Never Make Your Home a Place

I really like this quote.
When we were listing the pros and cons of whether to leave the beautiful place we loved on Lake Roosevelt to relocating to a town named Kellogg in Idaho, one theme resonated with both of us. Home was us. Home was ourselves, our lives together, our dogs and cats,  Home was what we wanted to carry with us that was important. Home was again being surrounded by beauty, family, friends, peace, and an easier way of life. We brought our memories, the learning we experienced, and have already experienced new learnings, new friends, and new memories.
I really am pleased with the decision we made. I just wish we could have our chickens again. I miss them. They did go to a good new home.

One Word Essay: Emerging

As we leave the season of winter we watch for evidence of spring emerging around us like the water from beneath the ice in the pond.

The chickens have been set free from their coop, emerging into the sunlight.

The onion plants are emerging through the ice to begin the yearly growth cycle.

Green leaves emerge from the winter blanket of dead leaves.

Buds are emerging as the weather warms.

Fall: Last Harvest of the Vegetable Garden

We only got a slight frost this week, but it was time to harvest the last of our vegetables. Our pantry shelves are overflowing with preserved foods. Our freezer is full of frozen fruits and vegetables.

It was a bountiful year. JEJ also picked all the grapes today for jam making later in the week. The winter squashes were ready to pick, and we decided to just pick the tomatoes green.

As soon as the garden is done each year we release the chickens to devour their own bounty. They also dig up grubs and find eggs of some pesky insects that would show up next year. They were in heaven today and felt a new sense of freedom.

I look forward to enjoying soups, breads, sauces, and oven dishes prepared with our own vegetables during the winter months.

The garden in August.

The garden today.
Growing a vegetable garden is definitely a worthwhile venture.Thanks JEJ for all your work!

A Place Called Home

A Place Called Home

I’m from

A logging truck hauling along the rutted road

sun peaking over the eastern mountain.

I’m from baby starlings squawking for their first feeding.

I’m from

a glowing fireplace, icy cold Busch beer, BBQ, bluebirds

dark soil, dogs song singing, daylilies, dame’s rocket.

I’m from fresh garden peas, farm eggs, morning glory, fur,

water gurgling, clouds dividing, lilacs lingering, green beans sprouting.

I’m from

first spring crocus, frosty winter ice, fiery autumn leaves, fragrant summer roses.

I’m from

four dog memorials, cats that never came back, rabbits that grew old,

funerals for neighbors too soon and weddings in the yard.

I’m from reminders in the handwritten recipe,

vivid orange trumpet vine, a blooming dogwood.

I’m from

empty food dishes, a collar on a nail, and a photo of two black cats.

I’m from laughing at a joke, sharing a simple meal, saying a prayer,

early evening garden tours, and creating a place called home.

by Christy Woolum

The Hens and Rooster Working Overtime

 We let our hens and rooster out to wander around free this evening. With the dogs safely in the house our feathered friends ate some bugs, scratched up some old straw, and enjoyed their freedom.

Kit didn't know quite what to think.

William also came out by the garden to check out the strange birds.

The chickens didn't seem to notice.

A Glossary of Chickens: Celebrating National Poetry Month

 A Glossary Of Chickens

by Gary Whitehead

"New Yorker", May 24, 2010

There should be a word for the way
they look with just one eye, neck bent,
for beetle or worm or strewn grain.
“Gleaning,” maybe, between “gizzard”
and “grit.” And for the way they run
toward someone they trust, their skirts
hiked, their plump bodies wobbling:
“bobbling,” let’s call it, inserted
after “blowout” and before “bloom.”
There should be terms, too, for things
they do not do—like urinate or chew—
but perhaps there already are.
I’d want a word for the way they drink,
head thrown back, throat wriggling,
like an old woman swallowing
a pill; a word beginning with “S,”
coming after “sex feather” and before “shank.”
And one for the sweetness of hens
but not roosters. We think
that by naming we can understand,
as if the tongue were more than muscle.

Tomorrow I will have pictures, hopefully, of my own chickens, but for tonight... a stock photo.