Eggs, puppy and rest

We've had two 6-egg days in a row this week!
I've been able to gift some of our beautiful eggs to a couple of dear friends, one of whom agreed to babysit Ivy until Michael gets home today.

By Thursday morning, I realized my broken foot could handle no more and called for help. I've had almost two days now that I've been able to mostly stay off my foot.


I'm sorry, Mommy.

It still hurts and walking is painfully difficult, but with Michael coming home today followed by the weekend, I'm hoping for some improvement.

Fortunately, Ivy has been behaving herself at my friend's house. They have an acreage and she gets lots and lots of exercise, so when she's inside, she spends most of her time like this.

I miss my baby...

Fowl Play

Or, How I Kept My Dog From Killing My Chickens and lived to tell the tale.

Ivy's been showing lots of interest in the chickens lately, running from one end of the chicken run to the next, barking and generally carrying on. I knew I shouldn't let her do this, but my mobility has been somewhat hindered by my broken foot.

Two days ago, the dogs had been outside for a while and I asked Melissa to check on them. The next thing I knew, there was a shriek of panic as Melissa screamed to me, "Mom, Ivy's in the chicken run!"

Have you ever seen someone run with a broken foot? Painfully comedic, it was.

By the time I got out to the chickens, Melissa was already there, in her pajamas and stocking feet. We both had dashed out without our coats.

Ivy had pulled aside Michael's clever little chicken wire tunnel, the one that led from the coop into the run, and was in a frenzy of chicken chasing.

As I waxed rhapsodic about our chicken coop the other day, I failed to mention a few of the hastily constructed, poorly thought-out, last minute safety features we installed. The chicken wire draped over the run makes it impossible for even a child to stand up in it and the gate into the run was wired shut to prevent prison breaks.

So, there we were, an 11-year-old girl in stocking feet and a hobbled middle-aged woman without a coat, frantically trying to stop our puppy from killing our chickens.

I managed to untangle the wires from the gate, allowing Melissa into the run in a half-crouch. She grabbed Ivy amidst the frantically squawking chickens and dragged her to me. I reached out to grab her with my left arm. Did I ever mention that I've been fighting tennis elbow in my left arm since last May?

Ivy pulled away, wrenching my elbow and forcing me to let go, allowing her to resume her mad chase. Meanwhile, three of the chickens, feathers flying and squawking in fear, flew up at the chicken wire covering, and out through a newly formed gap.

I tried to grab one, but didn't have a good enough hold of her, enduring a wing-battering and a stab on the lip from her claws. I'm surprised the neighbors didn't come to see what all the screaming was about, as Melissa shrieked about murder and I bellowed at the rampaging dog.

Then again, we probably just blended in with the usual background noise.

Anyway, Melissa grabbed Ivy again, dragged her to me, and I man-handled her into the house and shoved her in her kennel. I went back out to retrieve Wally, who seemed a little bewildered by all the hullabaloo, and brought him in as well.

We fixed the chicken wire tunnel as best we could, at least so that the chickens still in the run wouldn't escape, closed the gate to the run, reopened the hatch door to the coop, and took a deep breath.

Three chickens were missing.

Melissa promptly found one in front of the coop and put her back inside.

Where were the other two?

I sent Melissa in for boots and both our jackets so we could search the yard thoroughly. The two escapees were found, huddled together by the garage. Melissa shooed them to me, as I couldn't step down onto the rough terrain (again) and I was able to take them one at a time and return them to safety.

It took both of us a little while to calm down and count our blessings that no chicken was actually killed. There's no way I can Ivy-proof the run with my foot as it is, so the poor ladies will have to stay cooped up until Michael gets back.

On Friday.

On the positive side, I've come up with a way to pay for Ivy's spaying. I plan to rent her out, $50/hour. She'll help farmers determine whether their chicken and other poultry set-ups are predator-proof.

Needless to say, we're teetering on the edge of desperation here.

But we're all still alive.

Even the chickens.

Dark Days Eat Local - Week 14

We actually had this meal shortly before my husband left last week for two weeks in Chile.

Yeah, I know.

It must be tough.

No, actually, he's working 16-hour days in corn fields.

Not really my idea of a good time.

With him gone and my foot broken, I haven't been doing much cooking.

This meal was incredibly delicious and looking at this photo makes me even more tired of take-out than I already was.

We had local steaks, broiled, topped with local onions sauteed in Iowa soy oil and splashed with balsamic vinegar. Just before serving I sprinkled Maytag blue cheese on top.

Oven roasted CSA beets and local potatoes rounded out the meal

We finished with a homemade (with local eggs) angel food cake topped with blackberry sauce made from a pint of local blackberries I canned last summer.

Too bad I forgot to take a picture...

He loves me...

and has a good dose of guilt!

So, how does one get flowers twice in one week?

It was easy.

All you have to do is break your foot, have one child sick with a virus, have the other child only be 11, have a 65-pound, 5-month-old St. Bernard puppy and an older dog who throws up a lot.

Oh, and your husband must leave on a two-week business trip to South America.

Worth it?

What do you think?

Coop Deluxe

Tubleweed Tiny House Company

No, this isn't our chicken coop.

But ours will look awfully similar once we get it painted this spring.

Michael built our chicken coop from scratch. Um, no pun intended.

He used internet resources to know how much space 10 hens would need, how many nest boxes, etc. I can't tell you the finer points of the construction, but it was his own design. Most of the lumber was second-hand, some we already had and some from a colleague of Michael's who had recently torn down a building. I think we spent about $200 on supplies. The windows, with screens for predator protection, open for ventilation and let in lots of daylight. The coop even has its own outlet for the heat lamp and water warmer.

What I thought would take a couple of weekends to build, however, ended up stretching into two months or more. Meanwhile, the chickens rapidly outgrew the old rabbit cage in the basement. We had to attach our extra-large dog kennel to the rabbit kennel to give the growing birds enough room. During the last few weeks of their basement dwelling, the grew so large that the kennels had to be cleaned every day. This gave Michael the extra push he needed to finish the coop.

Nest boxes. We ended up having to give the birds two extra nests as they grew into egg-laying size. For the new nests, we used old milk crates.


Racoons are a real worry here, even though we live near downtown Des Moines. We read that a racoon can open anything a toddler can, so we tried to build as many safety features into the doors as possible.

This is their nifty back door. The ramp leads into an old dog run we converted to a chicken yard. You can see the chicken wire over the top, to keep the birds in and the predators out. To open the door, we slide a wooden bar back and pull a rope. The rope is secured to the chicken yard fence and the birds have access to the yard and their coop all day long. At night, we lower the hatch and slide the bar across the door.

The coop is insulated and even has wainscoting on the ceiling.
We have a double lot, with the garage at the end of our driveway that runs sideways behind our house. The garage sits off to the side of the yard, with the chicken yard running behind it. The coop is completely contained within our fenced yard, another necessary safety feature.
Oh, and we use an old combination lock on the front door.

It took going on last fall's Farm Crawl for Michael to realize he was over-building. Once he saw how the local farmer's housed their chickens, he realized he could finish up much faster.

The chickens are happy with their coop, I believe, as they've started laying consistently. We're now collecting as many as 5 eggs a day.

If the economy continues to tank, I figure all we'd have to do is add plumbing and we could rent it out.

Of Design Flaws and Neanderthals

I have a major design flaw.

Actually, I have more than one, but this particular flaw is causing me a lot of pain right now.

You see, I have super-duper high arches.

Said arches lead to improper weight distribution in my feet.

My right foot, in particular.

I found out today that the poor design of my foot, along with walking on my treadmill, are the cause of my recent, and ongoing, pain.

X-rays only confirmed what the doctor suspected.

I have a stress fracture on the top of my foot.

No wonder it hurts so much.

I've been limping around since Thursday of last week, trying to manage the dogs, the kids, the household, without bending my right foot when I walk.

Not an easy task.

I've been popping Aleve, which has helped.

So has a nice big glass of Merlot.

I now have a lovely orthopedic shoe, designed to keep my foot immobilized, that I am to wear for two weeks; three if I still have pain.

So tell me, who's going to take the puppy out to poop at midnight?

Oh, and Sarah is still sick, so she's basically just taking up space and using up tissues right now.

Michael is still a continent away.

Poor Melissa.

It's not easy being the only able-bodied person in the house.

I think this is the greatest of my design flaws, though a slightly larger chest and a stronger back would be nice.

If this were all, it wouldn't be so bad.

But my design flaw is coupled with several systems failures, all of which make me feel as if I'm falling apart.

My first and foremost system failure has to do with serotonin. Either my brain doesn't produce enough or my synapses don't absorb it fast enough; thus my lifelong battle with depression.

The second system failure, hypothyroidism, has caused me much fatigue and grief over the last 5 or so years.

Fortunately, my system failures and design flaws can be treated with great success these days, though my doctor has forbidden me to use a treadmill ever again.

But I've often thought about prehistoric times. Though the question is likely moot, as I wouldn't have lived to my middle forties then anyway, I can't help but consider what my life would have been like.

Would my high arches have caused problems keeping up with the rest of the hunter-gatherer band? Would I have been left behind, alone on the grassland, waiting for the saber tooth to get me? Had this happened earlier, due to the number of walking miles put on by the time of puberty, would I even have successfully passed on my genes, flaws and all?

Do you keep a melancholic around the campfire when she just brings the rest of the tribe down? Or would all the walking have kept the depression at bay?

How about the thyroid? No one would have wasted their own energy carrying an exhausted elder on a travois.

I'm pretty fortunate to live in the times I do.

Though it might have been a lot easier letting the puppy out of the cave to pee...

Without Him

Footprints in my bathtub
Toothpaste in the sink
Pawprints on the kitchen floor
What am I to think?

Dirty dishes stacking high
Laundry pile flows
Ashes scattered on the hearth
Is this how it goes?

Beds unmade, dogs unfed
The porch? It isn't swept
The children? Eating junk food
My hair? It is unkempt.

Rugs with bits of dog bones covered
The upstairs hall? A mess
Table surfaces full of mail
Whose fault? I must confess...

My darling, dearest took a plane
Away to Chile he flew
Gone for two weeks in the sun
Earning money, it's true

But me? I have an injured foot
My daugher, she is sick
The puppy's crazy, the dog threw up
This life I wouldn't pick

Youngest daughter soldiers on
The eggs, she counted four
The chicken water must be changed
Who'll head on out the door?

This isn't the first time he's been gone
You'd think it would be old hat
But without exercise, due to foot
I'm afraid I'm getting fat

Five days down, 10 more to go
The girls and I'll survive
All we have to do, he said,
Is keep ourselves alive

My foot will mend
Her sore throat heal
The dogs will wag and slobber
I love my darling, I tell myself
As down the steps I hobble

I must work hard not to hold a grudge,
The mantra in my head
I beg the girls, just a litle nap?
A mere hour in my bed?

The boys have called, they love me so
The girls and I are fine
My primary coping skill, I find
Is lots and lots of wine

We'll make it through, our love intact
Our house? A different matter
A funny thing, these times apart,
Our love they do not shatter

We're building memories
Forging bonds
Loving ever after
But when he calls, I must admit,
I don't feel much like chatter

Time apart, it strengthens hearts
The old adage simply states
That sage, I'll wager, was a mom
At home without her mate

Despite it all, we excitedly wait
Anxious for his return
Someday, I think, it would be nice
For him to take a turn...

He's working hard, and so are we
A continent apart
And though it's tough, for all of us
He's always in my heart

We await his return with open arms,
Oh my, we love him so
We'll hold him tight, kiss him lots
Until next time he has to go