Attacked but not Thwarted

My knight in shining armor (husband) decided to not show his face this past weekend when I was attacked, yes brutally and viciously attacked! Instead, he laughed so hard he cried and then laughed some more. Hurt and angry now aren’t you? I was too – I mean really, a little help would have been greatly appreciated and I wouldn’t have any scars: emotional and physical from this incident (sniff, sniff)…….


There I am innocently picking sunflowers on the side of the road while my husband is hiding in the Jeep (apparently, it is not manly to be seen in a Jeep whilst your wife is picking wild flowers). It happened, out of the blue, I was attacked, no provocation, no warning, no chance to defend myself………. I was tugging and pulling on a stem from a very stubborn and obstinate plant when all of a sudden it uprooted itself and flew at my face knocking me on my backside. Then I heard it, the laughter from my husband and suspiciously, I believe, from the sunflowers alongside the road. Covered in pollen, holding a plant that sacrificed itself to protect the other sunflowers, I was thankful no one was driving down the road to witness this awkward position I had found myself in. I couldn’t believe it, I never knew the sunflowers would have it in them to attack innocent people, especially sweet, little innocent me.

So yes, I was attacked, but I will not be thwarted, I will live to pick another day. I will combat enemy sunflowers and I will conquer. The moral of this story I believe would be don’t pick sunflowers while you have witnesses or at the very least, while your husband is around!

Not Dream Baking Again?

Ech time I watch the Bakery Show The Cake Boss , I dream of baking and preparing breathtaking desserts. Unfortunately, my reality is much, much different than my dreams. There are times when I have major baking snafus and today happened to be one of those days. The day started out amazingly well, really it did. My husband brought me coffee, my hair styled up beautifully without a fight, my clothes felt large when I put them on (always makes you feel good as a woman, and your clothes bag immediately after you put them on). The kids were well behaved, the husband in a good mood, the dog sleeping peacefully not underfoot for once…. And I thought “This is my perfect day…. Let’s try to make something new, something spectacular and something so delicious that my family would fawn over me like I was a Queen”… well, I can dream can’t I?


I watched several shows online on how to make pastry puffs, prepared my ingredients and prayed that my luck would hold out. The butter melted beautifully in the pan with the water, the flour balled up just like the recipe said it would. I carefully put it in the mixing bowl and added my eggs, letting the machine beat the dough in a frenzy while thanking my lucky stars for a husband so thoughtful to buy me own.

I have a little trouble with the whole pastry bag thing, since I don’t have one, I opted for a Ziploc with and end cut out. Then I started making my pastries, I don’t believe I’ve seen anything quite like what those doughy lump things looked like and I prayed that they would look halfway decent baked. Here goes nothing, my oven was ready, I carefully slid the soon to be Queen making delicacies into the oven and set my timer. I held my breath, sat down and waited….

The smoke appeared… in mass quantities rolling into the room adjacent to the kitchen. My husband and I looked at each other and ran. Here I am turning the fan on, running for the fire extinguisher, my husband opening every window in on the main floor, waiting to the smoke alarms to start screaming. I opened the door and the pastries were fine. My husband and I perplexed about the situation, I have decided that I have now lost my Queen status with this one teensy weensy problem.

All in all, the pastries ended well. They weren’t the prettiest but they tasted alright for a first batch. My husband is wary of my any new project that includes the oven, the dog is still afraid of the smell in the kitchen, and I wasn’t deemed Queen.

Oh well, maybe next time.

Rambo Divas????

That’s it… they’ve won….. I officially proclaim to have been out maneuvered by the Devious, crafty Rambo Divas.

My garden is gone – the corn has disappeared they have put a huge dent in the green beans and are now basking in the beautiful glow of my tomato’s. It is obvious that they have paid my garden gnome statues to let them sneak in behind my back and thru the gate. If it wasn’t so sad, I would think they have been watching Special Ops movies and making notes all the while. Close your eyes for a moment and just imagine little Rambo chicks, with dirt covered beaks, prairie grass in their feathers peaking through special Diva night vision goggles planning the garden attack of 2010.

Neta, their “Momma” laid there, proudly sleeping on, letting them destroy the garden, the gnomes stood there quietly and said nothing. Mark is laughing at my despair (and the fact he doesn’t have to harvest now) and amazed at how fast they ate the corn, while I am sitting there on the back steps wondering if it is worth it to garden at all……

The Diva Updates

The Divas are growing up and are now a year old and I am in danger of Empty Nest Syndrome. Pretty soon they may take wing, fly the coop and not need me as much anymore, well… except for food and water. Little by little, their curiosity and love is making them into the grown up Divas they will become. I am very proud of their successes and triumphs.


They’re getting out more – exploring the backyard with great fervor. They can no longer wander through the garden and traipse through the green beans due to my Darling Husband putting up a 6 foot tall fence. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the scratching, the weeds being eaten or the bugs being gone – but in their enthusiasm, they eat the whole garden…. It’s just not productive, since I want to also be able to eat the veggies and not just give the girls a 24/7 buffet of wholesome yummies.

After all the stress about their worm fear, I was afraid that they would never overcome this problem and actually eat a “Crawly or a Wiggly” beast. I have a fear of clowns and spiders and I am “Big” enough to admit my fears and I know how to progress from there. But how does one teach a chicken to eat worms? I for one, am not going to start munching to help them with this... does anyone want to help?

The Great Grasshopper War

I am so excited about spring. I have read and re-read my worn Square Foot Gardening book, I have looked fondly online at seeds and garden ideas, till my Darling Husband tells me to give the internet a rest. We have been letting the Chicken Divas out to scratch around the mulch and get any tiny insects that might happen to be lurking around. And, I have a wonderful husband who took the cover off of the hen coop so the girls have a nice breeze.
I happened upon an article while perusing the web and it caught my attention. Apparently, we’re facing a real possibility of have the Great Grass Hopper Invasion of 2010. I remember reading about a grasshopper invasion in the Laura Ingalls Wilder books and so I am not sure what to think of it. Not to make too lightly of the this but I have my own warped idea on the subject.

On one hand – I don’t want my garden destroyed – but then again, it would be nice if I didn’t have to mow this year. Yet, I don’t think grasshopper spit everywhere would be too aesthetically pleasing either. I guess my biggest fear would be the Divas…...

As I have said before, they are terrified of worms; can you imagine what a large grasshopper army will do to them? I don’t think there is a prescription for chicken valium, and I know I won’t be able to stop them coming in by the hordes and getting around the Diva's.

I can’t help but think of a possibly bad “B” Movie with grasshoppers coming in marching across the land  as far as the eye can see...... terrifying my unsuspecting chickens, killing every vegetative thing in sight and then spitting on what they leave behind. What will happen to my Divas? Will they have little chicken Heart attacks or have their own ‘Gone With the Grass’ chronicle? Or will they turn into Valiant and Brave Chickenheart’s and try to save the Damsel in distress (me) and her kingdom (my garden)?

Maybe, I won’t have to worry about it or maybe I’ll just have to get a video camera and make my movie…….

Did I say 5:30?

I am, at times, reminded of certain things. Like Sunday morning at 5:30 am…. While peacefully sleeping on my one day off, I was reminded again why everything is the dog’s fault. Why the dog’s fault you say…. It’s because the Chicken Divas were “Barking” at the geese flying overhead at 5:30 in the morning and quite loudly too. I am sure the neighbors do not appreciate the dulcet tones of a chicken bark or appreciate the talent it takes to accomplish that particular feat. I’m not sure I appreciate their talent at this moment either!!!
I can’t retrain them – you can’t ask them to stop. Duct tape is a bad idea and out of the question. No, it requires that I chase them around the chicken pen in my ducky PJ’s and put them back in their henhouse before the sun is even coming up (did I mention 5:30).

I’m afraid they have lost their 24/7 free time privileges. I think that they will be staying in their pen and only allowed supervised visits into the yard. Until then, we will keep herding the barking chicken Divas inside the henhouse daily and hoping they don’t hear the geese flying north. Cotton over the ears maybe…… hmm……

What Not to Ask For

This is a break from the Chicken Divas I know..... but, this is important information that must be shared.

Never, under any circumstances, EVER ask for compost for your Wedding Anniversary.  Compost is compost no matter how you look at it; horse, cow- it doesn't matter what you have envisioned in your gardening head, it is still a waste product that, well..... you know where it comes from and there is no need of to explain further.  Granted, you're not asking for diamonds, roses or something ghastly expensive, but it has to be more romantic than manure, ladies.

I don't believe that my request is something my poor husband will ever get over or even stop rubbing his head about.  I promise, my dear, I have learned my lesson and will not ever ask for manure again for an Anniversary no matter how many garden boxes need to be filled.  How about a rosebush?  They are beautiful and give me flowers daily in the summer.  Now, can you run out and get me some compost so I can plant it?" See, problem solved...........