Fist Pump

Do you ever give in to the urge to do a "Tiger Woods style" fist pump when you accomplish something really difficult?

While this does not happen to me nearly as often as it does to Tiger; today it did.

Why, you ask?  It sounds ridiculous, but I defeated this:

A bush

Using these:

My bare hands

And this:

The right tools

And a lot of this:

Okay, this is obviously not me...

I encountered some obstacles along the way:

Stupid shovel

But I persevered and after some sweat (lots), blood (not really) and tears (a few), I accomplished this:

After which came the fist pump and (I am somewhat embarrassed to admit) a loud exclamation of "Take that, b***h!"

Finally, my end product was this:

My new magnolia tree

I am very proud of myself.  This is a good day.

Green Gobbler

It is turkey hunting time again; notice that I don't say turkey "catching" time?  Every spring for the past four years, my dear husband has vowed that this will be the year that he brings us home a delicious wild gobbler.  Needless to say, we are still waiting.

Who knew that these birds would be so difficult to catch?  Turkeys have the (erroneous) reputation of being dumb.  Common definitions of "turkey" include: a person or thing of little appeal; dud; loser; a naive, stupid or inept person.  While these labels might apply to domesticated turkeys, they are in no way accurate portrays of the wild bird.

Ian's nemesis.  I am not sure he has ever seen one this close.

Wild turkeys have extraordinarily keen eye sight and are cautious animals.  They are hesitant explorers and are quick to turn away from a situation that feels at all suspicious.  Perhaps not surprisingly, up to this point, wild turkeys seem to have classified Ian dressed all in camouflage attempting to mimic the sound of a female bird as suspicious.  They seem to be in no particular hurry to investigate this mystery female turkey (still Ian) at any close proximity making it impossible for him to get a decent shot.  In fact, I think he has only ever fired one shot at a turkey.

Luckily for us, Ian is nothing if not resourceful and he never comes home from turkey hunting empty handed.  A rare spring delicacy called ramps, or wild garlic, grow in the forest where Ian hunts.  He always forages some of these delicious veggies for us on his hunting excursions which we eagerly incorporate into omelets, mashed potatoes and pierogi.

Ramps

Ramp omelet that we whipped up at
Brian and Sarah's house this past weekend.

We will continue to hope for a feathery end to one of Ian's future hunting excursions; however, we promise to remain satisfied with the "green gobbler" (aka ramps) that we have come to expect from these turkey "watching" trips.

Ian's hunting bag.  Sadly not a feather to be seen.

Score so far this year: Turkeys 1; Ian 0

Rubber Chicken

Round Two Stew - Part 2

After avoiding it for as long as possible, we decided to bite the bullet and get the dreaded Cull Day #2 over and done with.  We gathered the necessary tools, prepped our work space and talked through our plan to make sure that the actually culling process was as fast, efficient and painless as possible (for both the chickens and us).

Work Station

Think happy thoughts and for goodness sake - don't look at the axe!

The phase "running around like a chicken with it's head cut off" is a funny expression until you see it in action.  Both Ian and I actually find this to be the most disturbing part of the slaughter process.  After getting the axe, not only do a chicken's legs run wildly, but it's wings flap like crazy, it makes clucking sounds and it's eyes continue to blink.  It is simply awful.

We figured we could at least avoid headless running chickens by hanging the decapitated birds from the clothes line to bleed out.  They still flapped but it was (slightly) less horrible than the flapping, running headless combo that we would have otherwise had.

Halfway through the process, we stopped to take a breather and reflect on how far we have both come over the past five years.  Ian is so far removed from the suburban boy that he was when we first met and I have made significant strides towards being a responsible farmer instead of simply a pet collector.

After cleaning the birds, we ended up with a large bowl full of chicken breasts, thighs and legs.  By this point it looked just like the meat you buy in the grocery store except our pieces of meat were much smaller than store bought produce.  I had big plans for this meat - a delicious chicken cacciatore.  I still have vivid memories of how excellent farm fresh rooster meat was; I anticipated our fresh chicken feast all day long.

I put extra care into the cacciatore recipe using our homemade canned tomatoes and just the right amount of spice...well, I need not have wasted my time.  Apparently, there is a reason old wives' tales specify using farm chickens "for the pot".  That is another way of saying that the meat on these old birds is tougher than rubber!

"Rubber chicken" cacciatore: looks good, tastes terrible.

My cacciatore was terrible.  Not exaggerating at all, trying to eat the meat in it was like chewing on an elastic band.  It was absolutely horrible, not to mention completely inedible.

My meal was a new take on rubber chicken.

However, I was determined not to waste this meat.  I was on a mission - we were going to eat these hens somehow.  So, the inedible chicken cacciatore went into the stock pot and I boiled this disaster in chicken stock for eight hours after which I added veggies and more spices to create, you guessed it, Round Two Stew.  My stew was hardly a culinary masterpiece but it was a vast improvement over my previous try - this meal was at least edible.

If anyone has other ideas of how to cook up very tough red hen please let me know - I still have three more ziplock bags of meat in the deep freeze and I do not think I can sell Ian on another batch of Round Two Stew any time soon!

Round Two Stew

Round Two Stew - Part 1

End result:

Gael Glen Farm Specialty: Round Two Stew

How we got here is a long story.

It all started one sunny summer day with a rooster named Cornelius....

For us, the hardest part of operating a hobby farm is "cull day".  Ugh, it even sounds horrible.  We like to think of ourselves as more of a "luxury retirement home" for animals and this approach works well for us most of the time.  So far, the vast majority of our hens have aged here with dignity laying us the occasional egg until they died of natural causes.

However, there have been a few instances over the years where we have been in possession of a bird (or birds) who are just not suitable to remain with us for the long haul.  The first time this happened was the day our young rooster, Cornelius, went crazy.  Up to this point, Cornelius had been a model bird.  He was a surprise from the bird breeder (he was supposed to be a girl) but he turned out to be quite a delight with his lovely red tail feathers and musical (though hilariously feeble) "Uh, uh-uh, ah, ooooo!" at all times of the day.

Unfortunately, one morning when I opened the coop door, Cornelius came roaring out of the hatch, raised his spurs and attacked all ducks in sight.  I have no idea what led to this overnight insane hatred for all creatures of the anas platyrhynchos domesticus subspecies but if left to his own devices there would have been a mass duck genocide on Gael Glen Farm.  This led to cull day #1.  Participant: one demented rooster.  We felt a little bad about it but we ate him as a delicious feast of coq au vin.

Over the past month, we have been gearing up for cull day #2; it takes us a while to work up the nerve.  Our problems began with the appearance of half eaten eggs each afternoon in the nesting boxes.  Up until this point we had experienced the occasional broken egg but what was happening now was clearly a calculated, systematic breaking and eating of the eggs.

With no predators in sight to blame we turned our investigative eyes to our own chickens to try to "Sherlock Holmes" out the feathery culprits.  Using coloured leg bands and systematic isolation of suspicious hens (namely our New Hampshire red hens) we discovered that it was not only one hen participating in the undesirable egg eating but all three!

Red hen with a red leg band.

After consulting with experts (via the internet, of course) we learned that it is very, very hard to break hens of cannibalistic behaviour and if left unchecked it can spread throughout the entire flock.  Soon all of our chickens could be eating their eggs - definitely not the direction we want to go in.

So, for the past month the three red chickens have been in "isolation" during the day on the "human" side of the coop.  They have been busy getting into trouble in the backyard (namely digging up all of Ian's onion bulbs and a large portion of the lawn over the septic bed), running away from Emily and laying their own eggs in a make shift nest they fashioned out of a hay bale.  These hens seem to have no desire to eat their own eggs, yet the temptation to eat the eggs from the other chickens is simply too much for them to resist.

Red hen on the "human" side of the coop.

Red hen in her make shift nest on top of the hay bale.

We have been separating the red hens from the rest of the flock every morning and returning them to the flock every evening once the eggs are collected and there have been no eaten eggs to speak of.  However, if left with the flock we always find broken, half eaten eggs.

Apparently the grass is always greener on the other side - the other hens were jealous
of the red hens and would stare longingly through the wire
at them on the other side of the coop.

Obviously, daily separation of the three red hens is not a long term, sustainable solution; especially when we are away and a chicken sitter has to take care of our feathery friends.  While we are willing to do it, we would never expect someone else to chase these red rascals down each day and put them in isolation.

To be continued....

Gotcha!

Would you believe that today was the day?  Gotcha, you sneaky little beasts!

The Elusive Crocus

Our first spring flowers have finally opened - I swear.  The blossoms appeared last week during the downpour, survived the snow and now are ready to greet the sun.  While they do not last long, there is something so uplifting about the sight of the first crocuses in the springtime.

Krystal's Attempt #1

Krystal's Attempt #2

This year's batch of crocuses; however, seem to be a bit shy.  I have had a heck of a time trying to get a photo of the blossoms when they are open.  I have seen them open in passing but never when I have my camera.  Every time I have a free moment to run out to take a picture, they are closed.  I have even sent Ian out to try to catch them in the act but with no luck.

Ian's Attempt #1

Ian's Attempt #2 (almost got them!)

Apparently crocuses are like the Polkaroo of spring flowers - I missed them again!

A Pruney Couple of Days

Spring seems to be "that time of year" for lots of things - planting, cleaning, fixing....and the past few days have revolved around fruit tree pruning.

I was extraordinarily pregnant at this time last year and so springtime pruning of our apple and pear trees fell by the wayside.  As such, our trees really need a good trim this year.  It's amazing what a difference missing a year can make - there was so much to cut back!

Our pile of sticks from pruning.  Too bad there's a burn ban on!

While we are hardly expert pruners, we focus mostly on removing damaged or dead branches, beheading the very tall branches and cleaning out any small branches that are growing into the middle of the tree or crisscrossing with others.  Our cardinal rule for pruning is that a bird should be able to fly through the middle of the tree.  There needs to be room to allow good air circulation and for the sunshine to get in to fruit at the centre of the tree.

See? A bird could fly straight through!

I must admit; however, that farm chores like tree pruning take much longer when you have a baby than they ever did before.   Three days to trim our orchard?!  Thank goodness Liam is a reliable napper or nothing would get done at all.  I'm not sure how we will ever get through our spring To Do List at this rate.  I have not even begun to prune the grape vines - sadly, that is a job for another day.

Coop Apple Tree: Before

Coop Apple Tree: After

Is Dirt the New Delicacy?

The desire to "farm" seems to run in the bloodstream of most Kehoes.  And true to his lineage, it seems baby Liam has no qualms about getting his hands dirty.

Here on Gael Glen Farm we are all simply itching to get some seeds into the ground.  The soil in our raised box gardens has been hoed twice already and so it is time for red onion bulbs and spring garlic to go in.  This was very much a family affair with Mama, Papa, Liam, puppies Charlotte and Emily and three red chickens all "helping".

Papa hoed the soil, mixed in peat and fertilizer and planted.

Charlotte laid in the sun and supervised.

Emily chased the red chickens.

Liam ate dirt.

Mama yelled at Emily not to chase the chickens (repeatedly) and said "Liam, not for your mouth.  Please don't eat the dirt." at least a hundred times.

The red chickens dug up all of the bulbs about three minutes after they were planted.

And so tomorrow, we will start all over again.  Practice makes perfect.