End of season

And so it goes, the end of another growing season.

This was a particularly good one. I'm not sure if it's because I didn't overextend myself and try to grow too many things, so that the ones I did plant worked better, or if it was just a good weather year, or the garden was the one part of 2020 that worked out as anticipated.

Whatever. It worked. 

I took out the last of the tomatoes the other day, and this was the amount of green tomatoes still on the vines. We've had some colder nights, so the vines were dying back, and I wanted to get the fruit off before they got frosted and squishy.

There was an equal amount of red tomatoes, so I threw those in the crockpot and made sauce, which I later canned, but I didn't have the energy to face all these green tomatoes in addition to the number of jalapenos that were left, which also needed to be canned (more candied hot peppers for the pantry). 

My local Buy Nothing group made short work of the green tomatoes. The ones that were left moved around the corner to a neighbor's house. She's a distribution point for USDA food boxes, and lots of neighbors put extra food on her porch for "shopping." So she got the tomatoes, and they were gone by nightfall.

Now I can look out at my barren back yard, and start thinking about 2021. 

 

Chicken Update

A little chicken video to start your day.  The girls like blueberries, particularly Frankie, who quite literally swallows them whole.

She's is still somewhat broody, but I've been messing with her schedule lately, feeding them either early or late, and the inconvenience gets her up out of her corner and pacing.  I'm hoping that if she keeps getting up, she'll forget to go back down.

In other chicken weirdness, these two, unlike their predecessors, have decided to spend warm summer nights downstairs in the coop instead of sleeping up in the roost.  They already decided to go their own way and ignore the perch, but now they sleep in the straw near the exhaust fan.

It probably feels good, but the night that a raccoon decides to come calling, those birds are going to get the fright of their lives.

Broody Birdy

Something new and interesting on the chicken front.  Frankie, one of my new hens, has gone broody on me.

This wouldn't be such a big deal if I wanted baby chicks, but I don't.  Without a rooster, her eggs aren't fertilized anyway. And actually, she's not even sitting on any eggs.

Apparently birds just do this sometimes.  I did some reading about it on Friday, and there were many recommendations on how to break her of it. Right now I'm going with removal of the nesting box, lots more light and air, and a few frozen,
water-filled plastic Easter eggs tucked under her.

She'll stop this on her own eventually, but when a hen's on the nest, she only eats and drinks once a day, she loses weight and she plucks out her own breast feathers -- feathering her nest.

Amazing how many common phrases come from chickens: pecking order, rule the roost, hen party, nest egg, madder than a wet hen, scarce as hen's teeth, henpecked, flew the coop, up with the chickens, walking on eggshells, spring chicken, ruffled feathers, got something stuck in your craw, bad egg, chickens coming home to roost.

And then, in my yard, what comes as a threat: earn your keep, or there will be a chicken in every pot.

Move over Bonnie

There are new chicks in town.

Meet Grace and Frankie.  (And now you know a little bit about my Netflix viewing habits).

They came from a farm in New Jersey which had, in addition to chickens, ducks, sheep and goats.  I want a goat.  Since chickens are still illegal in Philadelphia, I think a goat might be crossing a line.

We picked them up on Sunday after I did a couple of fittings for prom dress alterations, and got them settled in their coop. They came home, if you can't tell, in a cat carrier.

Two hens, one white (Grace), and one red/brown (Frankie). Both brown egg layers,and both apparently dumb as rocks since neither one can figure out that they're supposed to sleep on the perch in the roost.  First night, one slept in the straw up in the roost and the other downstairs by the waterer.  The next night, they both made it upstairs.  One even slept in the nest box.

Best thing about having chickens again? I'll actually spend time in the garden. Last year I put in a ton of veggie starts,and then Bonnie died. Without a reason to be in the yard twice a day, the weeds took over.

It has ceased to be

Forgive the Python reference.

I went out to the coop yesterday morning to feed Bonnie, and she wasn't downstairs waiting at her food bowl, like a feathered, personality-free version of my cats.

I opened the roost door upstairs, and there she was, head tucked under wing, no longer a live bird.

Cue John Cleese, who has been banging on in my head for the rest of the day:

"That parrot is definitely deceased.  It’s not pining, it’s passed on.  This parrot is no more!  It has ceased to be!  It’s expired and gone to meet its maker!  This is a late parrot!  It’s a stiff, bereft of life, it rests in peace.  If you hadn’t nailed it to the perch it would be pushing up the daisies!"

Awful, I know.  But Bonnie hasn't laid in the last 6 weeks, and I assumed that meant she was aging out of the breakfast business.  And I've always considered her an employee, not a pet.  She fed me in exchange for food.  Our relationship lately had become a tad one-sided, and I'd been mentioning my handy cousin and the slow cooker with increasing frequency.

So she took matters into her own hands, I suppose.  Death before dishonor?  Death before crockpot?

I may not get new birds until next spring.  I'm well into craft show season, plus I'm temping 3 days a week.  On top of that, Mario and I have planned a trip (to London!!!) in the fall, and this will be one less mouth our housemate will have to feed while we're away.

I leave you with Monty Python, because I can.  

Spring Chicken

I've got a temp job right now - three days a week, Monday-Wednesday-Friday, and just in time for me to not be home, my lilac bloomed.

I've forgotten to cut it back the last few years and it's now taller than the back shed at about 10-12 feet.  (This still shocks me since I planted it 15 years ago this spring, digging a small hole with a table spoon since it was a tiny sprig in a 4" pot).

It grew, obviously.

During a recent hail and wind storm, I lost a whole middle section, but you can't really tell.  And I think if it smelled any more strongly of heavenly lilac smell, it would be nearly toxic.

Did I mention that I think lilacs are the best smell ever?

Hard to see, but Bonnie the evil chicken is peering out the door of the coop, just waiting for something to come along that she can eat.  A worm, a bug, some corn, my hand . . .

I ran into her previous owner last week at the farmer's market, and she was happy to hear that Bonnie was still going strong.  At 7, still laying 4 eggs a week is pretty impressive.

Urban Farm . . . Kids

Well, damn.  That feels good.