear I saw him lick his beak this morning in anticipation of munching Miss Marguerite (although I fully expect Mildred will be my favorite!) Bastard. I plot his demise. 
 
On a less violent note, our winter greens survived and I am making salad tonight for Keith and our niece, a brilliant and beautiful senior in college who is up for the weekend.
 
Hope you both are well!
 
Take care,
 
Jenn 

I will admit, I didn’t know if Letters to Cleo was a movie or a band or a book until I just looked it up. I just thought the title worked.

Second admission: I thought it was high time for a blog post, but am too tired to come up with something unique so I posted a letter.

Third admission. I’m not too tired. Just too lazy.


With all the warmth this Winter has seen up until last week, we’ve been wondering about the upcoming sugaring season, expecting it to suck. We still have about a gallon of last year’s syrup left so I know we’ll be fine, but still. I like making it every year.

Ok, here’s where I pause, look back at what I wrote and feel guilty about any stretches of the truth. Seeing that last statement, “I like making it every year,” I need to admit to, not only a stretching of the truth, but the fact that I big, fat lied. I mean, I didn’t lie about the, “I like” part, but I lied about insinuating that I am the one making it. You see…usually, Keith taps the trees, and boils it down. Sometimes I carry the buckets. That is all.

So how is it, then, that I can say, “We make maple syrup?” (emphasis on the “We.” Hence the italics.) I’m sort of taking credit for all his efforts, aren’t I? I don’t know. Keith also says, “We made dinner” when he cooks the chicken and the rice and I do the salad. Why doesn’t he just take account for just his part by saying, “I made 2/3 of dinner?”

Team work, baby. It is our cozy house, our crazy dog, our cuddly cats (except for Betty. She is just a psycho bitch-cat who is possessed by the devil and is hell bent on making sure we do not sleep.) I’ve commented before in here, and in edible South Shore that we seem to be growing closer as a couple as we start this little homestead. Chores aren’t necessarily a bad thing. (DO NOT tell my mother I said that.) Doing them with someone you love makes the work go by that much faster. Enjoying the sweet spoils (over belgian waffles!) makes it all worthwhile.

I’ll carry all the sap buckets this year, honey. I promise.


DaisyPatch Farm.

Thanks to Mrs. Cheever’s neighbors, there is now a law in North Hampton that, with less than 4 acres of property, we can have, “…no more than 12 poultry per lot and…husbandry of poultry that includes one or more roosters shall require a Conditional Use Permit as provided under subparagraph 4, below…

4.  The following process shall be used…

a. An application shall be submitted to the planning board…

b. Boring

c. The Planning Board shall conduct a public hearing for which proper notice has been given to abutters and the public. (Read…they notify our neighbors that we want a rooster so that our neighbors can come to the public hearing and dispute. Yes. THAT is what this says.)

d. The Planning Board shall have authority to impose reasonable conditions of approval that the board deems appropriate (huh?)

e. Boring, something about fees that didn’t make sense cuz no dollar figures were listed. Whatever.

f. Animal Density…something about best management practices for manure handling based upon the New Hampshire Department of Agriculture manual entited, “Best Management Practices for Handling of Compost, Fertilizer and Manure” (which shall, from here on in, be called the SHIT SHEET).

g. Burden of Proof. Blah blah blah stating you need to demonstrate and specify the manner in which the operation shall be conducted in compliance with THIS pamphlet and that rule and this law and that law AND to demonstrate that the Animal Husbandry operation shall not cause pollution, soil degradation, unreasonable odor, unreasonable noise and disturbance of the peace. (No mess, no smell, no noise, did you hear us? We said NO NOISE! Get it, stupid?)

ARE YOU F’ING KIDDING ME?

So, let’s say it all together, shall we? On three. One. Two. Three. “Thanks Mrs. Cheever’s neighbors.”

It makes one little homesteader-wanna-be consider just walking away from the idea of getting little cluckers altogether. (She folds her arms, sticks her lips out in a pout and stomps her foot. But I want an Ooompa Loompa NOW.)

Jaws set in determination, we figuratively stuck out our tongues, said, “Nana nana boo boo” and set out during the rainy (well, depressingly drizzly) Saturday of Memorial Weekend to look at chicken coops that were for sale in the area. (Craig’s List. It’s not just for massages and murders.) (Ok, that was wrong. Very wrong, but I am laughing so hard I had a coughing fit and so I think I’m keeping it.)

One was used and a decent price, but, well, a bit beat up (too hard). One was brand new, a guy custom built them, but seemed rickety (too soft). One was brand new, perfect size, shape and super sturdy. AND it was built by the Amish (juuuuust right). (I mean, thems good builders, right?) Alas, we have no truck. (Yes, we have no bananas.) So, it stayed at Agway and we went home. We weren’t ready anyway. Homework. I must do much homework.

This past Friday afternoon, I came home after work and sat at the breakfast bar. DaisyMae was quite happy I was home and would NOT leave me alone. So, without even taking my post-commute-pee (it’s a 50 minute drive I’ll have you know), I grabbed the orange soccer ball and tried to walk without tripping on the INSANE dog as we headed out to the back yard, asking Keith if he wanted to come play with us. You know, bulldog in the middle. It’s a great game. Also, Keith and I could walk the yard and plan on where the coop could go.

Several minutes of soccer passed (DaisyMae is a very good guard), and I noticed sticks and leaves all through the yard from the windstorm the night before. Why Keith was filming this little game of ball was beyond me, but I thought I’d share it. Click here.

I have the best hubby ever.


The DaisyPatch has several followers. Some subscribe, some find it through LinkedIn and Twitter. Others find us by searching for a key term like “Daisies” or “Houdan Chicken” or “Guano.”  The search term yesterday, however, tops them all.  Are you ready?

Oh, before I go there, I promised in the last post I would discuss a few things like the pics of some freaky bird-chicken-hawk-foghorn-leghorn-falcony-owl thing that Keith has been watching in the backyard and a philosphical discussion about what actually defines “edible”, BUT, this has GOT to be shared.

Here, is the search that was conducted yesterday that landed this poor soul on my mis-directed gardening site…

Ok, before I share it, I just have to tell you, this cracks me up. I mean, WHAT Google/Yahoo/Bing search algorithms landed this person on www.daisypatchfarm.com?

Ok here it is. Ready?    The search terms were          men “ratty underwear”

Yes. That was it. Men “Ratty Underwear”.  Let’s break it down.

Men Ok, innocent enough. Plural of “Man.”  Ok. Understood. So, we’re talking about guys. This person has more than one man in his or her life that is related to the next phrase which BLOWS MY MIND.

“ratty underwear”  in quotes. You see, the part that it was in quotes is the BEST PART. THE BEST. Both words belong together and can not be broken apart. The two words must be combined and in this exact order. Combine this EXACT phrase with the word previous and this person doing the seeking has men in his or her life who…what? Have ratty underwear? Hoard ratty underwear? Make ratty underwear?

Let’s drill down some more. WHAT prompted this person to search the internet with these search terms in the first place? I can just picture the guy wearing, well, ratty underwear for lack of a better term, and the spouse getting so frustrated he won’t throw them away that she has to seek help in cyberspace. (Well, I didn’t actually ‘picture’ it because that would mean that I was thinking about another man in his underwear and I’m a married woman and would never, ever, ever do that.) (Mmmmmmmm Marky Mark)

Where was I, oh, right. This person was so driven to, what, exasperation? Disgust? Dare we say, curiosity?

Ok, now that we’re pondering…here’s the magic question. WHAT ON EARTH HAVE I WRITTEN ABOUT IN THE LAST OH, I DON’T KNOW HOW LONG amount of time would have caused the Internet search engine Gods (GOO-Ds (bahahhahaha Google Gods  are GOO-Ds)) to send them here? What did I say? I don’t think I ev…OH! I decided to go look to see if I ever even wrote the word, “Undewear” on the Patch.

Folks. I have. Not only did I write about underwear, I have actually referenced Ratty Underwear.

Welcome to The DaisyPatch – where we discuss gardening, worms, bat shit, underwear, star wars, guns, boobs and more. I am so glad we’re all things to all people. It warms my heart.

Next post, I promise, the pics of some freaky bird-chicken-hawk-foghorn-leghorn-falcony-owl thing that Keith has been watching in the backyard and a philosphical discussion about what actually defines “edible.”

Ratty undewear…hah, whoda thought?

 

 

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