It's all fun and games until somebody looses a chicken

Maybe you are thinking of moving to the country - or maybe you already live there. "It will be so lovely and peaceful," you think. "We can get a dog. And let them run anywhere they want. Because it's The Country!"

Incorrect.

Like many small farmers, we raise chickens for specific environmental and moral reasons. We have chosen breeds, and individuals that are good foragers but don't range too far from home. We expect the chickens to mostly take care of themselves and act like real animals - finding their own food. We provide water, a safe place to live, and treats, but for the most part the chickens find their own food throughout three seasons.

Our chickens are free-range birds. You know what this means. You know that it is good. It's better for the birds, the environment and the people who eat them.

The alternative is to keep them locked in a building and feed them agricultural products that are grown on large farms through the use of oil, chemical fertilizers and pesticides. And then processed and transported to be fed to chickens.

Around here, for most of the year, the sun shines on our 8 acres. Plants grow, bugs crawl around...and my chickens eat them. This "solar powered" system is sustainable and natural. I'm not polluting the air or warming the earth to produce my food.

The drawback is that we loose some birds to natural predators pretty much every year. For the past few years, I think red-tailed hawks have nested in our woods and the juveniles find our birds (particularly the young chickens) to be an easy target. We usually lock the birds up in their fully enclosed run for a week or two until the hawk moves on.

It's annoying because we have to feed the birds. Their run is too small to support their needs. There aren't enough bugs or plants to feed them, so we go to town and purchase mass-produced, oil-dependent chicken food for them. Everyone is unhappy, but eventually the threat goes away and the birds free range again.

We accept this as part of the natural cycle. TANSTAAFL. Our birds eat bugs (which are free) instead of chicken food (which is not) and there is a trade-off.

This week we came home to a pile of chicken feathers in our driveway, and we knew something had happened that was not part of the natural cycle. When you have poultry, you learn pretty quickly to identify predator damage so that you can compensate. After 3 years of practice, we know the grisly details of what sort of predator typically leaves what sort of carcass.

A pile of feathers and no body made us think Domestic Dog. Our neighbors happen to have two, which have been on our property multiple times chasing our chickens. We already suspect them of killing two chickens previously. When we found the feathers near our driveway, which is near the middle of our property, we counted our birds and found we were missing two hens and had a beat up rooster.

We searched all over our property and could not find the hens. Fortunately, they did turn up - unharmed - at bed time. We figure the dogs attacked, and the rooster countered while the hens escaped and then hid for hours.

Here are the consequences:

• The rooster, who is a backup that I don't particularly like, has been declared A Hero and earned the right to live out his natural life. Bill has made him A Pet.
• The birds are locked up in their run during the day, meaning I have to buy them food from the agricultural system I'm trying to escape.
• Our tolerance of the neighbor's dogs is at an all time low, which will make it easier to shoot the dogs if we catch them in the act of attacking our livestock.
  

Can you believe that last bit? Do you like me a little less that I've said it? I know it's not the dogs' fault. I understand that dogs are animals with instincts. I know they are not children. I know they need rules and boundaries. I know it's not their fault they have stupid owners.

Though I would actually probably not shoot a dog (at this point), if I see one in the act of attacking my livestock on my land, it is my right to do so in Indiana. The dog owner would also have to pay for damages to my animals. There are similar laws like this in most states.

That my irresponsible neighbors are making it impossible for me to live the way I'd like, on my land, makes my blood boil (probably as much as us letting our backyard return to woods - rather than a monoculture lawn makes theirs boil).

The dogs next door are beautiful, playful animals. I want to like them. I love dogs - quite a bit. But they are not people. Dog owners need to keep their animals under their control or supervision at all times. Even in the country. Not just for my stupid chickens, but for the safety of the dogs.

fingers

So, yeah... this:

Two weeks ago was chicken weekend. During chicken weekend, I sustained a plucking injury to my right index finger (a strain? tendinitis? repetitive stress whatever? My muscle - it hurts to move. A lot!). Today, I finally went to the doctor and she gave me a really adorable blue splint to wear for a while. This is awkward for the following reasons:

1) I kinda use my right index finger a lot

2) The blue tape really clashes with my wardrobe

3) For the next 2 weeks I'll have to tell everyone I meet that I injured my finger plucking chickens. It's not the sort of thing I typically lead conversations with.

At least I provided some entertainment for my doctor today. She said she doesn't come across chicken plucking injuries often. I worry that humorous, unique maladies might becoming a habit for us. A few years ago it was Bat in the Bed, and now Chicken Plucking Injury. I don't want to know what's next.

Fortunately, (very fortunately) I have been able to adapt my hands to continue knitting and spinning.

Some lovely Lincoln Longwool, which may someday be a sweater:

Fun fact: I had no trouble typing the word "sweater" just there, as "sweater" is composed of all left handed letters.

Wenselydale - maybe to be a shawl or some such:

The most adorable mittens EVER. I love them, but may reknit them. I used needles that were too big for the yarn and the mittens, despite their extreme cuteness, aren't very warm.

In closing: sweater. Sweaters. sweet sweet sweaters. Stewardess! Sweaters, dear. Sweaters.

The skills of bad-assery

Once upon a time (yesterday), a woman wrote a blog on Huffington Post. In her article she lamented the growing number of women who enjoy (and blog about) domestic womanly pursuits, like baking and gardening. How they seemed to have retreated into an ultra femininity of the past - a delicate, pathetic girliness. She was aghast that we have squandered the hard-fought gains of our fore-mothers. You know, suffrage and the ability to be the Board Chair of a big company and not wear a bra.

She was making a tired point that so many small minded women have made before... trying to convince us that there is only one form of feminism wherein women are the same as men. (This is naturally stupid. Though women should absolutely have the same opportunities as men, we have different strengths that should be celebrated, not cast aside. Some people even argue that this idea of feminism - being a working mom and the chair of the board - has succeeded not because it was good for women or families, but because it was good for industry.... this is all a separate blog post, and suddenly too long to be parenthetical.)

The blogger, however, in attempting to make her small minded point did something that resulted in a firestorm I am certain she didn't expect.

She called out knitters - and one knitter in particular - as proof of our femininity destroying feminism. Knitters, she implied, are meek, delicate girly girls and the complete opposite of bad asses. We who love fiber arts are ruining feminism for women who shoot guns, hot-wire cars and kill vampires. We, with our lacy shawls, are an embarrassment and should be ashamed.

Here is the problem (and hopefully something the blogger has now learned). Knitters are not homogeneous. Just as Board Chairwomen are not. I recently read an article about a woman serving in the army in Iraq who set up a knitting group for her fellow soldiers. Here in Indy, The Naptown Roller Girls wrote a book of knitting patterns which includes armpit cushions for crutches, an Elevate that Ankle Pillow, and a "hey, at least it wasn't your leg" arm sling. There are active groups of knitters on Ravelry for bikers, gun owners, homesteaders and martial artists. Sounds pretty badass, no?

In a related vein, the large, large majority of business owners in the knitting community - people who sell yarn or dye it, write patterns, publish books and even raise sheep are women (unlike the male-dominated Hollywood that she extols for giving us kick ass role models). With the exception of a very few men, much of the knitting industry is owned and run by women. I wish I could put a dollar amount on that - but instead, know that there are more active knitters in the US than golfers.

Finally, if Ms. Aloi is really, truly concerned about the ability of domestic sorts of women to survive in an apocalyptic future - and she mentions it twice, so I presume she is - I must take issue with her logic. Gardening, she believes is worthless, and women should prepare to "manipulate our way into a bomb shelter" instead (which sounds daftly sexist to me). So, let's say we bad ass women overpower all the men with our bad-assery and superior marksmanship. And we eat their bomb shelter food - we eat it real good. All of it. Then what?? I imagine we're going to wish we knew how to grow some more damn food. Or make some warm sweaters that keep the rain off our bad ass calloused skin as we're out hunting for more men to beat up.

And here is the thing - my whole main point. Women are GOOD at these things. In general, we are better at them than men. Successfully gardening and raising farm animals especially requires the skills of nurturers - observant, intuitive nurturers. And (in general) this is an area where women excel.

So, why are we ignoring those skills and talents? Why would we dismiss them as being anti-feminist? We should consider the ability to turn raw wool into a sweater, or grow pounds and pounds of potatoes, or can a year's supply of beans just as bad ass as defending a border or killing a deer.

Because it is.

I knit and garden. And I am a bad ass.

Things that are odd.

On Thursday morning, Indiana was covered with a very thin layer of ice.
On Thursday afternoon, we came home to a new mailbox.

We suspected this was a clue:

We looked around for a note, but didn't find one. We think it was mighty neighborly of whoever slipped off the road and into our mailbox to get us a new one. The torn grass starts about 10 feet from a telephone pole. Better to hit our mailbox than that pole.

Also a surprise finding: a walnut on the upper grate of our kitchen door. Was the intent to stash it in a hiding place or did a sad squirrel drop it from our roof with this incredible result?

Dustin Diamond the Screech owl has moved into a dead tree at the end of our driveway.

Finally, an announcement from the Saw-whet Manor Tourism board...

You know we have a lovely guest room with optional kitty.
You've heard of our access to Belgian micro brew, frittes and legal fireworks.
Now, building off our success with home grown eggs, estate tapped maple syrup and home canned jam....we are pleased to offer two yummy new food options made possible by the generous contributions of kitchen aid attachments from our forefathers (and mothers): home made sausage and ice cream!!!

(Please note, the sausage and ice cream do not have to be eaten together).

The curious incident of the bat in the nighttime.

Don't snuggle with bats.

A course of rabies shots is not fun.



P.S. Wear clean undies to the ER because they are gonna stick you with more stuff than your arms can take, and before they start in with 2 each on your thighs with those oh so large needles, they stick 'em in your rear.

I love living in the country!