Things of beauty

Most people who dine at my house with any regularity (I'm talking to you, Alex and Scott) know that I love garlic. And when I say love, I mean LOVE.

I can't say I exactly inherited this, although my late grandfather was, in fact, an accomplished garlic connoissuer and garlic festival attendee. His collection of books on garlic growing is incredible - I know, because they were graciously passed down to me by my grandmother (thank you Grandma!). All I can think is that my Grandpa must have known his way around the garlic world. How else does one snag a Bible-sized garlic-growing tome, signed by the author with a greeting of "Merry Christmas, Slim!" (along with the sincere reminder that a clove a day will keep the vampires away)? Or a quirky yet informative read written by an authentic garlic-farming hippie (yes, complete with overgrown hair and beard, and a wife named Watershine - I'm not kidding)?

I know that if he is reading this entry from Heaven's internet connection (I'm sure it's speedy), he'd be smiling from ear-to-ear with pride, and he'd also want to tell me stories about how eating too much garlic will make me grow hair on my chest. I wish he was here to tell me in person, but someday I know I will hear it.

Anyway, this love for garlic must have skipped a generation somehow, because I grew up never having seen an actual head of garlic in my life. "Garlic" was synonymous with garlic powder, or in some cases, garlic salt. I was not even vaguely aware that garlic was a bulb. My only clue was pictures I saw at Halloween.

So, my own affair with garlic started soon after I got married in 2004. There I stood over the kitchen countertop, a newbie chef with zero experience and an armful of garage sale cookbooks. I was mulling over my grand plans for Tortellini Carbonara, ingredients spread before me... cheese-filled tortellini, heavy cream, bacon, parsley, Parmesan, and... several heads of garlic.

The recipe in my book called for "two cloves of garlic, peeled and chopped". Never having seen a garlic bulb in my life, and not knowing that it even possessed "cloves", I assumed that each head of garlic was a clove. Dutifully I peeled and chopped over a dozen "Collosal Garlic" cloves. It took a little over an hour; all the while, I was glancing at the recipe's 20-minute preparation time and cursing the innacuracy of my cookbook.

Amazingly, this story doesn't end in disaster. With neither of us none the wiser, Byron and I dug right into the tortellini once it was done. It was absolutely incredible! The flavor of the garlic, sauteed in olive oil and white Balsamic vinegar, was the crown of the dish. Byron isn't even a huge garlic eater, but he loved it too. The truth only came out later when I complained about the ridiculous prep time. Byron looked at the recipe, and we figured it out. We both got a good laugh, but we have never changed the recipe since then. We serve it for company all the time, and they seem to love it, so that little mistake in the kitchen has turned out to be a blessing many times over.

Nowadays, garlic features prominently in a lot of what I cook. Syrian Hummus is a favorite of mine to prepare, as is Crock-Pot 40-Clove Garlic Chicken (with added Yukon Gold potatoes). So, it only makes sense to try growing my own. This year's varieties include Georgian Fire, Georgian Crystal, and Lorz Italian, all from the excellent heirloom seed company Seed Savers Exchange. I'll also be planting a few cloves of my standby "grocery store" garlic from Trader Joe's. All in all, I hope to have roughly 100 - 125 heads of garlic to harvest next summer, plus all the edible greens in the meantime.

I hope that my Grandpa will be proud. I'll be dedicating the garlic plot to him.

The Great Stick Battle of 2009

Not to be confused with the Great Hinckley Prairie Fire of 2009, of course.

Cardinal Rules of Dogdom, number 42: An ordinary stick that has been sitting in the yard for weeks is completely uninteresting, until it has been touched by Mom, at which point it becomes an object worthy of everyone's attention.

Yes, it's true. This large branch sat in the yard for roughly 2 weeks, during which I neglected to pick it up. Bandit, Willow, and Jasper were in the yard playing, when I suddenly got the whim to grab it and try to toss it over the fence. I had only been holding it for a few seconds when the usual growly dog-wrestling noises stopped, leaving the yard eerily quiet. Next thing I knew, I was surrounded by three dogs, all demonstrating a perfect "Sit" in the hopes of earning this coveted stick.

A strategic stick-battle ensued. I tried to break the stick up into 3 pieces and toss it around the yard, but one piece managed to escape the fenceline, and one piece was too small to be noticed ("Are you kidding Mom?"). It all worked out, though. Nobody (ahem, Jasper) threw a tantrum and I was able to snap some fun shots of the group interacting.

Jasper got the stick first, but Willow wasn't going to give up that easily.





The winning move!



She wrestled it away from him, and enjoyed a short chew before Bandit had to come ruin her fun.



She tolerated it for a bit, but in typical Willow fashion, ended up putting her foot down. Bandit is smart, so he listened.



Jasper was the eventual winner, and converted the stick into a pile of wood debris in record time.

Fall sleddog training

I mentioned in my last post that fall sleddog training has begun over here, but I haven't gotten around to posting any pictures yet. So, here I am to remedy that!

A small disclaimer. Willow ran in a muzzle the first several runs because she can get very nervous around strange dogs (she has never started a fight, but I was concerned that the speed and excitement of scootering might push her over her stress threshold and cause an uncharacteristic response if we suddenly met up with a dog on trail). So, hence the basket muzzle in the pics. I have since stopped using it, since I usually pull off the trail anyway if I see a dog approaching.

My little team of two is doing absolutely fantastic. Byron and I go on training runs at the Allerdale paved bicycle loop 3 - 4 times a week in good weather (below 72 degrees - mostly evenings), alternating between running the dogs together, or solo, while Byron bikes alongside or ahead, encouraging the dogs to run faster. Mushing can be a bit of a wild ride, but I'm addicted. Hopelessly addicted. This is great fun, seriously.

The scooter is so much fun, but soon the snow will be flying, and I'll need to procure a dog sled. (If Cold Antler's wishlist goes "truck, farm, tractor", my dogsled wishlist goes "sled, scooter upgrade, kennel upgrade".) I've considered everything from a super-light Scandinavian or Canadian kicksled, all the way up to a real sprint or recreational sled. I had my eye on a used, bare-bones sprint sled for quite some time, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized I probably want to buy new. I'd have to install the bar brake, snowhook, runners, and sled bridle by myself if I bought a used sled, and I'm not sure I'm up to the task. Plus, I found out that the one I wanted was bolt construction (as opposed to mortise & tenor), which can cause the sled to break more easily if it happens to hit a tree or boulder (both very likely scenarios - it's the blind-leading-the-blind over here).

I'm still considering, but for starters I really love the traditional look of this sled. That's pretty much what I'm hoping to shell out for, come late October or early November when the snow is about to hit.

Until then, it's wheels for me, and Cordura boots for my pups.

**EDITED TO ADD: In the spirit of this post, I absolutely have to recommend a blog I just stumbled upon. Check it out, if you're anything like me you will laugh until your sides hurt.

A Girl and Her Dogs

All the little things

It feels good to post to the blog again! It has been a very slow September so far, with very little to write about. It's been full, however, of all the little things that add up to keep this homestead running smoothly (and keep a homesteader very, very busy!).

Little things like realizing that the second shelf of my fridge is always overrun with at least two dozen eggs, no matter how many I am eating (in homemade pasta, in crepes, in French toast, scrambled, fried on toast, with bacon, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner... OK, so maybe it's not that bad). Little things like receiving the final batch of Fly Predators for the season... and realizing that it felt like yesterday that I was first placing that order. The daily hauling of feed and water to the coop, followed by an eager flock of overly-friendly chickens. The moments of sinking my hands into the thick coarse ruff of my happy sled dogs; the moments of listening to Jazz howling in the morning that give me the shivers. Little things like the daily turning of compost, the package of heirloom garlic cloves that will be planted in just a few weeks, the beauty of the fall leaves starting to turn and the sharp crispness in the morning air that puts a smile on my face.

Then, there are the not-so-little things - the failed incubation of my hatching eggs (they were candled several times and showed no veins, sadly), the start of the fall training season for my sled dogs, the contemplation of major fall purchases such as a new furnace.

All these things make up a typical day, week, and month here at the homestead, but by themselves they don't make for much of a story (most days). But I am still here, still plugging along, and still loving every minute of it. In the coming weeks I hope to update a lot more often. Take that as a promise.

Chickens on The Today Show

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How cool is this!! Only thing I wish they would have covered better is the fact that chickens can't survive on pizza and Thai food... yikes.

Stupid things homesteaders do

Ever had a raw egg crack in your jeans pocket? Neither had I, until this morning.

On some mornings, the hens put in less than their daily quota. This morning, I only found two eggs in the nest box, and I popped one in each pocket and continued to feed the birds. This really wasn't that unusual - I've carried up to four eggs in my jeans pockets, with never a mishap.

But not today. Somehow over the last several weeks of egg collecting and chicken feeding, somewhere along the way, having an egg in each pocket became old hat. Somewhere along the way, it became routine. So routine, in fact, that I forgot the egg was there.

And as I rounded the corner of the compost bin, I smacked my hip squarely right on the post.

At first there was just an awakening; a sudden realization that the pop I'd heard was not my hip, it wa the egg that I put in my pocket. In that second I looked down at my pocket, and it looked oddly deflated; the shape of a cracked eggshell easily visible. The next second was dread. I wondered if the raw egg would drip through my
pocket. The third second was cold. Just cold. The egg was rapidly advancing towards my knee.

By this time I was hopping briskly back to the house holding my jeans away from my leg, sincerely wishing I could lose them right there in the yard.

So, let this be a cautionary tale to all you homesteaders. I hope you are smarter than I am, and never carry an egg in your pocket.

Today's haul

2 chickens down

This is a horrible post to write, but I am now down to 12 chickens. I have no idea what may have happened, but Boots, my little Sultan rooster (who recently discovered his identity as a roo by crowing each morning), and Fourteen, my much-loved little runt Silver Polish, are gone. I waited a full day before making this post in the hopes they would return, but they are definitely gone.

I feel sick every time I think about them missing... the flock seems so much smaller, even with just two birds less. The chickens will be in coop-lockdown the next few days while I work on putting up more fencing to keep them out of the neighbor's yard... they have already figured out how to get around the current 50' of fence, so another 50' will go up tomorrow.

In better news, the Sussex eggs will be going into the incubator tonight. I'm hoping that the joy of raising some new Hoof and Howl residents will help me get through the loss of two chickens that I spent six months raising.

Goodbye Boots, and goodbye little Fourteen... you are very much missed by this softy of a chicken farmer.

A box of live embryos

I don't know too many people who have had a box like this show up on their doorstep.

The mail lady was ecstatic when she delivered this box. She honked the car horn the whole way up the long driveway, and when I came out of the house to see who it was, I spotted her sitting in her personal vehicle, holding up this box and pointing to it excitedly, grinning from ear to ear. She explained that the instructions for delivery were very clear - no heat and no refrigeration - and she wanted to make sure she delivered it personally.

I was floored. I love where I live. Where else do you get service like that?

Speaking of hatching eggs, though, the Ameracauna mix babies won't be arriving this fall. There was a miscommunication on the part of the seller, and the order had to be canceled. Perhaps next spring?

Doggy Duplex was a success!

Taking it easy

I'm really enjoying this nice break from the summer heat today. What started out as a rainy, grey morning has really blossomed into a beautiful day.

Last night brought hours of cooling rain, and this morning the temperature is comfortable, the air is breezy, and the sounds of cicadas and songbirds are filling the yard. The animals are all fed, the dogs are napping, and life seems calm.

After the last three days of working overtime on the doghouse, I'm especially content to just whittle the day away with photo-taking, yogurt-making, and the occasional hammock nap.

Even the chickens have to take it easy today. They are on lockdown in their coop for the rest of the afternoon, after several days of hiding their eggs in the woods. I didn't even get a single white egg the past two days, and I know I have at least three white egg-layers that are producing. Also, I think one of my Ameracaunas is due to lay any day now, and I want her to get in the good habit of laying in the nest box right from the start.

In other chicken news, we officially have a rooster here at the farm. Little Boots turned out to be a rooster, and he gave his first pitiful cock-a-doodle-doo two mornings ago. He's not a particularly loud or mean rooster, but he is the smallest chicken of the bunch, which limits his effectiveness as a flock guardian. I'm not sure yet whether he will stay or go, but if anyone is looking for a young White Sultan rooster... let me know.

A large box of hatching eggs also arrived in the mail this morning! They are Speckled Sussex eggs from a breeder in Georgia. I had planned to set them under my broody Polish hen, but when I moved her nest into the coop, it broke her broody cycle and she abandoned the nest. So, these little ones will be raised in the incubator instead. I should also be receiving a box of Ameracauna mix hatching eggs within the next week as well. In three weeks, this place will be hopping with day-old chicks!

I only want to keep a few for my own flock, so I'll be selling the majority of the Sussex and the Ameracauna-mix babies. If anyone local is interested, again please contact me. If all else fails, they'll be advertised on Craigslist and the Backyard Chickens forum. But like they say... don't count your eggs before they hatch! This is my first time incubating eggs, so I'm not expecting a full hatch. Heck, I'll be happy if ANY of the eggs hatch!

There's always something going on over here. It's a circus, but it's a good circus.

Yellow-eyed dogs

"And then there were the dogs from Canada... true northern sled dogs... huge, gray-sided, yellow-eyed meat eaters that didn't want anything but to pull, and eat."

-Gary Paulson, Winterdance: The Fine Madness of Running the Iditarod

Some mornings when I go out to feed and get bowled over by the knuckleheads, the quote does seem somewhat fitting... gotta love the crazy ones!

One girl, two power tools, and three days' worth of elbow grease has finally produced a brand-new Doggy Duplex!

Even though the summer heat has only just arrived, my thoughts are already turning to fall and winter. I know that sounds crazy, but it will be here before I know it, and I want to kick back and relax after a summer of hard labor! Fall is my favorite season, and I want to spend it swinging in the hammock, wearing cozy sweaters and carving pumpkins. NOT wielding power tools. So, first on the agenda was to build insulated houses for the new fenced dog yard.

I wasn't too keen on dropping $150 a pop for new igloo shelters. Although they performed well last winter, there's a big difference between having one of those on a covered deck, and having one on the bare ground with 2' of snow surrounding it. I wanted something raised off the ground, sturdier than plastic, (at least partially) insulated, and with a flat roof for Snoopy-esque dog-naps.

After a lot of Internet sleuthing, I found a sleddog kennel's website, with plans on building a dog house from a single sheet of plywood for $35. I was liking the sound of that! With a little modification and extra materials, I built a double design that incorporates two compartments into one shelter. It's built of 1/2" CDX plywood inside, and 1/2" plywood siding outside, with 1" of foam sheet insulation sandwiched inside the side walls. The floor is raised 5" off the ground and also has a sheet of insulation bolted underneath. The top is removable so I can easily get in to change out straw.

Realistically, before winter hits, I should build another house, but I'm a little burned out after three days of measuring, cutting, drilling, and more cutting... so, on to other projects for the meantime. There's still plenty of winter-prep projects left to do.

My weekend went to the dogs

On Saturday, Byron and I loaded up Willow and Bandit into the back of the car and headed out to Canine Fun Days, a huge dog-lovers' event that draws about 5000 people and their pooches. It's put on by the Ohio Greyhound Rescue, and features a Rescue Parade and adoption event, and a fun show with silly classes such as Best Tail Wag, Best Eyes and Biggest Smile. For me, though, the highlight was their huge selection of dog sports - events such as Dock Dogs, lure-coursing, agility, and more - all open to any breed, even to dogs who have no experience with the events.

Our first order of business was to try the sled-heads out on the agility course. Well, Willow has no aptitude for agility at all, which really isn't too surprising! Tunnels and jumps and ramps? "Kid stuff, booooor-ing", says Willow. Just take a look at that disgruntled face as she forced herself to amble through the agility tunnel.



Bandit, on the other hand, did quite well, considering he'd never seen the equipment before. I think he'd love agility, and I'm going to try and set up a mini-course in the yard for us to practice on. Here he is going down the ramp on one of the contacts, being steadied and guided by me and an assistant.



Not to worry, though, Willow did eventually find her calling. It came in the form of a couple of white crinkly plastic bags being pulled at high speeds. (Willow's name is written all over it.) The event is known as "lure coursing" and simulates the old-time rabbit chases popular with Salukis and other sighthounds.

As soon as we were within viewing distance of the "bunnies", Willow went nuts, straining at the leash and leaping in the air. She wanted to chase so bad, I'm sure she would've ripped right through the fencing if I didn't have a hold on her. When it was finally our turn, I walked her into the ring and set her on course... unclipped the leash... held her by the collar and waited. As soon as the lures took off, I snapped my hand open and she took off like a rocket.



As you can see in the video, as she rounded the second turn, she got distracted by the corner wheel that holds the lure-coursing line in place. Its high-pitched screeching noise must have been awfully distracting, because she spent a good minute play-bowing and howling at it, before I could cross the field and re-orient (read: chase) her back towards the lures.



Once she realized the bunnies weren't actually REAL bunnies, she was a little disappointed and started trotting off around the field to explore. She wasn't hard to catch, though, and we left the field and headed to the kiddie pools and hoses for a little cooling off.

After that, we spent some time checking out the vendors and the rescue booths, then packed up the pooches and headed home. Willow and Bandit slept the entire evening, and made it look like it was a chore to even get up to have dinner! I love the energy of Northern breeds, but sometimes couch potato dogs are much appreciated.

The nesting instinct

The case of the disappearing hen

I know I didn't get a chance to post much the rest of the weekend (more on that later), but as it turns out, Freebie came back Saturday morning (feathers badly ruffled), only to disappear again on Saturday night. I asked the online chicken-raising experts (namely, the Backyard Chickens forum) what might be going on, and they suggested that Freebie was going broody, and might be setting on a nest somewhere in the yard.

Well, this morning, I found the culprit:



Nestled within the hostas growing along the side of the barn, there was a perfectly-formed little nest with 18 Freebie eggs comfortably inside.

It was sheer luck and good timing that I found the nest. I was calling Freebie this morning again, hoping she'd show up for breakfast. I happened to be on the other side of the barn, away from the coop, when I saw Freebie appear in the hostas and trample them on her way towards the grain bin. Following her tracks led me to the nest - to say I was astonished would be putting it lightly! Mostly, I'm sad because that would have made a lot of omelets.

I'm not sure what the correct course of action will be. I don't want to dismantle the nest until I know what to do - should I just dismantle it completely and remove all traces of the dug-up dirt and nest material? Or should I move the eggs into the coop so that Freebie can set them there? I'm asking around, so with any luck, I should have the answer by tonight.

A repeat performance

Well, here it is Friday night, and Freebie is missing again.

I don't know where she's going or why, but a half-hour of searching the yard with a flashlight and a couple friends turned up with nothing.

Hopefully she'll be back again tomorrow morning...

Lost and ... found!

I don't think I could be any more cheerful this morning! My missing hen, Freebie, is safe and sound! I am absolutely flabberghasted that a Crested Polish hen, with the worst vision (thanks to that giant feather poof on her head) out of all the chooks, made it a whole night safely "in the wild".

When I walked outside just now to open the coop, there she was, wandering aimlessly around the barn. I have no idea where she spent the night, but she is incredibly jumpy this morning - can't say I blame her!

She followed me back to the coop and ran right in when I opened the run and coop doors. Once inside, she immediately helped herself to a double helping of grains and cracked corn. I guess even traumatic experiences can't trump a chicken's appetite!

A missing hen

I hate to follow up my last happy post with this one, but sometimes plot twists like this just come out of the blue.

Tonight when I went to shut the girls up in their coop, I noticed Freebie wasn't among them. It was odd, because the hens were already on their roosts by 7:00 pm, much earlier than most nights. I figured Freebie would be back by nightfall, so I left the coop door open for her. When I returned to check after the sun had set, the head count was, sadly, the same. Reluctantly, I closed the door and hoped for the best.

It's possible that she got a little lost and is roosting up in the pine trees somewhere, but I have a sinking feeling that that's just not the case.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't distraught over this. We did lose two chicks earlier this year to a genetic problem, but there was closure because we knew what had happened. In this case, I'm finding it harder - who knows where Freebie is, or what may have happened to her? Who knows if another one of the hens might be next?

The important thing is to keep reminding myself that this is what I signed up for when I picked up that box of peeping chicks back in March. The good - watching the birds live a natural life under the sunshine, eating grass and bugs and berries - inevitably comes with the bad - a night of scouring the yard with a flashlight, calling the name of a much-loved, little lost bird. That's just the way it is...

Breakfast is on the hens

My apologies - today's chores literally didn't end until five minutes ago. When homesteading, you'll have that sometimes! I am just beyond exhausted - this morning consisted of walking dogs, harvesting blackberries, doing a full house clean, lots of laundry, cooking and more cooking, and buying supplies to build new houses for the sled-heads this weekend.

So, in retrospect, it was a good thing I had a big breakfast! I cooked up two of my homegrown eggs, one white and one brown. Whisked them with a little milk, sea salt, and fresh-ground black pepper... and scrambled them up on the stove. Followed that up with a pineapple-and-carrot smoothie, courtesy of my much-loved, refurbished Vita-Mix stand blender. (I know pineapple and carrot sounds awful, but believe me, it's actually really good...)

Well, let me back up a bit first. When I first cracked the eggs, I was astonished at the rich, dark yolk color, and firm whites. Just to make sure I wasn't seeing things, I went ahead and cracked an organic, cage-free egg that I bought from Trader Joe's, to compare. This is what I saw:

Homegrown eggs -


Store-bought egg -


It really makes one wonder what the organic, "cage free" birds must be eating to have such pale yolks and runny whites... or are the eggs just not that fresh? My birds are raised on organic whole-grain layer feed, supplemented with cracked corn and oyster shell, and given access to our entire 3 acres of yard, pasture, and woods to forage for greens. I hear it's all the beta-caratene in the greens that give the eggs that dark orange color. Also, apparently studies have shown that eggs from truly free-range hens have 1/3 less choresterol and lots more of the "good stuff" like omega fatty acids.

Anyway, enough rambling, I'm probably preaching to the choir here anyway. Back to today's egg tasting. When I cooked up those little eggs, this is what I got...



For all appearances, a completely normal plate of scrambled eggs. But the taste was just phenomenal! You don't realize what a storebought egg is lacking until you've tasted a fresh farm egg. I'm not even sure how to explain the difference, but it was there and it was significant.

I really can't wait to give these eggs a try in pasta-making and baking... not to mention quiche and souffle. If the results are as good as today's breakfast, all that hard work of raising chicks, building a pen, and hauling gallons of water out to the coop will be more than worth it.