Long days turning into nights

I never realized it, but Halloween's Samhain origins are all about the change of seasons, namely autumn turning into winter. The change is very real up here in the Pacific Northwest, autumn leaves have peaked already and we've had a cold snap this week with nights down into the 20s. 

Autumn color and some new paint!

With the longer nights coming, the last month was a last-minute rush to finish projects before working outside became an unattractive prospect, and we got most things on our project list done. The rest will wait until spring.

Hen Mail. This will hold garden tools and chicken treats in the back pasture.

They certainly aren't camera shy.

With the cold temperatures Ella and Esme are coming in at night, since they are only eight weeks old and it's well below freezing for about 10 hours a night -- quite unusual for our part of Oregon. I'm probably being overprotective, but if being a helicopter chicken mama is a crime, convict me. There's nothing more emotionally expensive than regret, especially if your livestock dies because you assumed everything would be OK...and it wasn't. 

But while I've managed to save the chicks from having issues due to the cold weather, the paint on our brand new shutters has not been so lucky. (although the newly-painted house itself looks amazing!) We discovered the latex paint the painter used did not adhere to the vinyl shutters, so when the temperatures dropped and then rose rapidly the paint blistered, bubbled and peeled.

Frostbite? Sunburn? Either way, ugly.

That lovely green paint peeled off using only my fingers, in one fell swoop. Yikes.

That's disappointing, because now we're stuck with $300 worth of shutters we can't paint (although I'm thinking after I peel the paint off I can donate them to Habitat for Humanity and take a nice tax write-off, since they are good as new, just the wrong color.) And on the bright side, we CAN replace them with green vinyl shutters that are close to the trim paint. For those keeping score, cha-ching, another $300. Since we picked the shutters ourselves I don't blame the painter. I blame us. 

Even at our age, this kind of thing happens sometimes; we face home improvement challenges, and we either complete them handily or mess up and learn from them. At the rate we are going, by the time we are 80 years old we will literally know everything there is to possibly know about house maintenance -- at which point no doubt we will promptly move into a retirement facility.

And on the homestead front, I finally hauled all 12 quarts of tomatoes out of the damn freezer and just canned them instead of keeping them frozen. They were taking up way too much space in the chest freezer, while empty shelves stood unused in the pantry. I got a fair amount of "tomato water" in my cans due to freezing the tomatoes first, but since most of the recipes I use them for call for a cup of water to be added anyway, I've got that. And I can see what I have in my freezer once again -- always a good thing.

Tomatoes...and water. 

This weekend when the clocks go back it will be a time of drawing in next to the fire and enjoying inside activities. Everything we didn't get done outside will now have to wait until spring. And since I don't drive much in the dark anymore, any evening event or party not close to home will be something we take a pass on. We're heading into the long nights now. Time to slow down and settle in. 

Summer's End

One of the things I love most about life in the Pacific Northwest is the seasonal changes. No season ever wears out its welcome by sticking around too long. I'm especially happy about that when it comes to summer, whose backside I've never been sorry to see -- even up here. This year we had two days of 100 degree-plus temperatures, a handful of 90 degree temps, but mostly our summer stayed in the 70s and 80s. Perfect.

The lawn at our newly-bought home did turn brown in July and August since the property has no irrigation. Early in August, when we were sick of looking at it, we briefly entertained the idea of putting in some sprinklers, but with .75 inches of rain later that month and the same so far in September, it's all greened up nicely -- and quickly.

There is a three week difference in when these photos were shot. What a difference an inch of rain makes!

The one downside to those mild temps and rain is that my tomato harvest has really come in slowly. This necessitated a new protocol for canning, which is actually not canning this year. Instead of running the water bath canner for just one or two quarts of tomatoes, instead I've started blanching bowls of tomatoes as they come in and then vacuum freezing them. Next year I'm planning on planting a variety of tomato called "4th of July," which as you've probably guessed, is an early ripening variety. Live and learn.

We do have plenty of pumpkins for pies and bread this winter; squash, eggplants and cukes are just about done, so the only thing left in the ground are some late season lettuce and onions. All in all, I'd say our 2019 garden was a success, and we'll expand next year with more raised beds as well as some fun new galvanized troughs for planting containers.

When we weren't in the garden or fixing things around the house we were installing and painting a new chicken mansion for the girls. It's 8 x 10 feet inside, so in the rainy season they will still have plenty of room to scratch and peck. Unreasonable, you say? Nope. Not when it rains 48 inches a year.

La Poulet Mansion

Sadly, we lost two of our favorite hens -- Callie and Chloe -- in that weird 2-day heatwave, probably due to their age. So yesterday I headed to the feed store to get two fall chicks. Ella and Esme will take their place in the flock for spring laying, provided they are both hens, which the feed store only provides a 90 percent guarantee on (so fingers crossed). But for now it's been fun having them peeping and cheeping in the dining room, where they'll live until they're ready to go outside (hopefully before Thanksgiving).

The next and last big push will be to paint our pump house, front door, garden shed and shop before the regular rains set in. We're hoping the painter can paint the house by then, too. But since it's still a little chilly outside right now, I think I'll have a cup of tea, kick my feet up and watch my new chicks explore their world!

The forecast: Foggy, with a splash of autumn.

Summer notes

So western Oregon is in that transition between spring and summer right now. Temps are mostly mild, and we've had a few little rain showers here and there that have helped keep things green.

This was taken at 3:45 am the other morning. Short nights here!

One thing we're having a hard time adjusting to is the length of the night. This part of Oregon sits at about 44 degrees north latitude, like parts of Minnesota, which means our nights are short this time of year. Sunset/rise seem to be at fairly normal times (9 pm and 5:30 am, respectively) but there is a lingering twilight/dawn that lasts a few hours on either end that has made sleeping eight hours a challenge. At the same time, getting up to close a window at 4 am gives a peak at the beginnings of a two-hour sunrise, which is very cool.

But you want to hear something else cool? The latitude of the Willamette Valley also sits on a parallel with Provence, France. So those tall pine trees and fields of tall grass Van Gogh painted also appear in our landscape. Vincent would feel right at home here. 

The girls are finally out of their enclosure and free-ranging for part of the day, which lifts my heart and probably also the nutritional content of the eggs they lay, so that's good.

Just don't crap on the chaise lounge.

I am kind of surprised how much my mood has changed since living here. It seems I'm just consistently in a mellow, congenial kind of attitude, with almost no angst at all. I've realized that's because through most of my adult life I've always hated summer; hated when it started early and stole from spring, hated when it was in its triple digit height from about July through mid-October, and especially hated when it wiped out autumn entirely. That's a lot of hatred and, hence, the angst. 

And the  brush fire danger has gone away, too. I recently took down the three-part list I had posted on the fridge with what to gather up in a wildfire evacuation if you have 5/30/120 minutes to pack. There will be wildfires in Oregon this summer, to be sure, but probably not where we live. 

A Van Gogh kind of summer

Back before we moved here I used to wonder what I'd miss about California, and the answer is nothing...except the people we left. Luckily we've had no less than four friends come to see us since we moved, and more are on the way. Some are just visiting, and others are looking at possible relocations themselves. Either way, it's nice to see familiar faces in new places!

One month!

My old, beloved "Elvis" the Subaru has headed north. As it's my second set of wheels, I can live without it for a month.

It is now 30 days and counting until we leave the state of California for the Pacific Northwest! Our current home is in escrow, our future home is getting some maintenance done before we move in, and one of my cars has already been shipped up there and is in our new barn.

As we're getting packed up by the moving company a couple of days before the actual move, there is not much to do right now except get business in order. Utilities need to be notified. Things need to either be cancelled or forwarded. All this while the clock ticks down.

These pieces will become the wood frame for our Oregon chicken run.

Yesterday I had an afternoon where I was able to do absolutely nothing, and it felt wonderful. No showings, inspections, or paperwork to wrangle. I took a nap, sat in the sun and read. No apologies. It's 86 degrees here right now, which feels horribly early to break out the sleeveless shirts, but soon enough we'll be in a colder clime where we can wait for summer to arrive at a more appropriate date.

Perhaps someday I'll miss the seven month summers....or not. I have had fun recently buying up some cute spring raincoats for our new and colder life up there, but I sure can't wear them here right now!

Say yes to flourless chocolate wine cake when stress eating is advised.

Divisive

You know, we could talk about the State Of The Union address today, if we wanted to pick something divisive which would guarantee to ruffle a few feathers, so to speak. There would be questions...did you turn it into a drinking game, where you had to drink every time The President said a particular word? If you chose the word "millions," then you are probably reading this from your hospital bed where you're recovering from alcohol poisoning.

But instead, let's talk about another divisive topic: artificial lighting in your hens' coop. I've always been of the opinion that hens' bodies need a rest from reproductive activities, the same way our own do. The fact that nature builds this into their programming adds to the credibility of this. There are always a few months, usually in the autumn, when you won't get any eggs from your flock (usually when they are molting).

But in general, this issue usually resolves in time for you to have eggs on Christmas morning. Except if you live here, and except if you've had our psychotic weather (time and temperature check: February 1, 1:32 pm and about 80 freaking degrees...yet still heading down into a hard-ish freeze at night)  I stopped getting eggs last September and while I did pick up a dozen or so between Thanksgiving and Christmas (still not a lot) by about mid-December there were no eggs again, any day, from anyone. And all five girls were healthy and two are less than a year old, so in their laying prime. But for those of you keeping track: Four months produced 12 eggs.

And so about two weeks ago I broke down and put a light inside the henhouse, which comes on at 4:00 am every morning and stays on until it's daylight. This simulates the longer days that makes hens start laying once again. I wasn't sure if it would help, but this was my take this morning...four beautiful eggs, on top of getting at least one a day for the last week or so. I'm back to having a dozen in the fridge, and it feels wonderful to be able to count on having them on hand for omelettes at dinner and other recipes which require them.

As for the bio-ethics of fooling my girls into laying again, I'm still not sure if it's the right thing to do, but it's been a strange year and strange years sometimes require we adopt practices we wouldn't have approved of before. I hope this is the only year I'll have to do it.

Three months

Mound of rosemary

I've long thought that it takes about three months for behaviors, moods, and patterns to change. We're in about the third month of temperate weather now, and I can tell by my general mood that I've been out of the heat long enough to recover from the five months or so of torture it inflicts on me.

Of course it's been in the high 70's this week, but somehow spring warmth seems different than fall warmth. 78 degree autumn days seem like a horrible post-script to summer, yet they are delightful in March. That's because by now we've had three months of not baking in the heat, so once again the warmth is welcome.

Speaking of welcome, we've welcomed two new chicks into our home, Daisy and Delilah. Daisy is a Welsummer, Delilah a Cuckoo Maran. Both will lay dark brown eggs once they are mature. And they have their own personalities, even at this early age.  Daisy is a mellow, calm chick and Delilah is full of drama and quite noisy. The day I brought them home Delilah regaled me with shrill peeping that let me know she was NOT happy about riding in the car, and even now, if she can't locate Daisy or feels a little chilled, she sings out. 

Delilah (L) and Daisy (R)

It makes me wonder what her personality is going to be like as a full-grown chicken...we've already had one psycho hen who attacked people, a psycho rooster who attacked other hens, and so we're just hoping Delilah ends up relatively well-adjusted and calm.

In this household there is not much chance of that, but hope springs eternal.

I also got hit with the dreaded spring creeping crud, which laid me out flat in bed for two days and severely sapped my energy for about another five. They say you don't miss your health until it's gone and that's certainly true. Same goes for energy. So of course now it looks as if someone has set off a dust bomb in the house, since when I am sick the house keeper (me) is also. The advantage to that is that I will never be woken from my sickbed by the vacuum. The drawback is that the dust is right there waiting for me, doubled in thickness, once I recover.

Glorious mulch. And a shout out to the trees that lost their lives to provide it. It's nature's cycle.

Another tidbit is that the trees which were uprooted in the storm last month were chipped by our neighbors and so everyone got as much mulch as they wanted. What a bounty! We covered our raised bed area with it and really like how it looks now. Plus it will keep the weeds down. That was my first task upon feeling better and it really felt great to be out in the sunshine with the wheelbarrow. Plus it gave one more legal excuse to procrastinate cleaning house.

In the garden there are blossoms, potatoes sprouting, lettuce and a brand new irrigation system. In the house there is soon-to-be-restored order and cleanliness. 

All things pass away eventually...sickness gives way to health, winter gives way to spring, and dust gives way to clean surfaces.

The counterbalance is, of course that health does eventually give way to sickness once again, spring ushers in hot summer, and dust always returns (sometimes within just a few hours, it seems).

So enjoy it all while you can, because tomorrow will be different. As I said, if you get three months of something, it's enough to change your attitude or life, so I hope all your changes are good ones from now from now 'till summer, and beyond.

Three hens, no rooster

Otis

So our experiment with having a rooster is over...tonight Otis went to that grand chicken coop in the sky, culled by us after fighting with Callie, the largest yet most submissive of our hens. 

Otis' story began a couple of years ago when, we made a big, sentimental mistake and acquired some eggs from a friend so our brooding hen Ellen could hatch them out and become a mother. We found good homes for three out of the four of Ellen's chicks. Otis we kept, mainly because roosters are hard to place and we figured we'd try having one and see if he'd end up a good addition to our flock.

Otis and Ellen

 Otis ended up causing us no problems.... while his mother Ellen was alive. We realize now it was her influence that kept him in line. After Ellen died (she was put down several months ago after suffering a debilitating tumor) his personality became less cooperative, and more typically rooster-ish.

The attack this afternoon was not Otis' first infraction. A few weeks ago he attacked Chloe, our lovely barred rock, and opened up a sizable gash on her comb, which bled profusely. Chloe spent Christmas morning in our bathroom getting doctored up, and when she was ready to go back out Otis was put in a separate pen for a few days so that both would forget their altercation, which chickens often do. Brain the size of a peanut and all that.  

But if we thought the temporary time-out/isolation worked, we were wrong. As I mentioned earlier, today I found Otis full-on fighting with Callie, our young Silver-Laced Wyandotte. And so, before another hen was injured, we decided Otis had to be culled. 

And while it's never easy to put a bird down, as I was carrying Otis out into the garden and Big Ag was loading the shotgun, I thought about how many chickens grace my dinner plate every single year, and how each one of those chicken dinners represents a bird that died just like Otis was about to. 

That's one thing that keeping animals has made me thankful for -- I never take for granted the meat or poultry I eat. I know something that once lived and breathed lost its life in order to be consumed by me, and I don't consume it as mindlessly as I once did.

And so I say farewell to Otis and to roosters in general. We're planning on getting another couple of hens this spring and I'm sure there will be plenty of pecking-order drama when we integrate them into our flock of (now) only three birds. But while it may be difficult to watch the pecking order re-shuffle itself, it will settle down in time, which probably would not have happened with Otis. 

Sometimes it's survival of the fittest, but in Otis' case it was a different rule, no less valid or important: Survival of the congenial.

To free range or not?

Le poulet fermier?

Right now it's 4:17 in the afternoon and our four chickens, Chloe, Callie, Cleo, and Otis the Rooster, are free-ranging out in their big deer-fenced area on the side of the house. They're dust bathing and sun bathing, since it's a balmy 58 degrees. 

Free ranging is a big deal these days. You get free range eggs and egg dishes in the kinds of restaurants that have all the menu descriptors in French, because the image of lovely roaming poulets laying healthy oeufs is one which we foodies dearly love and is the reason a lot of us actually start keeping chickens in the first place. But is free ranging the best thing for them?

Mid to late afternoon is generally the time of day when I allow my chickens to roam their side of the property...when it's a busy time in our rural neighborhood. The dog next door has taken to barking at random air molecules (something he often does), there's a bit more commuter traffic on the road by our house than other times of day, and I'm generally nearby, doing this and that around the property.

While I love the idea of hens free-ranging 100 percent of the time and laying those coveted 100 percent free-range eggs, I don't allow my chickens to free range it all day long. It's an idea that sounds great, but I don't want to risk the loss of life and my investment. In other words, if my chickens is going to get eaten, it better be by me. 

In our area, we have foxes, coyotes, occasional loose dogs, plus eagles and hawks of all kinds. We have raccoons and skunks. All these critters will happily kill a chicken -- or entire flock, given the chance. And my job, as the chief chicken steward, is to keep those chances as low as possible.

Le Coop.

I've had two friends lose chickens in the last month. One was letting hers free-range in her yard 24/7 and roost in the trees at night, which was, as she said, "the way God intended it." Unfortunately, apparently God also gave raccoons a taste for blood and sport killing, so she's one chicken down now. Another friend let her hens out to free range and went into town for an hour, only to come home and find her entire flock murdered by either a stray dog or coyote.

There's a lot of talk around about just letting "chickens be chickens," meaning letting them find their own food, shelter and protection as they would "in the wild." I don't buy into this because the chickens we raise today are nothing like the chickens your ancestors had in their yard. 

Most of our hens are purebred birds, born in an incubator, raised in a brooder, and dependent on us for food, just as we're dependent on them for our omelettes and meringues. They are about as much able to be "natural" chickens as a pug is able to behave like a wolf. Traits like common sense and smaller size have sadly been gradually bred out of them as better laying was bred in. 

Today's hens are super layers, and are also plump, tall in height and not terribly bright. That's the down side of selective breeding  -- we have super layers who are super stupid. And so it stands to reason that our chickens today need more supervision than cross-bred, half-wild birds. You can't just turn them loose in the yard and expect a good outcome - for them or you.  

Le Run.

Le Sécurité.

I also don't want any area predators to realize this is where the lunch wagon is, and once you lose one bird to a predator it stands to reason they'll return right back to your property the next time they're hungry.  And so, while I am in no way a chicken expert, in keeping them for several years I have learned a few things, a few of which I touched on above, and a couple of other things:

1.  Limit the amount of time you let your hens completely out to range on your property. Let them roam when there's activity going on that will deter coyotes and raptors. Sometimes just your presence is enough, but so is your neighbor pruning his trees or running his tractor.

2. Train your birds to come to you at a recall signal of some kind. It's as simple as offering a treat when they come, and they learn pretty quickly. This allows you to get your birds in quickly should there be a predator be in the area.

3.  If you can have a rooster, do so. I was so reluctant to do this because I'd experienced a couple of nightmare roosters at friends' houses. But my bantam rooster Otis is lovely. He's gentle yet brave, and not so much a grand protector as much as a great alarm system. If there is a hawk in the area, I can hear his distress crows from inside the house. He's much louder than the hens and therefore lets me know there is trouble well before I would spot it for myself.

4.  Have a secure, smaller run, a decent sized hen house and a good, solid door to keep everyone safe at night. Chickens are their most vulnerable at night, so that last point is the most important.

5.  Don't accept attrition by predator killing to be just part of doing business. I've kept chickens for five years now and have yet to lose one to a predator. I'm sure it will happen at some point, but going a half-decade without it happening is encouraging.

6.  Think like a predator. If you see gaping holes which would allow predators in, seal it immediately. Buy the best and strongest fencing you can afford. And go out at night regularly and make sure everything is completely secure and locked down. Finding your flock murdered would be a terrible way to discover your security door was not working like you thought it was.

In short, there is no good reason for losing birds to become a regular thing, if you're willing to do the work to help keep everyone safe outside and in. 

Postcards from The Descent

Beginning...(taken a few days ago).

...the descent. (taken today)

There is a book, or rather, a book title which has always fascinated me, and the it pops up regularly in my brain during life's more difficult times. 

The title is, "Briefing For A Descent Into Hell."

I could use a briefing like that right about now. Not on a personal level, but certainly on a geographic one. We are currently sandwiched between about three gigantic fires and all of the smoke is pouring into our region.

A few days ago it was a little bit hazy but you could still see blue sky if you looked up. Today the air is choking with smoke smell and you can't see more than a mile. No blue sky to be had either. 

I am extremely conscious that all the molecules making up the particulate matter and smoky smell belonged to something that was alive and well a week ago. It's a horrible amount of destruction when you see this much dead matter rising into the sky in yet another mini-apocalypse -- a forest here, some homes there, a few thousand trees, plus any birds and animals who couldn't make it out in time. Life's tough on the road to Hell for everyone, as the road starts shifting towards a definite downward grade and the flames begin appearing. 

Luckily I can shove the larger issues this all represents into the back of my mind (where it will move to the forefront and wake me up at 3:30 a.m. to ponder, no doubt) and focus on the tasks at hand. 

I have plenty to do because as if the air you could cut with a knife is not enough, the temperatures are also sitting at about 106 degrees each afternoon. My hens were suffering, and so I dragged out an old evaporative cooler we weren't using and installed it in the coop, filled it with ice water and...voila. Instant cooling for my girls. It's nice to know I can still affect some small change in someone's day.

But I can't fix the air quality. Many years ago when I lived in the Central Valley (where bad air is the norm) I suffered from asthma. And sure enough, for the last two days I've been wheezing, coughing and feeling tightness in my chest. Luckily I still have my old medications around but it's proof just how bad it is outside right now.

And so we shelter in place as much as possible and wait for it to pass. Perhaps other places where there are fires can reasonably expect a summer storm to extinguish any forest fires, but if that's the case here things will burn into November.

So who knows. Maybe while I'm waiting around for clean air I'll write that briefing for the descent into Hell, or just read the book. Clearly we're currently on the outskirts and the road seems to be rising up to meet us. I'd say that makes me a qualified expert at least.

The Bane of My Freaking Existence

It's this stuff. This is the plastic netting which is used to hold sod together when it's professionally grown and shipped to landscapers, in order to quickly and efficiently put in a lawn. I always wondered how they could grow grass and then cut it into neat little rectangles to be shipped and laid down in yards, and this is how it's held together, at the root level. With plastic.

This is all well and good until you decide to remove your lawn, in which case you will have to deal with it, as you're killing the grass which keeps it underground and out of sight. In the areas where we killed the lawn, I've had no less than two chickens get their feet caught in this mesh while trying to scratch around, and found one dead snake wrapped in the deadly plastic snare.

I'm afraid I'm going to have to dig down several inches every place the chickens have access to which once had lawn covering it, and pull out the plastic netting to ensure their safety. Yesterday, Cleo (our Aracauna hen) got a toenail caught in some and was probably there for an hour before I noticed her. I also found Valentina with some wrapped around a leg a couple of months ago. Luckily both hens had the brains to just sit down and not struggle, but this could easily have resulted in a broken toe or dislocated leg, both of which might have proven difficult to treat.

In the rest of the yard, we killed the grass and threw down four inches of bark on top of the dead grass and plastic netting, which means that while the grass will decompose, the plastic is still there, hanging out and not decomposing for 500 years. Should it ever become un-buried in the decades to come, it could easily trap wild birds, toads, snakes and even larger mammals such as foxes or coyotes. Once wrapped around a foot or toe, it quickly cuts off circulation, so even for a good sized animal it could quickly become a problematic and possibly even fatal issue.

I predict (and fervently hope) that as more and more folks start taking our their lawns in these parts, the outcry over this eco-hostile netting will cause someone to come up with a biodegradable version, which won't last beyond the lifetimes of our great-great grandchildren, as this plastic will.  In the meantime, we will always be sure there are several good inches of bark covering ours, and pray any future homeowners will do the same.

This is one of those cases where you say, "there has GOT to be a better way."

Rant over. Carry on. 

Ginger

Stern look from a sweet girl.

The old adage that only the good die young holds true not just for humanity, but sometimes for poultry as well. I lost my beloved hen Ginger this morning from uterine prolapse. We basically found her in bad shape, with a sudden, advanced case of prolapse we were unable to treat. As I carried her onto the lawn and sent Big Ag inside to grab the shotgun, she passed peacefully in my arms, with a prayer and a kiss from me to carry her home to greener pastures.

Ginger was a ticking time bomb, reproductively speaking, and her death is not as much of a shock as one would think. I pretty much guessed it would end either like this -- with a prolapsed uterus from hatching an egg -- or from infection due to a broken egg inside her. 

Ginger was a BIG girl, but her eggs were even bigger -- thin-shelled, duck egg-sized monster eggs which no amount of supplemental calcium could harden up. Due to her oversized eggs, she also occasionally would develop a sore on her bottom from where the sheer weight of those eggs had caused her skin to crack and split, something which I successfully was able to doctor for most of her two-year life.

But if Ginger was a big girl, she was one of those hens who had an even bigger personality -- curious, friendly, and loving interaction with people and being held. She was always the first out of the coop to say hello, and always the first to come running when called, with her big, crazy, velociraptor gait.

There is always life and death on the homestead, and opposite the joy of seeing new life, there is also the sting of losing a beloved animal, a guaranteed producer, and a distinct personality.  

The words I whispered to Ginger this morning are the same prayer I say to all my animals when their time comes, as well as those I sometimes see on my morning drive into town who who were hit by a car the night before and are laying dead by the roadside: 

"Through the gates of Paradise may the angels lead you." 

Whether animal or human, I believe all creatures move on to something better, hopefully with the memory of either being loved and cared for, or of being wild and free. And when our own time comes, I hope we're led by those angels through the gates and into the same peaceful pastures and hillsides. Graze on in those pastures, Ginger, 'till we meet again.

Fall around the homestead

Fall color in the vines of Big Ag's vineyard and our own olallieberries. Our table grape vines are still kinda green (upper right of second pic).

Fall has meant that chores are much more comfortable to do outside now, and so in addition to continuing our back yard project, we're also pruning, trimming and making the first early preparations for spring. 

By far our biggest success on the property has been our olallieberry, blackberry and raspberry vines down in the pasture. While last year was short on berries, the summer proved very hospitable for growth, so next year's harvest should be a good one.

The year before this, I had such a bumper crop I ended up selling quite a bit to a local restaurant, which was a nice little bit of extra income I was happy to have. I'm hoping 2016 is the same, but since I don't know what the weather is going to do, I don't want to count my berries before they hatch, so to speak.

Yesterday was such a nice sunny day I decided to finish up trussing the vines and clipping the ends off the really long ones, since I'd rather have some nice lateral branches with berries on them than one looooong strand.

Stepford Wife vine/root...can be whatever you want it to be. Spooky

I discovered while down there that there are blackberry shoots with roots on the ends of their vines trying to dig down into the ground, which must be how brambles get established.

I just find it amazing that anything can be so versatile that it was be a root or a shoot, depending on its environment. We should all be so flexible.

Around the rest of the property, we finally have chairs and a fire pit for the back yard. Perhaps we'll actually get around to lighting a fire in it this weekend. 

And Valentina is still happily fostering with us, she has laid an egg nearly every day and since I'm currently getting none from my other girls, she was literally the hen who saved Thanksgiving. She can stick around as long as she likes.

Valentina frolicking among the rose bushes.....

Big Ag and I frolicking among the vines.