My Bit of Earth

Counting Eggs

I always liked the logic puzzles my grade school teachers would have us do.  You know, "Sue and Jane can't sit next to each other, but the person who likes lasagna is to the left of the person who likes Brussels sprouts," and so on.  Although I enjoyed them, I never saw much practical application for logic puzzles--until the chickens started laying eggs.

But through our brilliant deductive powers, I believe we have resolved:

This is an Ingrid egg.  I am 99% certain of this.  Her breed (she's a Maran) lays chocolate colored eggs.  Further, she was an early bloomer, getting her plump bottom before the other girls, and these were our first eggs.

This is a Tori egg.  I am 100% certain of this, because last Saturday afternoon we watched her lay it.  (Well, I didn't see it physically come out, but when she went into the nest box there was no egg and when she came out there was an egg, so....)

This is neither a Tori, nor an Ingrid egg.  It's not dark enough to be a Ingrid egg.  I would suspect an odd Tori variant, but there was another definite Tori egg laid on the same day.  Based on the speckles and size, I believe it to be a duck egg.  Both Tori and Ingrid started out laying smallish eggs and got progressively bigger.  If this was Alanis the Chicken's first attempt, I would expect it to be small, but it's actually bigger than even Ingrid and Tori's more mature eggs.

Based on the color--brown, not blue--I suspect it's not Macy (the blue runner, who has a high chance of laying blue eggs).  Between Kaki and Ella, based on the plumpness of their respective egg laying parts, I believe this is a Kaki egg.  However, I will await further confirmation before declaring that with any certainty.

Logic puzzles aside, even with only two girls steadily laying, we're getting plenty of eggs.  The September count:

Ingrid: 17

Tori:  11

Kaki?:  1

TOTAL: 29 beautiful eggs!

The Kitchen Reader: Hungry Monkey

This month's Kitchen Reader book, which I got to pick, was Hungry Monkey: A Food-Loving Father's Quest to Raise an Adventurous Eater.  

If I had to seriously choose attributes I would wish for our kiddo, "adventurous eater" wouldn't make the top ten.  (Those would be things like smart, kind, brave, funny....)  

But it would definitely make the top twenty!

We're food people--it's important to us.  And just like sports-loving people want to have sports loving kids and book-loving people want to have little readers, it would tickle me to death if our kid was adventurous about food.

To that end, this book is more memoir than guidebook.  And while Amster-Burton does have some success in getting his daughter, Iris, to experiment with trying new foods, she has some of the same issues that I suspect all kids have.  She goes through picky phases.  She loves a food one day, and won't even try it the next, etc.  This is not a book to tell you how to get your kid to eat spinach every night.

What this book is--or at least seems to be--is very sane.

Feed your kid what you eat.  Don't make a big issue out of it if they don't like something, or even when they do.  Get them involved in choosing and making food--one idea that I thought was particularly good is that little Iris picks what the family has for dinner at least one night a week.  Make things that are customizable--e.g. rice with a variety of toppings so that everyone can pick their own.

It also explores the reasons behind some of the common advice behind feeding kids--no spicy foods, only organic food--and completely blasts the ones that don't make sense.  (Do you eat only bland, organic food?)  Having read a few other books in the "cooking for baby" genre, I really appreciated the completely non-sanctimonious tone.

This book is also hilarious!  I snarfled out loud at least every other page or so.  I'm sure life with Iris isn't that funny 24/7, but for literary purposes the one-liners Amster-Burton picks out had me rolling with laughter.

While this book is certainly targeted at parents of young ones, it's truly funny enough that I think even people who remember their own childhood eating weirdnesses will get a kick out of it.

Little Blue Eyes

This guy is officially my best photography client.  At a year old, we've now done pictures three times.  When we parted ways after this little photo shoot, his papa joked, "See you at Christmas!"

As far as subjects go, I could certainly do worse--just look at those big, blue eyes!

Fall Happies

 The first batch of chicken and noodles.  I actually rarely make homemade noodles.  You really do have to let them dry for a day for them to cook right, and I can't always plan that far in advance.  But for the very first batch of the season, I made it work.  It was worth it!

 Some of our first official baby presents, beautifully sewn by Nice Cousin.  And that thing on the right?  It's called a taggie.  It crinkles when you touch it.  I had to hide it so that Sweet Husband and I don't wear out the crinkle before the baby gets a chance to play with it.

 My little paper aviary.  I made these paper cranes about a month ago for a project, but then had to stop and think how exactly I wanted to go about the next step.  In the meantime, they're just hanging out making me smile.

Knitting Progressing

Sweet Husband arrived home the other night to me furiously knitting as the dogs looked on.  "I just need to finish something--I haven't finished anything in forever,"  I tried to explain.

That's not a completely true statement.  I actually did finish this hat a few weeks ago:

(Pattern and yarn info.)  And I have another hat just almost done, but I ran out of yarn and need to order another skein to top off the top.  

But other than those two bits, there is an awful lot of this sitting around my house:

In the short time I've been knitting--just two years this Fall, really--I've gotten so much quicker.  My first hat took me three weeks, I knocked the one above out in three days.  However, while my fingers have gotten faster, my ambitions have gotten bigger too.  Sweaters and blankets and shawls (i.e. big things) just take more time, and often a little patience too...whatever that may be!

In the end though, I did get this little vest done.  (Pattern and yarn.)  It's for a wee lad (not mine) who will be making his appearance in November.  And I love those little cabled owls!  

Autumn Pastures

Well, "pasture" might be a bit of an overstatement, but we did officially move the ladies to the back half of the yard this weekend.  

[Our bountiful ladies, Ingrid and Tori.] 

Reason one:  I want the ladies to spend the Winter months prepping the garden for next Spring.

Yup, that's right--I'm using my poultry as a slave garden crew.  Basically, the idea is that they do just what they do best--scratch and poop--all over the garden, thereby loosening and fertilizing the soil. 

And don't think for a minute that they're not loving it.  Fresh, loamy garden beds to scratch in.  Bugs out the wazoo.  The remnants of summer tomatoes and last Spring's cabbage.  The only areas that are forbidden to them are a few Fall plants (kale, chard, radishes) and the luffa gourds, which have all been placed in cages for their own protection.  

[The Freeloaders.]

Reason two:  We've figured out that Ingrid and Tori need all day access to their nest boxes.

I couldn't be prouder of both of them, actually.  With almost no prompting at all, they've decided that their nest box is the place to lay eggs.  (Well, Tori did make one in an empty flower pot one day, but only once!)  In fact, they're so fixated with laying in the box that they get really distressed if they can't get to it when the need arises.  Ingrid is pretty regular about laying once a day, in the morning before they get let outside, but Tori is more of an every-third-afternoon kind of girl.  Hence the need for anytime admission to the coop.

Alanis and the ducks are still freeloading.  Just by looking at her I can tell that Alanis isn't as mature as the other two chickens, so I'm not worrying about her yet.  However, Nice Farmer-Lawyer Guy (who has Kaki the Duck's nine sisters) has been regularly getting duck eggs for a few weeks now, so I'm starting to get a bit put out with my little quackers. 

[Radishes in protective custody.] 

Figgy Pizza

I like homemade pizza beyond reason, but I like it even more when I can come up with seasonal topping ideas.  Tomatoes and basil can only get you through so many months before it's time for heartier Fall food.

This little Autumn gem, while certainly not all that original, was very tasty.  I think figs "have it all" as far as food goes.  Not only are they good, they're beautiful too--just look at that ruby color!  

Here's how I put together my "figgy pizza":  

1. Whip up your favorite pizza dough.  (Mine is described here.)
2. Quarter up a half-dozen or so figs, slice an onion, and chunk up the better part of a wedge of Brie.
3. I always give my crust a head start by letting it bake (in a 400 degree oven) for about five minutes before I pull it out and add the toppings.  I like to sauté the onions a little before hand too.
4. Add toppings to hot pizza crust.
5. Bake for another 10-15 minutes, or until the crust starts to get nice and brown around the edges.

Result: A just-a-little sweet, gooey, September-appropriate pizza, which--if your weather is as beautiful as ours has been--I strongly suggest enjoying outside.

It's Not a Golden Retriever

Sweet Husband's little joke.  As in:

    Random Friend: What are you hoping for?

    Sweet Husband: Well, a Beagle would be ok, but what we really want is a Golden Retriever.

But, all kidding aside, after a whole lot of this by both me and the kiddo....  (Don't tell a woman who's five months pregnant to come in with a full bladder and then make her wait an hour!)

....we finally got a shot of this.

Looks like a speck of dirt to me, but the ultrasound tech seemed pretty sure that it was "boy parts". 

We weren't really doing much boy/girl hoping either way, to tell the truth.  I could see the advantages of both, and Sweet Husband (about the most un-gender biased person I know) wouldn't have treated either much differently in the first place.  

But--while this does lessen my scope of knitting a bit--I've always imagined a boy just "fitting" with us a little better.  Not that any daughter o'mine would be a priss, but between the terrier and the chickens and all the other bits of mud and mess swirling around our lives...it just seems to make sense.

And, in the way that these things often go, we have a pretty solid boy's name--still up for negotiation, but one we both like.  The girl names were really up in the air still (for posterity's sake, Hermione and Lucy were the front runners), so that takes care of that, all in a neat little bow-tie.  

(Squee!  Little bow-ties!  I hadn't thought of that 'till just now...I wonder how old the kid has to be before they're not a choking hazard?  Must ask the Google!)

A Darned Good Looking Dresser

Sweet Husband's weekend project.  I wish I could remember to take before shots, but I never think of it.  Picture a brown dresser--older, missing a few pulls, a little scratched up.  

But put on a little new hardware, a little "pencil" colored paint--it's like magic!

(Now if only we could do the same for my old bunny lying to the side there....alas, they don't sell "health insurance" for stuffed bunnies with holey skin.....)

In the Wee Smalls

The sleep thing isn't happening so well these days.  Sometimes a little hot chocolate nightcap helps, sometimes it doesn't.  But I'm starting to make peace with it.  It's good knitting time.

And Moe.  Moe has taken it upon himself to be my nighttime companion.  Whether it's just a trip to the potty or downstairs to read or knit, he rouses himself out of bed to follow with nary a whimper or a dirty look.  (The terrier people know what I'm talking about--Moe can give dirty looks better than a thirteen year old girl when he's disgruntled.)  

It's kind of sweet, really.  In days of old, Porter would have followed me about the house while my selfish, little terrier stayed snuggled under the covers.  These days I'm not sure she even hears me get up, but Moe has apparently decided it's his job to supervise me now.  In his typical "go big or go home" way, he's doing a pretty darned good job.

Perfect Apples

It's barely the middle of September, and can you believe we've been to the apple orchard twice already?  The proprietor (who was one of Sweet Husband's professors in school and thus recognizes us each year) laughed as he saw us walk up and exclaimed, "I haven't even sent out my flyers yet!

I used to think an apple is an apple is an apple, but these are, like, magic apples.  Or addictive crack apples.  Or just the most perfect apple I've ever eaten--sweet, tart, firm, fragrant.

And in addition to eating them straight up, I'm determined to save some.  To that end, I've been making apple chips (in the dehydrator) and applesauce.  I'm also thinking about some apple pie filling, but that may have to wait until the next trip to the orchard--there's a tub of caramel in the fridge that I would hate to deprive of the pleasure of meeting these perfect apples!

We've made it to melons!

I can't remember how old my kid is.  Truly, about every other day someone asks me "So, how many weeks are you?"  And I'm like, "Uhhh...a little over four months...so that's ummm...." as I frantically count fingers.  There's something about trying to keep track of it that way that refuses to interface with my brain.

But at almost any second since the stick turned blue I could tell you exactly what fruit-stage we were at.

No, I'm not losing it.  At all the various pregnant-people websites you can find charts for "How Big is Baby?" that compare the size of the baby to different fruits and vegetables.  I've been primarily using this one, although I check this one every once in awhile too.  

The other day we were at the turnip stage when we passed a basket of them at the grocery store.  I held a turnip up to Sweet Husband, "Look, honey, it's just like the baby!"  Which made Sweet Husband amusedly roll his eyes and a random passer-by laugh.

Somewhere along the way, I divided it all up into several stages in my head--first there were seeds (poppy seed, apple seed), then we got to berries (blueberries, raspberries), then citrus (limes, lemons, oranges)...but this week, we've officially hit the big one--melons.  A cantaloupe to be exact.

Except that cantaloupes aren't in season, but acorn squashes are of similar size and shape...and either way, it means we're at 20 weeks, which means this kid is half-way done.  

Alas, I'm starting to feel a little like a melon, or a squash, or something, although not nearly so much as I will before it's all over with, I'm afraid.  There's a definite feeling akin to watching fruit ripen.  I noticed for the first time the other day that my formerly devoutly innie belly button is not quite so deeply innie as it once was.  (It's kind of fascinating to be able to see inside all the wrinkles, actually.) 

Or perhaps I'm just making popcorn in there.

Several people have told me that the first time they felt their baby move it felt like "butterflies".  I have been feeling something for a few weeks now, but it was more like little "thwaps" or "pops" than "flutters".  The other day I was reading an article about it, and the author described the feeling as "like popcorn popping".  "Phew!" I thought, "I'm really glad that's the kid and not snack food."

An Atypical Harvest Lunch

The pumpkin is no more.  The squash bugs--who multiplied beyond reckoning in just one week of "I'm hot and lazy and pregnant" neglect--were setting up permanent colonies on it's surface.  Just looking at them gave me the willies.  

Say, did you know that one blast from a weed burner will barbecue squash bugs instantaneously?  I imagine it's something like an atomic bomb--a death so fast there's not even half a second to think of pain.  Which is much more merciful than they were to my pumpkin.

But, although the pumpkin was rendered inedible, I found a less conventional harvest food tucked away in a back corner of the garden this weekend--several handfuls of edamame.

A few minutes in the steamer, a sprinkle of salt...a perfectly lovely September lunch!

 

We Have Eggs!

A day that shall live for eternity in the annals of Hacienda del Hosta history....today, at 23 weeks old, my chickens became little women....today, my chickens have laid eggs!

 

Well, two of them did.  We think.  

This morning we were out doing yard work when I spotted the first one.  It was laying in the dusty part of the yard that the girls like to hang out in during the middle of the day when it's hot.  A brown, speckled egg, with black and white feathers attached--it has to be Ingrid's.  

An investigation of the nest box revealed another egg, the exact same size, but lighter brown and without the speckles.  My bet on that one is Tori for four reasons: 

• It was the same size as Ingrid's--making it more likely to be a chicken egg.  
• It was light brown--Alanis is an "Easter Egger", so hers should be blue or green or pink.  
• Alanis is still kind of wiry and lithe-looking compared to Ingrid and Tori's fuller figures.  
• Also--and I know this is totally crazy--of all the poultry, Tori is the most sensible.  It would be like her to figure out to use the nest box from the get-go.

We were gone over the weekend, so those two could have been laid anytime Saturday or Sunday or even early this morning.

Then this evening, Sweet Husband went out to put the girls away and found another dark, speckled egg in the same place as the last one.  Ingrid strikes again!

So, we're up to three eggs, probably two from Ingrid and one from Tori.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out if I should keep track of number of eggs by chicken (based on my guesses and conjecture) or just keep a number for the entire flock?  And should we weigh them too?  Or just count them?  (Have I ever mentioned that I'm sort of a whore for record keeping and spreadsheets and the like?)

Eh, maybe I'll go make an omelette while I think about it....

This is What a Luffa Gourd Looks Like

 

And suddenly our plants have become prolific.  I counted 15 luffa gourds the other day, and I'm sure there are more--their color camouflages them in the leaves, which makes them hard to see.  According to the internets they will soon start to turn brown or yellow, and then we can pick and peel them to get to the spongy goodness inside.

The Rest of the Loot

Even before Sweet Husband found the spinning wheel, we were having an awesome day at the River Market Antique Mall.

 

I have been looking for a copy of this game forever.  It's a card game we used to play at my grandmother's when I was little.  The idea is that everyone is going on a trip.  You play "mileage" cards to progress along your way, but you can stop other people from traveling by playing things like "out of gas" or "punctured tire".  (It's a little like Uno, but not quite.)  

It was one of those totally cool serendipitous things where I just happened to look down and there it was sitting on top of an old metal trunk.  Meant to be, I tell you.

Sweet Husband's big score was a couple of razors.  Last Christmas I bought him a double-edged razor (like the one above to the right) and a shaving kit to go with.  He loves it, and I've actually been converted too.  

So converted, in fact, that I steal his razor when he's not looking.  (Seriously ladies, it takes a few days to get the hang of it without nicking yourself, but your legs will be smooth for days!)  Not being particularly crazy about having to hunt down his razor all the time, he's been looking for one for me for a bit now.  As these razors last forever, an older one is just as good as a new.  After this guy is properly sterilized I expect to never have to buy another crappy disposable razor for the rest of my life.

The straight razor--on the bottom--is actually for Sweet Husband.  He's been wanting one to experiment with.  (They scare me a little, but it's not my face at risk, so....) 

And a couple of Dr. Seuss books for the kiddo rounded out the lot!
   

Thirteen Going on a Hundred

Ms. Porter House (pictured here in her puppy days) celebrates her thirteenth birthday today.  By the traditional 1 year=7 dog years formula, that makes her a very respectable 91 years old.