Almost Farmgirl

Introducing the bitty babies!

Published on September 20, 2014April 2, 2019 by almostfarmgirl18 Comments

September 4th was our four year wedding anniversary. Let me tell you, we are not good at anniversaries. They always begin with the best plans, and somehow, by the end of the night, something has gone sideways, creating a day far different than imagined. For example, this year, we ended up taking care of emergency shoeing stops in Columbia, MO, five hours from home. Our anniversary dinner was especially romantic: Steak n Shake…drive through. We at burgers and fries and drank milkshakes while laughing at the absurdity of it all.

Despite all of this, I must say, my husband knows me exceptionally well: he bought me a perfect anniversary gift.

Meet Violet.

Violet is a yearling mini mare who was originally rescued by Guardian Oaks from the New Holland Auction with her mama when she was only a day old. She is tiny, barely standing past my knees, and is very sweet. Jeremiah adopted her for me.

Keep in mind, Jeremiah has often claimed that the four horsemen of the apocalypse will ride in on mini ponies. As a farrier, he’s dealt with some monstrous ones. Why? Because they’re small, and not intimidating like a bigger horse, minis are often owned by people who don’t know the first thing about horses: People who try to treat them like big dogs…which they are not. They often end up mishandled and difficult. (He is usually not a fan of minis, but he knows I like them, so he found one for me.) This little girl, unlike many of her breed, has been appropriately handled since the beginning, and it shows.

Oh, and did I mention we brought home an extra?

His name is Slash, and we brought him along as company for Violet. Right now, he’s a foster pony, but one of Jeremiah’s farrier friends may have a home for him. If she doesn’t, well, we’ll probably just send in his adoption fee and keep him ourselves! Isn’t he adorable?

We brought these little munchkins home on Tuesday–had to literally pick them up and place them in the trailer as they are both too small to make the jump–and they seem pretty happy with us. I haven’t decided whether or not to rename Violet yet. I can’t quite put my finger on the perfect name. In the meantime, I call them my bitty babies.

Bonus? Check out the llamas checking them out.

Once we move back to the farm and I have more time, I’m hoping to really work with Violet so that someday I can have her certified as a therapy animal for use in nursing homes, etc. (I have my eye on a couple of my llamas for the same purpose.) In the meantime, aren’t they just as precious as can be?

DIY: Renovating the kitchen

Published on September 18, 2014February 27, 2016 by almostfarmgirl17 Comments

So, as you all know, we have been undertaking massive renovations on not one, but three houses. Right now, the most important to me is the main house at the farm. It isn’t terribly functional yet, and it is the one we’re planning to live in. As such, we’ve kept busy with constant projects.

The thing is, there is a bizarre-o event that takes place when your house is updated: Suddenly, the rooms you thought were fine, the one you thought you could deal with, start to look shabby. In my case, that room is the kitchen.

Originally, we thought we would use some of the equity in our Heights house, once it sold, to re-do the kitchen. Later, when realizing the inherent troubles that come with attempting to heat such a large house with propane, it became obvious that the reasonable thing to do would be to use the money to put in geothermal heating. Given that gutting and reconstructing a new kitchen will probably cost us our arms, legs, and firstborn child, I decided to deal with the kitchen as-is. It became the “one day” project. One day, when we have less debt and fewer projects that HAVE to be done, I will get a new kitchen. I have no issue with that, but the more we updated around the kitchen, the more dated and out of place the kitchen started to look.

In addition, it isn’t terribly functional for my purposes. The oven works, but is quite small. The stovetop has one working burner.

That’s when the crazy voice inside of my head–let’s call her my Inner DIYer (ala Mother Hen’s Inner Comedienne )or Di–began to follow me into the kitchen. Every time I crossed the kitchen threshold, she was there.

I’m pretty sure I first met my Inner DIYer when I was seven, and she convinced me to cut my own bangs. That turned out about as well as you might imagine. Since then, she has gotten me into a lot of trouble…

“You know what would be nice in here???”

“What?” I mumbled, paying very little attention to her and sorting through likely the millionth llama halter that I probably don’t need. (Hopefully I will check “donate extra llama halters” off of my list eventually, but at the moment, it’s just one more thing I need to do.)

I have to be honest, it’s dangerous to let Di talk to much. She has big ideas that will quickly unleash chaos.

“A coffee bar.”

“No.”

“But why??? All you would need is a small island, and like, a few other things, but it wouldn’t be that hard…probably.”

“Because you’re pointing to the washer/dryer…”

“Oh yeah. Those would have to move, which, by the way, is totally cool because you don’t want house guests to see your dirty underwear on the way to the sunroom ANYWAY! Besides, think about how bad your barn clothes smell! Do you really want that in your KITCHEN! Your food is here.”

I glanced up. She had a point. I mean, who wants dirty underwear in their kitchen…and my barn clothes are pretty bad…and Jeremiah’s shoeing clothes are way worse. Gross…

Di grinned. She is excellent at reading the room and always knows when to push an issue.

“Know what else? If you knocked down the wall in front of the washer/dryer, you could put in a breakfast nook.”

“What about the coffee bar?”

She shrugged. “It will probably still fit. Or you can just put it in the sunroom. You’ll be repainting, right?”

“This room? No.”

“Because you’re in love with the orange and blue floral wallpaper?”

“Because it would require me to REMOVE the orange and blue floral wallpaper.”

“But just think of how good it would look. I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything, but this room looks ridiculous next to the new dining room.”

I glanced around. She had a point.

“And it’s dated.”

Also true, but holy cow, whining much?

“And really, I mean, I know it looks small now, but this is a big space.”

I looked around, confused. “It really isn’t.”

“No, you’re looking at it all wrong. You have to sort of wipe the slate clean in your head. Just, like, mentally remove all of the cabinets and appliances…and the washer/dryer.”

It took a moment, but once I did that, I realized she was right.

“So,” she continued, “if you take out this island with the cooktop,” (she slid a finger across it like it was going to infect her with unimaginative design or something) “which only one burner works anyway, and you took out the cabinet where the stove sits and replace it with a standard oven, you can maximize floor space and open the floor plan. It will look way bigger.”

“If we take out the island, we’ll have to replace the floor.”

“And…?”

“And that’s expensive and time consuming.”

“Well…yes. BUT, you could wait on the floor. Put a rug down in the meantime. You don’t even like the current floor so who cares.”

“That’s true…but really it’s the cabinets…”

“Yes?”

“I mean, if I could only change one thing…”

“Yes???”

“I would change them.”

“I knew it!”

“But it would be WAY too expensive.”

She scrunched up her nose and looked around.

“We’ll paint them.”

“Oh god…”

“Yeah, I saw it on Pinterest. Can totally be done. And it’s going to look great.”

She grinned.

“But first, the we’re going to take down the wallpaper.”

So, we’ve been tearing down wallpaper (big thanks to my friend Vicky who helped me remove almost all of it), sanding cabinets and prepping for paint, both on the walls and the cabinets. And we’re discussing tearing out the island, putting in a few new appliances, a new backsplash…

Maybe a breakfast nook…

This is the room I wasn’t going to touch.

A week at the ranch.

Published on September 7, 2014February 27, 2016 by almostfarmgirl15 Comments

It’s been an eventful week at the ranch. Despite not living there, we’ve been busy!

For example, I pulled in yesterday morning and found this. He started with power washing and proceeded to paint by the end of the day.

Not sure if you can really tell, but by evening most of the front of the house was done.

Fall has officially made it’s way to Central Illinois. The weather yesterday was perfect: sunny, no hotter than 70 with a beautiful breeze. We’re doubling down on outdoor efforts. Lady Fall is enticing and beautiful, but she’s followed quickly by Old Man Winter, and, according to the Farmer’s Almanac, he’s going to be a doozy. It won’t be terribly long before we get weathered out of the outdoor work, and neither of us want a half painted house all winter.

We also bought the most perfect dining room table last week. Jeremiah and I found it in an antique store a few towns away. (In addition to all of his other wonderful qualities, Jeremiah actually enjoys going to antique stores on occasion. I’m a very lucky girl…) It’s a farmhouse table, new construction, but made out of 100+ year old barn wood. I’m a little bit smitten with it.

2014-08-29 17.04.19 — Jeremiah and his little brother bringing it in. Apparently it’s absurdly heavy.

The table, moved into our dining room. (The middle piece of wood you see is actually a table runner made of a 200+ year old barnwood beam.)

One of our friendly neighborhood hummers got caught in our mudroom while it was opened up to dry. Jeremiah eventually got it to go outside. The little bird was not overly grateful. (If you’re not familiar with hummers, they are very cheeky little things. We love them anyway.)

This one may gross some of you out, but I think it’s funny.

The chickens have been thoroughly enjoying their free range time, and a few of them discovered the manure pit. I know the phrase is usually “happier than a pig in poop,” but as I understand it, pigs actually prefer to be clean. The chickens, however? They think it’s pretty great.

Also, see below for the inherent hazard of letting your chickens free range:

They are pretty darn thrilled with their discovery of the hay stall. It has excellent dust for dust baths, AND there’s a nifty, secluded corner to build a nest. Now I have to check for eggs there every time I let them out. But c’mon, how cute is the little nest with the colored eggs?

And finally, we took out Vinny’s stiches yesterday. I expected a total freak out, as Jeremiah wanted to try it without sedation first, but we were pleasantly surprised when Vin stood like a champ. He’s come so far since he came home with us! This horse used to run away like a maniac anytime we came in the pasture, and now, this.

He stood and chomped down grain the whole time. God love him.

All done! He’ll probably always have a scar, but this one ended up way better than it might have. It healed up very well. Thank God for great vets and good horses.

Over the next few days, we’re hoping to move back in. (We’re both losing patience with the constant driving back and forth.) The house is vented with airmovers exchanging air in the basement 10 times per house. The vents were cleaned earlier this week… Hopefully, that will be enough to make the place livable again. Fingers crossed. If not, the movers are hopefully coming at the end of the month to clear out the basement, and then we will be free and clear to get the mothballs and the mold professionally mitigated.

Because Science…

Published on September 6, 2014 by almostfarmgirl10 Comments

So, I have poison ivy. AGAIN.

If anyone is keeping track, that brings my count to, I think, five times this in the last few months. Given that it usually takes a few weeks to go away, that means I’ve basically had poison ivy to some degree ALL SUMMER.

Last night, as Jeremiah and I were winding down from our exceedingly exciting anniversary (Recap: We drove five hours to Columbia, MO. He put shoes on three horses while I watched him put shoes on three horses. We drove five hours home.), I was complaining about wanting to scratch my skin off. Anything that I knew had the potential to make the itching feel better (anti-itch cream, etc) was, you guessed it, at the ranch. Driving there to pick up such items wasn’t really an option, nor was high-tailing it to the local Walgreens. (Because it was late, and I was lazy.)

Instead, I did what any good millennial will do when in need of solutions to a problem.

I Googled it. (WordPress, by the way is flagging “Googled” as misspelled. At first I thought it was just jealous of Google’s success, until it flagged “WordPress” too…)

Turns out, Google’s first impulse is to assume that I’m trying to make poison. (To what ends, Google apparently does not judge.) It’s second impulse is to assume I’m a medieval sorcerer in search of potion making tips and tricks. (You have to go with sorcerer, by the way, because witch is just loaded with gender biased connotations. You probably don’t have to assume it’s medieval, but I did because I like the word medieval.) It is not until Google’s third impulse that we get anywhere near where we need to be.

You know what this means, don’t you? It means that there are more people out there searching for ways to make poison…or, erm, poison potions…than there are innocent people like me who just want to make poison ivy go away.

And, incidentally, Google still got it wrong because I wanted to search for “how to make poison ivy stop itching.”

Once I got passed my initial searching, which took a while because of the running commentary I was providing for my husband who really trying hard to get some legal documents filed with legal zoom, I finally found a fairly useful article on WebMD.

And by fairly useful, I mean that it provided quality information without suggesting that my poison ivy might be cancer.

I had been expecting all of the websites to recommend hydrocortisone cream or something, which I did not have. Instead, though, WebMD offered up some really basic suggestions. There were a bunch of things on this really long list, but I only read the first three:
1. Ice it.
2. Use a baking soda paste on the affected area.
3. Use watered down vinegar.
Now, these suggestions are all meant to be used individually, but, being the overachiever that I am, I decided to try all of them at once.

Go back and read that list again. Do you have it yet?

Yeah…I basically made up a batch of the contents of a third grader’s volcano science project, put it on a paper towel, and then threw an ice pack over the top of it. (By the way, overachievers don’t water down the vinegar…or the baking soda…because that would just be silly.)

Know what? Totally worked.

I’m not even kidding. Within about 10 minutes, the poison ivy rash that had been tormenting me all day stopped itching. And the itching hasn’t come back. Because science.

Now, if only I could come up with a delivery method that INCLUDED the 3rd grade volcano, this would perhaps be the best discovery ever.

The one where we moved in and then moved back out again…in less than a week.

Published on August 28, 2014February 27, 2016 by almostfarmgirl14 Comments

I spent the morning riding a 17.3hh Friesian Sport horse. It was a nice change of pace to do something purely for the enjoyment of it, not because it had to be done. My lesson went exceedingly well, and I left feeling positively gleeful. That was also a nice change.

The past few days have involved a lot of…erm…poo…hitting a really big fan…metaphorically speaking. (Probably literally as well, but that’s just life in a barn that runs fans. We don’t like to think about it too much.)

August 22nd marked the first night actually sleeping at the ranch. (If you’ve been wondering why I haven’t been posting so much, that’s why.) Over the past week, we have been nearly frantic with packing, then unpacking, painting and cleaning, and, of course, all of the things that we have to do every day to keep the animals happy and the farm running. Our moving day began with a massive thunderstorm, then progressed into one of the hottest, most humid days of the summer.

And that was the good part.

After moving to the ranch, Jeremiah and I started to get ill. First, I blamed my allergies. My eyes were itchy. I was sneezy. (Incidentally, “Sneezy” is one of Jeremiah’s nicknames for me; I call him Grumpy in return.) I had a vaguely sore throat. Jeremiah had a headache.

Allergies, right?

But then it got worse. I was fatigued. I had stabbing pains in my abdomen. My eyes went from itchy to burning (as in, I couldn’t even wear my contacts). My sore throat became almost unbearable. Jeremiah’s headache progressed from mild to near-migraine. We both started having respiratory problems.

Turns out, the house has some issues. We discovered the first issue when Jeremiah went downstairs to light a pilot light in the water heater. To get to it, he had to make his way through one of the rooms with the previous owners’ belongings. When he did, he discovered that the downstairs bedrooms have some serious mold going on. That would explain my increased allergies.

The next day, when his mother came over and commented on the moth ball smell in the house, Jeremiah explained that moth balls are all over the place in the house, and that we had been removing them as we cleaned upstairs. However, there are tons of them in the basement as well; we can’t remove them until the previous owners’ belongings move out.

She started thinking.

About an hour later she sent the two of us a text explaining the effects of moth ball poisoning. Actually, it’s naphthalene poisoning, but you get naphthalene poisoning from moth balls, so moth ball poisoning. Turns out, our symptoms read like a checklist of the early effects of exposure to naphthalene.

Did you know that moth balls are incredibly toxic? Yeah…me either.

They can make you very sick if you breathe the vapor they produce as they break down. They are also highly carcinogenic. They can burn your retinas. They can cause cataracts. Turns out, they can even put you in a coma (but I’m pretty sure you would have to stir them up in your tea for that to happen). Either way, nasty stuff. If you have kids or pets, you probably shouldn’t have moth balls, and if you choose to use them, make sure that they are in a sealed container, like a garment or blanket bag.

But I digress…

Once my mama-in-law sent over that information, we started packing up (again). Let me tell you, repacking household items only days after you had unpacked them is depressing. I have no words really. The first thing we did was load our pups into the car and take them to my mom’s place. Tomorrow, I will bring them back to the Heights house, as we are temporarily set up again over there, but for the last day and a half they have been having a sleep over. After that, we packed up the necessities and high tailed it back to the other house.

There is a plan in action to clean up the mold and the moth balls, so this is far from permanent, but for the time being, we’re back to managing the ranch from across the river.

This sort of thing is often referred to as a bump in the road. Over the past few days, our road has gotten pretty darn bumpy.

The good news? (And there is A LOT of good here.)

First, we figured this out RIGHT AWAY. Long term exposure to either the mold or the moth balls can cause pretty nasty damage, so it is a huge blessing that we figured those things out when we did. Props to Jeremiah’s mama for putting two and two together. (Also, in case you were wondering, we’re both way better now; it took about 12 hours of being moved out of the house for pretty much all of our symptoms to go away.)

Second, we weren’t fully packed up, and a lot of what we unpacked can stay until this is remedied.

Third, we hadn’t moved any of the small critters. The cats and hedgehogs were still in the Heights. The moth balls could have caused serious problems for our hedgies delicate respiratory systems, so it’s fantastic that they won’t move in until this is cleared up.

The cats last night. I think they were pretty happy to have us home.

Fourth, even though it made us sick, living at the ranch gave us a bunch of time to get stuff done. Half of the upstairs is newly painted. The exterior of the house is about a quarter painted. We got a bunch of cleaning done.

The house before Jeremiah started his work on it.

Slightly different angle on the same part of the house yesterday.

Finally, we both got a good taste of what it is like to wake up and be able to meander up to the barn to take care of the animals. No drive. No rush. Bliss. Even with all that has happened, I cannot wait for the day we can do that every morning. I just have to get past a few bumps in the road first.

(SNEAK PEAK: Our fourth wedding anniversary is coming up in a few days. I cannot wait to introduce you to…ummm…I mean show you…my present. Stay tuned.)

I don’t usually do this, but…

Published on August 22, 2014February 27, 2016 by almostfarmgirl4 Comments

Hey Guys!

I don’t usually do this, but one of my best friends in the world just started a blog.

Me and Amy at my wedding... — Me and Amy at my wedding…

If you like my writing, odds are you’ll like hers. She’s writing about living in the brand new adventure of mommy-hood.

Anyway, you should check her out at Mouse of the House

Of course, she’s on BlogSpot, not WordPress, but then, everyone makes mistakes.

(Tell her Cherity sent you.)

The Seven Emotional Stages of Painting

Published on August 21, 2014February 27, 2016 by almostfarmgirl12 Comments

The end is drawing nigh. And by the end I think I mean the beginning, or possibly the middle.

(Is it apparent yet that I almost never have any real idea what I’m talking about?)

For the past week or so, we’ve been cleaning and painting in preparation for actually moving into the farm. Now, we don’t have the whole house yet, as the previous occupants are storing some of their belongings at the ranch until they can have them moved (their new home is still under construction), but we do have most of the upstairs at our disposal, and, given that just the upstairs of the new house is more than twice the size of my present home, I think we can manage.

My goals before moving are as follows:
1. Finished Bedroom.
2. Clean and Functional Kitchen.
3. Clean and Functional Bathroom.
4. Clean Sunroom.

I have attempted a cursory cleaning of the whole upstairs, but the living room, for example, won’t really be cleanable until the window is replaced. (We’re thinking the contractor will be getting back with us today on that…) Plus, at the moment, it’s where we’re putting all of the other furniture as we clean other rooms.

Anyway, about a week or so ago, I undertook the project of painting our new master bedroom. It’s 300+ square feet all on its own, so it was no small task. If I’m being honest, I’ve had the primary paint color for over a month. It’s just one of those projects that I really didn’t even want to start.

The above pictures were taken several months ago. I think it goes without saying that there is a ton of potential in the room. For one, it’s huge! There is a ton of natural light. It takes up the entire end of the house. It also needed a lot of updating. The carpet, original to the house I think, had to go. The previous occupants left the furniture you see in the photo for us to keep if we wished. The walls, white throughout the house except where there is wallpaper, needed an update.

So, last week, I started updating it.

I should tell you, once upon a time, I enjoyed painting. My experience thereof was mostly a room here and there in my parents’ house or a room or two helping out a friend. Then, Jeremiah and I bought our first home. It’s only 800 or so square feet, but we basically painted every single room. That was only three and a half years ago.

I don’t like painting so much anymore… But over the last few weeks, I’ve realized that painting is an emotional process, as well as a physical one. It’s almost cyclical, really. Somewhere between the first coat of “Beach” on that first wall and the last coat of high gloss white on the crown molding, I’ve come to realize that there are definite stages of painting.

The Stages of Painting

Stage One: Optimism (AKA – Wall Number One)

I started on this wall... — I started on this wall…

During Stage One of painting, everything is coming up sunshine and roses. It is during that stage that you congratulate yourself. Paint that had been in a pail is going on the wall. It’s a step in the right direction. You are doing it! You’re awesome. Go you! Not only are you being productive, but you have excellent taste. Not just anyone can pick a good paint color. (We’ve all been to those houses where someone else’s “sunny yellow” looks more like “dehydrated urine”…you know what I’m talking about.) But you? You picked “Beach” grey from a myriad of other greys. And “Beach” grey, it appears, is probably the best grey in the history of ever.

Stage Two: Boredom

Stage Two moves past the initial self-congratulatory stage and into tedium. You’re bored. Also, you’re pretty sure gnomes have come in the night and have slapped white paint up where you had painted grey. Beach grey, to be exact. Though, now that you’re looking at it, you’re not sure it’s quite so “beachy.” How do they come up with those names, anyway? And seriously with the gnomes…you are sure you had more done. And what was wrong with white, anyway? Other than the vaguely clinical feel it had…you can totally deal with institutional white for the rest of your life, right? Right?

Stage Three: Reinforcements

This is the one where every girl on the planet (or maybe just me) starts to consider calling in the cavalry…

“Daddy!”

And he comes over, and he slaps a second coat of paint up way faster than should have been humanly possible. As you look around, you briefly revert to Stage One. Wow – look at that; two whole coats! Looks pretty good if you do say so yourself. Totally Beachy! You are a master of paint choosing! And it wasn’t THAT bad.

You are practically done. Except for that bump out wall, and all the trim, and the baseboards, and the crown molding.

You start to look around at all the detail work, and the optimism vanishes again.

Stage Four: Doubt

You may never finish this. Between the detail work and the gnomes, this will probably never get done. It is with a sigh that you choose your second color. Your “accent” color. You pick something with a coffee name. MMMMM…coffee. You totally need coffee. Coffee would probably make everything better.

You briefly wonder if you picked the color solely because you’re tired and need coffee. It doesn’t really matter though, because you will NEVER, EVER finish.

For some reason, I decided this needed to be a different color.

2014-08-17 17.26.15 — The ceiling fan changed. That is one of the things the boy was working on while I painted.

Stage Five: Insanity

The coffee color looks pretty darn great. You realize that it would look fantastic on the baseboards! And the trim! And who cares if it’s a super dark color with no room for error? You’ve totally got this!

Stage five doesn’t last very long. You move almost immediately into stage six. Regret.

Stage Six: Regret (AKA Trimming and Weeping)

During this stage, you get to be exceedingly good with tape, but not quite good enough. You paint the baseboards and trim with two coats of an absurdly dark color (what were you thinking?) and then manically correct tiny imperfections with a craft brush roughly the size of your pinkie nail. Why? Well, because the crappy paint lines in your current bedroom have been bugging you for almost three years. And you won’t have it again! (This stage mimics insanity quite nicely…)

Stage Six: Rage!

The trim is nearly finished. Then the unthinkable happens. All is takes is one poorly applied piece of tape above the window frame. That line is crap, and you flip your lid over a paint line that follows a poorly applied piece of tape (the one and only piece of tape stuck down by your poor, unfortunate husband). It’s on the last freaking piece of trim before the crown molding! You are very lucky that no one else is there because at this point you would probably be institutionalized. You are especially lucky that your husband is no where to be found, because the rage that is burning within your soul is completely unreasonable. You need a moment to quell it…and to fix that freaking paint line.

You call it a day because painting is no reason to turn into the Hulk.

Stage Seven: Acceptance and Relief

You are now a pro. The tape below the crown molding is almost perfect, and it has been applied as one consecutive piece. You slap it up in minutes. And even your husband, who you are no longer unreasonably furious with (luckily that passed quickly and internally) is impressed. Two coats of high gloss white go up without much issue. And, amazingly, you are done.

Seriously. You are done. It is finished. You thought this moment would never come, especially with the gnomes. But it’s here.

And it is magnificent.

But, if you’re honest, you feel very little satisfaction. Just relief. You are so relieved that you don’t even mind that you got white paint on your favorite Doctor Who t-shirt.

One room down, all of the rest to go…

I fought the farm and the farm won.

Published on August 15, 2014February 27, 2016 by almostfarmgirl10 Comments

Sometimes, as I’m finishing up evening chores, watching my llamas and horses graze while the sun sets, I think that Jeremiah and I have managed to find our way into a corner of the world’s most perfect paradise. A place over run with butterflies and hummingbirds, overcome with the sweet smell of hay or newly mowed grass.

Other times?

Well, other times I wander through the yard and make my way through some poison ivy that I didn’t know was there. And I spend the next few hours itching and thinking about all of the places where the property is still overgrown. (That just happened yesterday by the way. I just picked up prednisone from the pharmacy a few hours ago. Hopefully, by this evening, I will stop wanting to scratch my skin off.)

Sometimes, the wildness of the place is what I find most charming, and I am overwhelmed by the beauty of it. Other times, I am simply overwhelmed.

This is the double-edged sword of country living. Keeping the chickens AND having to kill the raccoon. Enjoying the butterflies and hoping that we managed to kill all of the black widows…but knowing that we probably didn’t. The chipmunks that look so cute scampering around the driveway…and all the mice that come free with the house. (We will have to do something about that, and I will feel awful because I like mice–I’ve even had a few pet ones–I just don’t like them running wild in my house.)

The wildflowers AND THE FREAKING POISON IVY!

And I’m not even going to think about the mountain lion that we spotted earlier this year; pretty sure he was just passing through.

And in moments like this, it’s best to not think too hard about the difficulties. Just keep calm and carry on.

Beautiful pasture, complete with lovely wildflowers and poison ivy. *Sigh*

No…I’m not going to eat them. (On keeping chickens that aren’t going to end up on your table.)

Published on August 7, 2014February 27, 2016 by almostfarmgirl14 Comments

I didn’t go with Jeremiah to the farm this morning. Partly, that’s because as he readily points out, I don’t do mornings. (That’s not entirely true, I just don’t do mornings as early or as well as he does.) Also, we were expecting Mr. Raccoon to be trapped in the live trap we set, and, while I know exactly what has to be done and why, I didn’t really want to be there to see it.

I suppose I’m something of a “bleeding heart.” The other day, I found three baby mice and their mama in a feed bin…and I carried the bin across the property and out to the woods to let them go. Last fall, when a baby raccoon was living in the horse barn (and regularly messing with Jeremiah’s stuff), I disallowed shooting it. It was, after all, only a baby. (Now I’m vaguely concerned that my kindness directly translated to the later killing of my chickens, but luckily, I can never actually know.)

Recently, a friend was incredulous upon learning that I have no plans to eat my chickens.

“So, you’re not going to raise and slaughter your own meat!?!?”

He seemed almost annoyed by this…

…I’m still not sure why.

Don’t get me wrong, I have IMMENSE respect for ranchers who humanely raise livestock, fighting against the factory farming trend that is almost exclusive these days. Such people should be applauded and supported! However, I am not one of them. (If you’re interested in reading updates from such ranchers, check out a girl and her chickens or Full Circle Farm. I really enjoy reading both of their blogs.)

Why am I not one of them? For one thing, adding meat animals to my current menagerie would take up even more time. Time, for me, is at a premium. Also, they would take up space, also at a premium. The farm is not my job, it’s my home. I really don’t want to change that.

Additionally, if it’s not clear already, I get attached to my animals. I’m not sure why I’d want to take on MORE WORK to raise slaughter animals when I know for a fact that it isn’t something I’d enjoy.

Finally, while we’re by no means vegetarians, we really don’t eat much meat. To accommodate the meat-eating that we do, I have no problem paying a premium for local or independently certified humane meat. I buy my beef from family, and I’m still trying to work through the beef quarter I bought last fall!

All of this said, I’m still not sure why it’s a problem or, even worse, why people are annoyed that my chickens might actually die of old age…

Just to clear things up, I thought I’d write a post about why I have chickens, even though I don’t plan to eat them.

Some of my chickens have names. This one, for example, is Lucy.

I thought about writing this as a list, but as I tried to start, I found that the reasons are fairly holistic.

I began to consider keeping chickens when I realized that we were, for sure, buying Eagle Ridge. Part of the reason I do not eat very much meat, and part of the reason I am so intentional about the meat I do buy, is that I know way, way too much about factory farming. It’s horrifying when you look into where most of our meat comes from. And this knowledge comes with implications; for me, I had to rethink what I eat. (For example, I do not eat pork products. I gave that up when I realized what hog confinements really were. I also don’t eat veal due to the usual conditions they’re raised in.)

And, I realized, laying hens are not immune to the implications of factory farming. Not enough space, unhealthy conditions, and drastically shortened lives are the rule, not the exception.

I knew I didn’t want to raise my own meat, but I knew I could handle raising my own laying hens.

I now know EXACTLY where my eggs come from, and that’s rather lovely.

Unexpected bonuses?

Chickens are freaking hilarious! I love watching their antics, and I have found that I generally enjoy keeping them. (Plus, compared to my other critters, they are remarkably low maintenance in the day-to-day.)

–AND–

They thoroughly enjoy the leftovers that would otherwise go to waste. (Less wasted food! Yeah!)

Can anyone explain why it is people would take issue with all of this?

The great chicken massacre of 2014 and the buttressing of Cluckingham…

Published on August 6, 2014February 27, 2016 by almostfarmgirl14 Comments

Alas, there is sad news to report from the Palace of Cluckingham in the Kingdom of Eagle Ridge. We have known since the loss of our most treasured subject that a foul marauder was afoot in our territory, but we naively believed it to reside solely outside of the fortress walls (barn…). Alas, nigh three days ago, we were proven wrong when two more subjects were found dead, this time within our fortress walls. They had been cruelly snatched from their home, drug out from among their kin, and devoured.

Their temporary home deemed unsafe, we doubled down on our efforts to complete their permanent residence. By the setting of the sun, Cluckingham Palace was deemed secure, though still unfinished. One by one, our remaining subjects were carried across the Aisle of Barn and into their new home. They rejoiced and set about their regular tasks of eating, scratching in the dirt, and making noise. And we, their devoted leaders, slept soundly that night, believing our chickeny subjects to be safe from harm.

We should not have slept so soundly.

The dastardly fiend who had so cruelly murdered her kin struck again, this time killing our second to last speckled sussex. He was more clever in his ill intent that we had believed, and he had pulled our temporary defenses (wire stretched across where the door will go) away from the rest of the Palace.

This time he left tracks and fur. We then knew our enemy.

Sadly, the King of Eagle Ridge (Jeremiah) was away, leaving me, the almostfarmgirl Queen of Cluckingham home alone to discover the aftermath of the slaying and to defend my defenseless subjects.

With no King in sight, I did what any Queen under siege should do. I reinforced the defenses of my subjects, and I called for my Allies to aid me in their protection.

Lady Gabriella was the first to come to my aid. Using zipties, we tightened the temporary wire down, leaving no gaps through which our dastardly predator (a raccoon, in case you were wondering…) could enter to terrorize our subjects.

Then, Sir Hezekiah, the user of power tools, screwed in boards along the bottom, for we could not allow the enemy to dig into the Palace.

Finally, I called upon my Sir Kent (my dad – who by the way grew up on a HUGE working farm…erm…I mean kingdom…) to walk the perimeter of the Palace to look for weaknesses in our defenses.

Securing a window that he identified as a fatal flaw in the safety features of the coop.

Read: Stop taking pictures for your blog and hand me a washer... — Read: Stop taking pictures for your blog and hand me a washer…

We baited a trap for the foul beast who has claimed the lives of four of our dear subjects but have not caught the villain. However, since the buttressing of Cluckingham Palace, our subjects have been safe from harm.

And, I assure you, loyal readers, the days of the dastardly raccoon are numbered.