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...........

Worm Sushi Anyone?

I am still very troubled about the fact that the Divas still believe that they are dogs. They act like dogs, they try to bark like dogs, and as far as I can tell, they attempt to eat like dogs. We caught them the other day in a half circle with the dog all barking at a squirrel on the fence… just try and tell me that’s normal! I have had such a hard time getting them to eat what I would consider “Normal” chicken food, up to and including worms. All over the internet, you can see pictures and cartoons of chickens trying to pull a worm from the ground or two chickens fighting over one worm. (Graphic images, I know). I’ve read articles on chickens that “graze” and eat worms, slugs and grubs. Most even eat the bugs in the garden and then you don’t have to use pesticides…. Not my Divas, no – they would rather eat the garden than protect it. Apparently, it was very nice of me to grow their own personal salad bar. This is driving me crazy!

What’s the problem with eating worms? The answer to that is they still run far away when I attempt to bring one into their midst. I have been tempted to dig a worm up and camouflage it as sushi for the discriminating taste of the Urban Chicken. You know, roll it in a powder from their favorite crushed up snack, and add a cucumber or maybe a green bean – nicely finish it off by rolling the mixture up in lettuce since I don’t have any seaweed available in Missouri. I could also scrape some worms off the sidewalk that have baked in the sun, making a tasty worm jerky. The end questions would be: Would they still run? Will they try it? Will they stay vegetarians?

Maybe this idea will succeed, maybe it will fail miserably, or maybe they will start eating like normal chickens….. Until then, anyone up for Worm Sushi?

ALL THEY NEED IS LOVE.................

There is probably something really wrong about singing "All They Need is Love... love, all they need is love" when speaking to my husband about our chickens, but I did so today. They have such a weird love-hate relationship with each other. Mark is not very fond of the Divas and they seem to be crazy about him. It's funny to watch him head out to their pen, they will all run to the fence and sit. Sitting means that they want attention and the only problem is that they've blocked the door whilst sitting and he can't get in. Well, and the fact that he doesn't want to pet chickens. He doesn't have a problem petting dogs, even the occasional cat is okay..... but chickens? That is far, far beyond the realm of normal for him and therefore, he is not comfortable with it.


His idea of normal would be that they would act like, well... chickens. He has this idea that they are mindless fowl that wander around and really have no idea what is going on around them except for food, water and shelter. I ordered a docile breed that seems to crave attention. We are in tight quarters, sharing the yard and all, that it seemed reasonable with the Urban Farming movement to purchase chicks with above mentioned qualities.

I am going to have to slowly but surely re-educate my husband into understanding that they are loveable, funny and affectionate. Anyone want to feed the chickens in the meantime?

The Spatial Digs of the Diva Palace

The Divas have moved from a converted tub and grow light to a spacious Chicken Diva Palace. Thanks to my darling husband who still refuses to be called Daddy when speaking about the chicks, has created an ark shaped, tall chicken house. I looked at a lot of different chicken coop plans online and I found things I really liked here and there, but nothing I could definitely say " I want it built just like that". I liked the pyramid shape, but I liked the space of the rectangular coops. Remember, there is a certain amount of space required for each chicken, please do your research as they are not sardines and cannot be packed in as such! Happy chickens = happy eggs. I liked the ease of a flip top door to a small trap door. I really liked the suggestion of putting old linoleum in the bottom for easy clean out. My husband made three nesting boxes and the girls use only one. They slide out for easy cleaning and care. They had permanent roosts and temporary roosts, permanent ramps to fold up ramps and the list can go on and on. I wanted a chicken tractor so I could move it all over the yard so we'll have to flip it up and put casters on the bottom so I can wheel it around with ease. This may require a bribe of brownies to accomplish this (always feed your helpers).
I've lined their nests with shredded paper and we regularly change a layer of pine mulch on the floor. This not only helps with the clean up later, it's all compost material which makes my garden a happy place and the pine mulch satisfies the girls urge to scratch around in the winter. I was worried about the shredded paper but it seems to work wonders - I don't have to buy straw and is recycling at it's finest. Is there a better use for junk mail than a chicken coop? I think not!
All in all, I like it, the girls like it and my husband is just happy that it's finished. Remember: when you are looking at plans just make sure they have what you want, don't be afraid to mix ideas and make it your own, what may work for me may not work for you. Personally, the only thing left to do is to put a Gonzo poster up for the girls to feel right at home. I wonder if they want shag carpet and disco lights now? hmmmm...........

Meg, Meg.... How could you?

In the previous entry we had checked with our City Hall on the ordinances of “Chicken Farmdom”, so we ordered all hens since it is illegal to own a rooster in town. Always, always check local ordinances before you order, it saves time, effort and headaches later on. Helpful hint: It costs just a little bit extra to order just hens at your local feed store, but it's better than taking your chances and hoping for the best. We ended up with Voltron, Margo, Mango, Rita and Meg all growing rapidly. Though, it seemed, one was growing faster than the others, including the wattle and comb. I was a bit worried at this point because the other hens were not growing that rapidly or were that aggressive. Still, I looked on the net and some of the hens also looked a bit like that so I tried to relax and ignore the doubt growing in the back of my mind
Until early one morning, we awoke to what sounded like the murdering of our chickens. Down the stairs we tore, Meg, in all... well, his glory, was attempting to crow. This was bad, really bad. Mark and I just stood there wondering what we would get first, a ticket or angry phone calls from neighbors. Here we were, trying to keep the peace and trying to show our neighbors that self sufficiency was within their reach by having our small brood... and all the while our brood was trying to wake them up at 5 am on a weekend. If this kept up, a mutiny would be in our future. Coming out of shock, we shooed Meg… errrr the rooster back into the darkened the pen. We then sat around the table with coffee trying to wake up and figure out what we would do. We couldn't very well keep him, not only it was illegal it was gratingly, and I mean "GRATINGLY" annoying. So the only thing we could do was to find him a new home and change his name. Meg just isn't a good name for a rooster (sorry sis)
Since, at that very moment, he was basically heading towards it, we decided to name him Sunday Dinner. I know, I know - it's not the best name in the world but not only was it 5 am, I grew up on a farm and you named animals things they were going to be, names like T-Bone and Porkchop. It helped take the cute, affectionate pet idea out of your head because you realized they had a purpose other than a yard ornament.
Was that the end of Sunday Dinner, did he meet his demise by one too many crows? Fortunately, for him, we found a home just outside of town for Sunday Dinner. They had lost their rooster and that meant he wouldn't be heading to the table anytime soon. Well, that meant we were down to four hens, which was okay. Plenty of eggs and plenty of fertilizer for our garden beds. We should still have enough eggs for us, our neighbors and hopefully enough eggs left over to sell so that they paid their own way. All is well that ends well... I think?

Naming of the Chicken Divas

A name is so important. You are are naming a person or a creature something that they will be known for the rest of their lives. It is something that should be taken very seriously. When we named our dog Neta Tohbi, it was because sis wanted a white bear. Since that is illegal - we did the next best thing and bought her a very large white dog. Her name means "white bear" in Choctaw and it is almost perfect. If we had used snoring somewhere in her name it would have been correct! Unfortunately for the chickens, we were having too much fun and only one was named properly.... Meg (thanks sis)

The others, unfortunately, will have to go through life with names that made us giggle. After sister named "Meg", Caleb had to name one. How he came up with "Voltron" will forever be a mystery to everyone involved. No matter though, it isn't as bad as when Mark and I put our heads together to name the last three, four... well, we had an issue. They will forever go by "Sunday Dinner"(Meg turned out to be a chicken dude), "Margo", "Mango" and "Rita"... I know, I know... this is so we can step outside and call for Mango-Rita or Margo-Rita. Corny huh?! I blame it on Mark being a parrothead - lol.

I can hear my mother breathing a sigh of relief, grateful we haven't had to name any children lately.

True stories from a Chicken Farmer wannabe

I perused the web, pulled all the information and after much discussion, finally decided that I want to be an urban chicken farmer. The fresh eggs, the compost for my garden, the thoughts of organic foods without pesticides (because the chickens will eat all the bugs), enthralled me. This little animal can be affectionate, resourceful, and funny, protect my garden from pests and feed me delicious wholesome eggs. Who could resist? Not I, I wanted the feeling of independence the sound of clucking in the morning, the joy of giving back to the earth and renewing my garden beds. There were a few obstacles to get through first.

Being chicken at heart myself, I had a friend check out local ordinances and found that I could have chickens in town. The joy, the rapture….. I could go ahead and get my chicks. All I had to do was convince my darling husband. Have you ever noticed when you want them (husbands) to agree it takes work? They become even more darling, you bat your eyes, you smile sweetly and if you have to, the tear can appear on the cheek at a strategic moment…….. It never fails, even though I don't believe he would ever deny me a thing. He just shakes his head and knows that he just needs to go with the flow on my feather brained ideas.

I chose the Buff Orpington: they, so the websites state, are the most affectionate chicken who can lay eggs year round and who can withstand our unpredictable Missouri winters. Wow, all that and a personality too. I had my husband go and put my order in at the local Feed store for 5 chicks. In doing this I sealed his doom. After all, he couldn't say I did this all on my own now – he paid for them. Always ladies, provide some sort of justification backup, it is just a precautionary measure that is necessary! I read the websites again and again, dreamed of the little chicken coop for my brood and waited impatiently for the call.

I wanted to be the Momma, I wanted to be the first thing that they saw when the box was opened, the bond would then be set and my chicks would love and follow me anywhere. I guess in my mind, I felt that I would be like the Pied Piper with my band of merry chicks. Maybe it's just a need to be THE MOMMA, I don't know. I waited 6 weeks, and finally received the call, my babies were in. My poor dear husband, went to get them for me. In opening the box, Neta, our nosy, into everything, Great Pyrenees shoved her head through and got there first. They now believe she's the Momma, She believes that she's the Momma and I am heartbroken, I AM NOT THE MOMMA. Our big white dog is the Momma to the little darlings, they with snuggle up with her, not me. This experience has turned our 85 pound powder puff of a dog into a protective chicken guardian. My husband was so surprised that she didn't eat them first thing that he's still in awe.

Two weeks into the brood raising, I decided to introduce the chicks to a worm; after all, they need to start eating natural things, not chick feed. This of course as with everything else that has happened, did not go as planned. I found a small worm in the garden while planting cabbage and thought in an opportune moment. I gently brushed the dirt off of Mr. Worm, apologized about his untimely death and took him to the girls. Set the worm down, the girls made a huddle looking at this thing I dumped in their midst. The worm (probably freaking from the sight of so many beaks) starting flailing away. At that moment, my chicks turned to spineless chickens and bolted for the corner of their box. Huddled together, in the corner, they all stared at the "Thing" I put in their home with an expression of chicken fear on their little faces. I terrorized them with a worm less than an inch long, that can't be good.

In the end, Mr. Worm lived for another day; the chicks are still recuperating from the trauma and might need a Chicken Whisperer to get over this event. I am depressed, my dog thinks she's the Momma, the chicks think they're dogs and I am the evil person that terrorized them all with an inch long worm. My husband thinks I'm crazy, thinks the dog is funny and my chicks are, in fact, spineless, noisy chickens.

Urban farming is proving to be more difficult that first expected. Maybe I'll try a ladybug next week…………….

Starting up

I seem to have an endless amount of goof ups trying to become an Urban Farmer. Since it has been entertaining for my family and friends - I will start posting my "issues" for others. Maybe it will provide entertainment or maybe a guideline of what not to do.

Hope you enjoy!!!