Our Week In Pictures

On Our Own

   This weekend was tough.

   The first art weekend without our mentor.

   No one sitting at the head of the table... no one hogging all the pickled beets at supper time ... no little surprise treats at the table... no pearls of wisdom when things went south...

    But, you know what? We made it through. The first night was pretty rough and raw. The teacher's work area had been set up at the end of the big table, as usual - but no one was sitting there. We all sort of did a double take when we came into the work room. The space just seemed so "empty". It was somber and sad, at first. We missed Christy's big laugh and the hearty greeting that she always gave. I think (without saying it out loud) everyone was a little nervous about attempting the projects without the guidance that we felt we needed.

   Then everyone started in on their project, a little hesitant at first. Before long, people were sharing their talents and supplies and lamenting the fact that Christy was not here, but figuring things out and offering suggestions when someone else needed a hand. The canvases turned out beautifully and we were proud of ourselves! I guess we must have been paying attention to Christy's teachings after all!

   I know that she was with us, I know that she thought we had done well.

   I know she would be proud, too!

My Favourite Photo Of The Week

     You have to get up pretty early to beat these guys! On this particular morning, I was on a mission. It was Saturday morning and I was hurrying to get chores done and get on the road, it was auction sale day and Mike was taking me to Picture Butte for my birthday.

      All night (instead of sleeping) I was fantasizing about what would be in those cardboard boxes at the auction sale. When you drive into the parking lot, you can see rows of boxes... many contain rabbits, there are usually a few boxes of worn out, old brown laying hens - but then, there are always surprises! I get butterflies, just thinking about it!

      Seriously.

      It reminds me of child like anticipation on Christmas Eve. I dream about what critters will be brought in - one can never be sure as to what is sitting out in the parking lot or going to come into the ring at the Picture Butte Auction. It literally could be anything!

      Suffice it to say, even though I flew through my chores, showered and was ready at the agreed upon time, my day did not go as planned. Mike was not ready, then we had to trade trucks with Andrew (he needed our truck to pull the stock trailer. He was going to pick up his cows). We hopped into his truck, realizing that we were already running behind. I was getting a little hot under the collar. Why did the truck swap not happen last night?

      Then we looked at the fuel gauge. Andrew did not have any diesel in his truck.

       None.

      By this time, I was so hot that there was probably steam coming off my head. Now we were REALLY LATE, because of course (in my mind) we were missing all the good stuff. The "smalls" start selling promptly at 10:00am and the auctioneer is usually done in about a half an hour. I may have said a "few" bad words and made some very unkind remarks about men in general. Confession - I said a lot of bad words and I pretty much cussed out all the men in the world. Twice.

     And that was before we saw the train... wouldn't you know it, we ran right, smack into a very long freight train and we had to wait. Then we had to get fuel. Peyton had to pee. I was almost starting to twitch.

    The rest of the story ... we missed the important part of the sale. There was not a single person left in the parking lot,  they were already walking back to their trucks, carrying their precious boxes. I was frantic as I peered into the ones left out in the gravel sales area. Rabbits. Old laying hens. I was starting not to hyperventilate any more, maybe there had not been any thing that terribly exciting at the sale, after all. Then I saw the BIG BOXES, off to the side.

      There were ducks. There had been ducks at this sale. 

     "My" birthday ducks.

       Not just any old ducks, either.  They were Harlequin ducks, males with vibrant green heads and more drab looking hens. I was choked!  The worst part was that when we took a seat in the building, to watch the rest of the sale, I had a clear sight line to that wriggling box. I sat there through the pigs, sheep, goats and milk cows, thinking about those damn ducks, out there in the driveway - fuming in silence. It took a lovely lunch at my favourite restaurant and a trip to Peavey Mart, before I stopped sulking and put my big girl panties back on.

      I had to admit, it was a wonderful birthday adventure, even sans ducks! I just have to try and figure out how to quiet the voices in my head that keep telling me to buy chickens. LOL.They get me into a lot of trouble!

 
   

   

   

Reports Of His Demise Have Been Greatly Exaggerated!

Well, it is hard to believe that this little guy is still with us. He has a fighting spirit, there is no denying it. Popcorn has had a rough week!

1) He gets attacked by an unknown assailant, although we have a suspect.
2) Popcorn spends the night under the chicken house, without food and water.
3) We "poke" him out with a 2 x 4, and find out he is alive.
4) I put him back in the chicken house, on a bed of clean straw and he has his head pecked in by a dominant rooster (at which point, I rescue him again) Now he has a hole in his head... Literally! (ROTFL)
5) I put him in a box in the heated machinery shed, thinking that he will "expire" before morning.
6) In the morning he is alive, but barely. I thought that I should do a physical exam. I don't know why, but I felt the need to put on latex gloves ( as if that would make it MORE official or something). I could not find any broken bones and Popcorn tolerated the exam like a pro. (He was half dead) LOL.
7) I take him down to the shed by the house and hand water him with an eyedropper. He is too weak to eat, but the second time that I go to check on him, he started to drink from the eyedropper quite zealously.
8) On day four, Popcorn is STARVING, and gobbles down a lot of food and drinks eagerly between feedings. I gave him lots of corn kernels for energy and warmth. He can not stand on his own, so I have to put him in my lap to hand feed and water him.

Between gulps of water, he "growls". I don't really know how to describe the sound that Popcorn  makes. He will not take another sip until he growls - I soon discover this chicken feeding thing takes A LOT OF TIME!!! Thank the good Lord that it is warm outside - I take my coffee cup along with me and I sip on it, while Popcorn sips and growls.

Mike thinks I am bad shit cray cray!

And that was before  I had a dream where I built a chicken swing to dangle him from. Where Popcorn could hang out (literally) and rebuild his strength, or heal whatever is broken. So this morning, I got up and went through my basement until I found Peyton's jolly jumper. Then the issue became, "what do I use for the harness"? I immediately thought of a bra.

Couldn't figure out how to make that one work - but now I am minus two bras! LOL.

I finally settled on a small size reusable shopping bag, cut in strategic places for a tail, head and two legs to protrude. I found a soft, thick pad that used to be part of a floor cleaning wand that I bought years ago - I hot glued it to the bottom of the shopping bag and left a little hanging out the front to protect Popcorn's neck from the cut edge of the shopping bag. It looks like a bib!

I was hooking my "chicken hammock" up when Mike came through the door for lunch. He looked a little incredulous. Then he went into hysterics.

Seriously.

Okay, it might not be conventional, but I feel slightly responsible for the state that Popcorn is in. I did let a rooster almost peck him to death! I can not have his death on my conscience - I need to rehabilitate my little buddy!

I was not able to take any photos of Popcorn in the chicken swing - it was an epic fail!! Poor, handicapped Popcorn kept falling out on his head and landing upside down. I may have cut the hole for his head a little too big, trying to make sure that he did not feel like he was strangling! So I am going back to the drawing board.

I hate to admit defeat. Mike's comment to me when he left after lunch was, "I am pretty sure the rooster is not the only one with a hole in its head!" 

I can still hear his laughter ringing, as he shut the door....

Ode to Popcorn

This funny looking little guy was one of the first chickens that arrived at our farm this summer. He had arrived at the Picture Butte Auction Mart, stuffed in a box with a couple of "normal looking" ban ty hens. He sort of freaked me out when he hopped out of the box  - he was not a looker! I don't think he had much human contact either, he was a little stand-offish. All summer, we sort of ignored each other and beside Peyton giving him the name of "Popcorn", he sort of remained in the fringes and didn't bother anyone.

When it got a little chilly and I started scattering a little corn in the evenings, to keep the gang warm, Popcorn won my heart. I fell hard!! This little odd fellow would spot me across the farm yard and come running. It was quite a sight. He had furry little feet, that made him look like he was wearing snow boots, several sizes too large for his diminutive body.

Popcorn would gallop. I mean gallop, to me!

Pretty soon, he had the whole flock galloping to get their treats - but he was always the leader!

Eventually I could call them. (That probably was and is quite the sight!) The gang would come - thanks to Popcorn and his never ending, hungry stomach. He endeared himself to me, by being so friendly. He was not a bully like the other roosters. This little fellow was always happy to see me. Soon, I could pet him and he would not shy away.

Popcorn moulted this fall and while he was getting his new pin feathers on his head and neck, he looked just like Guy Feiri, the chef. You can not look at this picture and not see a little "Guy" looking back at you! Just look at that hair feathers! LOL

This weekend, disaster struck the gang. I found Popcorn lying in the driveway, unable to stand or walk. He groaned when I picked him up. I knew he was a goner. However, I placed him in the chicken house, on a bed of fresh straw. At dusk, he was gone. I looked until it got dark. Then I noticed that he was not the only one. My little white and brown hen, Laressa, was also hurt. At bedtime, when I went to lock the door for the night, Popcorn was absent from lock down. I knew he was dead, there was no way he would miss coming back to the coop.

In the morning, Laressa was dead.

Mike and I checked everywhere for Popcorn. Nothing. In the afternoon, Mike found him under the chicken coop, still alive - but barely. He had survived the night, due to our unseasonably warm November. We relocated him to a quiet place. He is not expected to live and if I knew a Doctor Kavorkian for chickens, I would have put him out of his misery.

I just can not do it myself. I comforted him and gave him all the necessaries of life. I said a prayer.

Tomorrow is going to be hard.

Poor Popcorn and Laressa.

I also think I know the criminal involved in the attacks. He is known to law enforcement. Trouble is, I have no proof.

So tonight, Jack is still a free dog. But he is being watched.

This Week On The Farm

It has been a crazy busy week on the farm - I am reminded of squirrels scurrying around, preparing for the cold weather to come. I certainly have felt like a squirrel - I am glad to see the last of the beets in jars! I am about 500% over pickled beets right now. I have had enough!! The garden is empty at last! All of Megan's hall benches are finished for her next painting class and there might even be one extra for me! I am hoping that the 11th person does not show up for the class! We have been working hard this week to finish all outstanding projects... so that we can start new ones next week! LOL

The week started out all frosty and cold and then turned into the nicest of weekends! I am THANKFUL for every single day that the hoses are not frozen, when I go out to do chores in the morning. The nice spell this week allowed me to get the spruce trees watered in for the fall. Then those hoses can be rolled up for the last time. I am glad that the gardening season is over - gardening season is closely followed by craft season.

This week, Mike and I went on a little adventure - to look at a SeaCan that had been customized and made into a chicken house. On Wednesday, we drove to Nobleford to check out the building. Sweet deal!! I ended up buying it and this upcoming week, I get to make the trip with the semi to pick it up.
I sweet talked Andrew in the loan of his truck and trailer. Mike is totally shaking his head.

More chickens."Just what we need!" I hear him saying. In disbelief.

Shock, really.

We have gone from 0 to 40 chickens in three months.

This building will allow me to get another 50.

He is starting to freak out! He thinks I am in full blown mid-life crisis.

I just need 5, 10, 15, 25, 40, 50 more. That is all. I promise will try!

(The building will hold 300). Shhhh, don't tell my husband!

He will stoke out.

My Old Playhouse Gets A New Look

Back when I was a little girl, my grandfather and my dad spent one winter building my sister and I a playhouse. They told us that it was a little house for baby piggies and the little cubbies that they were building were where the little piglets would live, when it was actually the kitchen cupboards they were working on.

I might be dating myself, but it was a LONG TIME ago.

Panelling on the walls was the rage.

So was yellow linoleum.

It was sooooo cute. It had two little windows with cheery flowered curtains. The sweetest set of kitchen cupboards - right down to the two little built in cutting boards. There was a second hand set of cheery floral dishes (that we did not know were second hand) and a yellow legged, wooden farmhouse table. My cousins were so envious!

We LIVED in that thing. It was wired so that we had electricity for our record player. It had a cot that was big enough for the two of us girls to sleep outside when the upstairs of our farm house was too hot. It was a sweet set up. Out back, we had a little graveyard for all the pets and assorted "dead" creatures that we killed buried. Complete with little wooden crosses and funeral services, as needed.

When we out grew the playhouse, it became a storage shed. Then a building for my brother to store his coyote and beaver hides and one day, about 25 years after that, dad delivered it to my farm. Megan was about five years old then. The old playhouse got a new coat of paint and a good disinfection, cheery curtains and a new set of toys.

When it was forgotten and traded (in sorts) for ponies and 4-H calves, it became a shed again. For years now, it has been sitting forlornly behind our wind fence, unloved and struggling.

Until this week.

This week, it was rudely ripped from its resting place, skidded up a hill and up ended. Guts were ripped out, siding removed and its rotting belly exposed to the saw blade. In less than 24 hours, the rot had been replaced with bright new lumber. Strength. Security.

Soon this unloved treasure will be sporting red siding and new windows, a cute veranda and a new asphalt roof. It is coming over to the workshop. It has a new home and a new purpose.

That is, if Mike can pry the shingles off. Andrew may have nailed a case of roofing nails into the old roof, when he was about six years old. A whole case.

Poor Mike!

Halloween night - just one little trick'r'treater at our house- but our favourite one! It was such a crazy week that we did not get to have our family pumpkin carving tradition. Peyton was in school, Megan was sick - so Mike and I carved our pumpkins together (couples quality time).

Mine is the cat, Mike's is the graveyard scene. It was fun to spend the afternoon together and by the time that Peyton got to our house, the roasting pumpkin seeds were in the oven, but not quite ready. She was a little miffed that we had carved our pumpkins, without her.

We had a little chuckle at her costume. Earlier in the day, she had been Laura Ingalls - complete with pinafore dress and bonnet. After school, she changed into a Mutant Ninja Turtle - but she was still sporting the braids (minus the ribbons). What a cute little mutant!

Lay, Ladies, Lay!!

    This is about the twelfth day in a row that I have had a disappointing number of eggs in the nest boxes when I have made my morning and afternoon inspections. I am like a drill sergeant, marching around, trying to whip these slackers into shape, inspecting pens, nest boxes and perches. Making sure the water is clean, with one exact tablespoon of apple cider vinegar added to each. Checking that there are black sunflower seeds available. Providing the perfect number of hours of supplemental light.

Slackers. All of them.

 I keep cheering them on - Lay, ladies, lay!

The ducks on the other hand are laying GIGANTIC eggs.

Regularly.

Daily.

Did I mention GIGANTIC eggs? Easily worth two or three chicken eggs a piece. So, I did a little chicken math. If a duck will lay approximately 200 eggs a year and, lets say, each egg replaces TWO chicken eggs then each duck will lay the equivalent of 400 chicken eggs. No chicken can do that!!

So, ladies, I am putting you on notice!!

No eggs... no more chances. Period.

Move over you slackers. If you make me go to the store to buy eggs, I will buy ducks!

Lay, ladies, you had better lay!