We’ve all heard it. We’ve all asked it. We’ve all wondered about it.
“Which came first, the chicken or the egg?”
In my case I can honestly say these eggs came before the chicks did.
........
About 3 weeks ago I decided to put some chicken eggs in the incubator with the hope of getting some fresh poultry stock. Moving the incubator out of the tool room and into the shoffice I did it justice. I dusted it off, washed it well, turned it on for a day to make sure all its parts were working well. Then I put 22 Aracauna eggs in it. Two days later I received more eggs from my friend, Jennifer, all brown ones. By the way, Araucana eggs (or to be more precise “Ameraucana” eggs) are green, sometimes blue.
For the next three weeks I babysat, turning eggs as much as five times a day during the first week then reducing the turning down to 3 times a day. Along the way I kept an eye on the temperature in the incubator, a constant 99.9 degrees was the goal. In addition I had to add water to troughs for proper moisture content.
I have no idea why but one of Jennifer’s brown eggs hatched a day before my green eggs did. Remember, the green eggs were supposed to start hatching two days before the brown ones. I can only guess this little chick was ready to get on with life, see new horizons, see what’s around the bend, so to speak. A baby but yet already a tough ol’ bird, eh? I’d recently spent several days chainsawing a huge branch that fell off a 200+year-old oak tree and when telling the tree’s owner about the chick she suggested I name it Quercus. I figured if that name was good enough for a tough old oak it also fit this young’n, a natural-born tough old bird, or tough young bird, eh?
Quercus seemed to take life as it came. Here he sits surveying the future flock, wondering when they will break free, all the while chirping them on.
And now, getting up close and more encouraging, I supposed.
Another day or so passed and although this is not the best picture you can see two more chicks have hatched. I know, I know, it was a long journey for them; they appear "rode hard and put up wet", eh? But I assure you they took their deserved rest, drying off in the hot temperature while occassionally testing their land legs, falling over backwards or sidewards and peeping about their successes regardless of which way they fell. Ya see, there are no failures in the Chick World, only successes to peep about. Methinks I could learn some lessons from these birds.
As time passed again, sometimes only an hour or so, sometimes minutes, more chicks heard “The Call of Quercus” and joined in. Some chicks peeped while still in their shells; all chicks peeped once free.
When each of the chicks became fully dried they were moved to their new temporary home and introduced to their first drink of water. Each beak was gently dipped into the fountain, another “first experience” for them. They seemed to love their newfound freedom, their new home, the wet stuff that helped to wash the taste of eggshell out of their mouth, and the heatlamp, their sun. A day or so later they were introduced to solid food. And no worries, Folks, chicks tend to live off their yolk for the first 3 days or so of their life so I assure you they weren’t starving.
At this point there is yet another freshly hatched chick in the incubator, drying off. It appears to be looking for a way out, probably thinking, “If I can get out of that egg I’m sure I can bust outta here and find my buddies.”
And now, at this point, the rest of the eggs in the incubator will probably not hatch. Perhaps they weren’t fertile; maybe some weren’t strong enough to escape. On a good note, I happily chime in with the new life, peeping along with them, talking to them in chick talk and people talk, telling them jokes (‘Hey, why’d the chicken cross the road? To show possums that it COULD be done!’). I also read to them from my blog.
Perhaps one day they’ll hear of their great great great Grandma, Claudette the First, a bona fide one-of-a-kind hen who is still talked about, highly admired by poultry and people alike, and is a soul to live up to, giving hope and ambition to all chickens everywhere!
Ain’t Life Grand!
Howdy, Folks...
Beware. I got a store-bought chicken today.
I was hongry (yeh, that's how we spell it and say it when we're starving) so I headed up to the local Red and White grocery store. Although the store hasn't been an official "Red and White" for more'n a decade that's what it used to be called so most of us still call it that. The "new" owners, owning it for 15 years now, just call it the Efland Supermarket.
I wasn't sure what I wanted for supper so I roamed the produce aisle, the mini dairy shelves, the smoked ham hock section complete with salted fat back, turkey necks and wings, bacon, even block cheese and then rounded the turn to the meat department.
Now, lookee here, I've walked that meat department many times, up and down the aisle, comparing prices, cuts of meat, judging the ratio of fat to bone, meat to bone, bone to bone, best deal of pork vs chicken, price per pound and how much price is going to pound of fat or bone. Whew, in my early days it was enough to cause total befuddlement. Now a days it's a fine art and I have it down pat.
But today, there I was, studying the situation at hand when, when....my heart spoke to my mind. There it was, a chicken, but not just any chicken. This was a rare chicken, unlike any I'd ever seen in a grocery store.
It was marked "discount" but I could tell it had more value than that. There it lay right next to the non-discount chickens. It was one of a kind, no doubt. I studied the situation some more. It was a whole chicken, not a package of a cut up chicken. This was a whole chicken, complete with the party pack stuffed up its butt. You know those little white packs that contain a gizzard, a neck, a liver, etc? I call them "party packs" cus it's fun to open it up when you get home and see what you've won. A good party pack even has a chicken heart included; sometimes there'll be two gizzards!
Even though it was a discount chicken I didn’t mind. I just had to have that chicken. Besides, I got to thinkin' I was doing that chicken a good thing, doing my part for cosmic justice. I almost felt bad for that dead discount chicken, lying there under plastic, probably feeling humiliated. Ya see, I noticed it was discounted cus it only had one leg….
The way I figger it, as I stood there looking down at the selections in the meat counter, that po’ chicken suffered enuff in its life, what with only one leg and all. For some reason I had a chicken-brain flashback and pictured it ranging around the chicken pens during the day, hopping along on one leg like a pogo stick. In the evening it would go to its night time perch in the chicken coop, hanging on for dear life with only 4 toes to work with instead of the usual 8. And now here it was, standing out above all others in its afterlife, all laid up in a grocery store display counter on a Styrofoam bed, covered with a cellophane blanket. Cold.... Dead.... Discounted.
To top it off, as if the above-described situation wasn’t bad enough, it had a bright orange sticker on it stating “reduced”, as if declaring it was “not quite as good as the two-legged chickens on each side that are pulling in a premium price”!
But ya know what? As I said, I just had to buy that one-legged discount chicken. I took it home, brined it, seasoned it to perfection, cooked it up right proper and enjoyed every bit of it! That chicken served my purpose just fine.
Purpose? Hmm, my head's a'thinkin'...
As I sit here wondering, I wonder if in the grand scheme of things does the chicken finally feel it has served a wonderful purpose? Does it feel it has finally gotten proper acknowledgement for its lifes journey? Does it feel like it’s contributed to the grand scheme of things in a positive way and, like so many of us, by doing so now feels whole? :>)
Jus’ wonderin’...
Think I'll go do some good for someone. I bet it'll help me out as well as the someone I'm helping. Heck, might even help me feel whole, like that chicken. Besides, my left leg has had me limping lately, almost hopping, kinda like, like, well, let's not go there....
Shoe, signing off. *burp. (Oh, ‘scuse me….) ô¿ô
Howdy, Folks…nice of you to see me again! Thanks for stopping by! Thumbs up to ya!
Pokeweed. Most folks hate it, or maybe they just dislike it.
Some folks feel it has no place on their property. After all, it can end up in every place on their property.
Me? I kinda like it, and the reasons are various! Heck, I’ve even eaten it, with some side meat added to the pot, of course. *yummm....
(Safety disclaimer/notice:
I don’t recommend eating pokeweed, there are many other better tasting herbs/greens. Should you choose to do so eat only the young, newly emerged leaves. Why? Toxins build up within the plant as it ages and ingesting older leaves will either make you very nauseous (very soon!) or you’ll unwillingly be inducted into the “Hall of Shame”, causing you to be a member of The Trotskys, The Doubled-Overs, The Squirt Guns, The…The… well you get the picture. In other words, you’ll be visiting your porcelain stool or outhouse more times the next day than you have in the past week.)
But what about all the virtues of pokeweed! This has my head a'thinkin...
It’s actually a pretty plant. Beautiful red stems, petioles, nice green leaves that seem to look back at ya.
It’s easy to grow. Very low maintenance, eh? You pretty much let it do its own thing.
It provides food for birds, which for some reason aren’t inducted into the above mentioned clubs. Hmmmm, or are they?
Good ol’ pokeweed. What would we do without it!?
Why, just think!
No poke salet in the spring. (Yummy!)
No singing the song "Poke Salad Annie". ♫ ♫
No berries, food for the birds? Tsk tsk tsk....
No red-purple stains on fresh-washed bed sheets as they flap in the breeze on the Monday wash-line?
No young boys hiding up in the branches of trees shooting poke berries from their slingshots at passers-by and their cute perfectly white fresh-coiffed foo foo poodles (not that I would ever do such a thing)!
And don't forget, what would our forefathers have written the Declaration of Independence with had they not chosen poke ink?
But alas, don't get me started.
I think I'll go do my duty, Folks.
I’ll continue to pull pokeweed from my garden beds, just to keep it in "control".
I’ll scatter some pokeberries in the woods for the birds, cus I like to share.
I’ll get the wash off the line, just for safety’s sake.
Maybe later I’ll find my slingshot, cus I’m easily amused, ya see!
Or better yet, maybe I'll visit my poultry pen and get a quill feather like our ancestors wrote with! And if so, I promise to pen something more important than these words and will do so in poke ink!
Enjoy the day! Enjoy what’s around ya! After all, one man’s pokeberry is another man’s pokeberry. (Er, sumpin’ like that.)
Share it!
Friend Shoe.
Thought For The Day:
"May your ears and nose always support your glasses so you never miss out on seeing Life". ;>)
Howdy, Friends...
Here it is, Labor Day. A day created back in the late 1800’s to honor and celebrate the laborers of the U.S. ‘Twas a day created to acknowledge the contributions workers have made to the strength, prosperity, and well being of our country. What I recently enjoyed reading was the statement:
"All other holidays are in a more or less degree connected with conflicts and battles of man's prowess over man, of strife and discord for greed and power, of glories achieved by one nation over another. Labor Day...is devoted to no man, living or dead, to no sect, race, or nation." (Samuel Gompers, founder and longtime president of the American Federation of Labor.)
I like that last sentence, “devoted to no man, sect, race, nation”. And yes, I understand that in our modern day genderless writing we should change it to “devoted to no person...”. All in all though let's go with the flow and enjoy a holiday dedicated to each other no matter what we're called.
“Labor Day”…
‘Tis a day to rest, not labor. ‘Tis a day to honor laborers by encouraging them to not labor.
‘Tis a day to acknowledge the fruits of their labors. ‘Tis a day to celebrate all the above. ‘Tis a nice holiday, eh?
(And ‘tis a day to put the word ‘Tis on holiday and I promise not to use it again, for a while anyway.)
As for me, on Labor Day I chose to mooch…
.........................................
Yep, Folks, I confess. I happily mooched today.
Ya see, my good friend Linda, my Daughter’s Godmother, has allowed me to use her land for a number of years to host my off-farm garden. It’s 12 miles north of town, a nice country ride to get there and a wonderful change of pace from MoonDance Farm, my home quarters. Yeh, it's still the usual diggin' in the dirt, tilling and weeding and baking in the sun on a hot day but the upside is the soil is of a different texture, the wind whistles a different song, and if your nose isn't smelling Angel's Breath in bloom then you can always go stick your nose near the giant flowers of the Magnolia grandiflora. And if your senses and your soul need an extreme change of pace you can also choose to enjoy her pond.
I was nearly finished with my weeding, harvesting, and general garden chores when I realized it’d been quite a while since I’ve taken time for myself. I made a decision to do something about that. After all, it was Labor Day, a day to not labor.
Linda wasn't home but I made my move anyway. From her garage I mooched two fishing poles, eventually using only one but life is all about choices so I left myself open to choosing.
Then I mooched 4 worms from the compost bin. Next, lo and behold, I mooched a frosted bottle of Heinekin out of the fridge that looked very lonely. (I couldn’t just leave it there, feeling cold-shouldered.)
Sitting at the edge of the pond telling *myself(s) tall tales and bonafide lies, at some point in time my mooched worm attracted a decent sized catfish. What excitement! But then I had to go find a bucket to put it in.
I mooched a blue bucket from the garage. It was full of various items but I left those behind, unmooched.
A while later, back down at the pond while sitting, resting, talking to myself(s) again, a keeper bluegill followed another one of the mooched worms onto the bank, eventually ending up in the mooched blue bucket.
And now, here I sit with two fish cleaned and marinating in seasoned water for tonights supper. (I have no idea why I like to soak them like that; after all they've been “marinating” all their lives.)
So...from mooching fishing poles to mooching worms to mooching a beer, to mooching a blue bucket, to mooching two pond fish, I'm mooched out and all those in northern Orange County are safe from The Attack of the Moocher, for a while anyway.
Why take an hour off and fish? Being tired, feeling old, and lookin' ugly sure encourages one to make a change. My body is sore, still recuperating from a tractor accident earlier this year. My disposition needs a tune-up. Both (disposition and body) are hanging in there waiting for the coming of the fall season and its cooler weather and the glorious smell of wood smoke in the air.
I’m nearly 100% better now bodywise, no longer as sore as in weeks past, no longer walking doubled-over as if imitating a question mark. Some days, like today, I think it is to my benefit to relax my bones, especially when I find myself walking a bit slower, a bit crouched, eyes to the ground as if I’m looking for something I've dropped. Days like these I feel much shorter than I really am, much smaller than I prefer, about half my size, a miniature form of my usual tall self. That being said…
Dare I sign off as…,
Mini, the Moocher (?)
Happy Day to All
I hope ya'll found some pleasantry time, too!
~ ~ ~ Caution: A glimpse into my mind. Kinda scary in there, 'specially way in the back... ~ ~ ~
*”Myself(s)? Yep, lemme explain. I’m convinced there is more than one self inside me. I’m quite content with that, too. Ya see, my "selfs" sure do entertain me from time to time. Heck, I’m one of those who are constantly talking to my selfs, or at least one of them. (*grin) I mutter, understanding each syllable. I ask my selfs questions, always getting an answer. I sing to my selfs, usually out of tune but yet manage to convince my selfs I'm the best singer ever! I even tell my selfs jokes and then laugh at the punchline as if I’d never heard it before! Go figger, eh?
I might be alone quite often but I’m seldom lonely, more’n likely cus I’m with myselfs.
I hope others discover their self(s). I also hope other countries have a Labor Day. If not, pick one, your choice! After all, Labor Day, a day devoted to not just one person but to our selfs, eh? ô¿ô
Howdy, Folks. Sorry to be so "educational" for the moment but...
...As gardeners, composters, and politely pertinent poop people, I think we should all be amazed at what else goes on with this delightful by-product behind the scenes. (Don't worry, we're not traveling into someones intestines and the word "behind" was definitely not used as a pun.)
I found this interesting and just knew ya'll could learn of it, too. After all, the next time the topic of poop comes up in your circle of friends, family get-togethers, political meetings, etc, you now have some tidbit to add!
(And no, Folks, the ‘fastest living thing on the planet’ is not a dollup of horse biscuits sailing from a sling-shot!)
http://www.coolestone.com/media/2190/The-Fastest-Living-Thing-on-the-Planet/
Shoe (Who promises to post something in my usual light-hearted way later if you need to balance out.)
Hugs all around! ô¿ô
