Angelnina’s Cottage

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This past weekend, we had some hot weather!  I am so happy Mark installed an air conditioner.  I didn’t want the hole in the wall, but I welcome it on these 90 degree days.  I’m sure ninety degrees sounds mild compared to some regions.  I know.  I’ve lived in Florida, California, Arizona, and New York (and everywhere in between).  We’ve been wimpified here in the Pacific Northwest.  I suppose it’s just what each region’s people adjusts to.  In this area, if we heat up to 80 degrees, it’s a heat wave.

Sean and Olivia came over to wash their car.  It’s a bit hot for car washing, but they did it and then I found them watching Ghost Busters in the den.

I cook with the air on, so I’m sure it was cold to them–hence the throw blankets.  Givoanni joined them.

When Giovanni isn’t napping, he’s busy herding chickens.  I don’t think they take him seriously, and frankly I’m more concerned for his safety than for theirs.

After a while, they simply ignore him.

Oh well, I have eggs

A few more photos here (including a peek inside the coop) here… Continue reading Bawk, Bawk Bawk, Bawk Bawk, Bawk, Bawk-KAH!…

Above: Roxy

Last week amidst all the chaos, my good friend Liz delivered two 9 month old hens to my house.

I was just too impatient to wait for the chicks to reach six months to start delivering eggs, and watching the baby chickens made me crave a farm fresh egg. I came up with a plan to adopt two laying hens, blend them in with my 8 week old chicks and make us all one big happy chicken family! Wrong! The older hens do not care for the chicks at all. The vet who sold us the hens told us to leave them in the carrying cage until they became used to the chicks and then blend them, but no, Mark in all his male wisdom decided to release the new hens into the coop where up they immediately commenced an attack on the little ones. The Barred Rock hen appeared to be out for blood! After capturing the hens and separating them from the chicks, the Barred Rock then attacked the hen from her own flock– the Rhode Island Red –and bloodied her comb. It was a bad scene which required further separation which meant a midnight bedtime for Mark and I which made me slightly irritable.

“Why couldn’t you just have listened to what Dr. Bruce said to do?”

“It’s not my fault that big mean black and white chicken attacked those chicks. She’s just big and mean!”

“She’s a Barred Rock, and we don’t know if she’s mean…yet. She’s just traumatized”

“Traumatized my ass! She’s mean!”

“Okay, then we’ll sell her on Craig’s List”

“Good!”

ABOVE: Mark holding Roxy. They both look mean to me

I do have to admit, she looked pretty vicious and I was having my doubts, but damn she is a great layer and she likes me. She lets me carry her around and we have long talks out there in the mini-barn she’s been confined to. She really loves to talk, and she sounds like a woman who has simply been through too damn much. She doesn’t need a bunch of kids (chicks) messing in her run. Sometimes I feel like taking a good whack at my partner from time to time too, so we understand one another. I’ve decided she is going to stay and I’m going to do my best to help her work out her issues. Mark named her Roxanne today, and we’ll call her Roxy for short. I just couldn’t stand hearing Mark refer to her as “That big mean one” anymore. As for the Rhode Island Red, I just call her Mother or Mama. She just feels like a mama to me.

Above: Mother

So far, they’ve laid pretty well. The RIR doesn’t seem to lay as often as the Barred Rock, but we’ve gathered close to a dozen eggs in 8 days. I’ve added some oyster shell to their laying feed to help with the egg shell. Today Roxy laid an egg membrane with partial shell which was pretty worthless. I hope all is well.

The coop is finished. The pen is finished enough to be used, but we plan on adding another layer of wire and trim to hold in firmly in place. In the meantime, the girls are only out during the day.

Photos of the coop to come!

It’s cold and raining here in the great Pacific Northwestern US.  Big surprise, eh?

Mark has been busy on the chicken coop.  He is promising to have it mostly finished by tomorrow.  We still need a vinyl floor to put inside.  Soon, we’ll add the pen and finally the chicks will have a lot more fun than they’re having in that old brooder.  I don’t know if you can even call it a brooder.  It’s basically half a row of kitchen cabinets turned over on the side.  They aren’t complaining, but I’d like to get to be able to stretch out a bit more. 

As I’m writing this I can see Mark carrying the main door out to the coop..we must be getting close.

ABOVE: Mark working on the Chicken Coop

I have managed to entertain myself inside.  I started the day with some yoga and a fast paced walk on the treadmill.  Sometimes I wake up with horrible headaches at the base of the back of my head.  I tried to drink lots of water, do yoga, and then walk it off on the treadmill before I realized it’s going to take 3 Advil to stop the pounding.  I even tried my old homeopathic constitutional before giving in.  I suppose taking Advil isn’t the worst thing in the world.  It worked.

In other news:

I am trying to clean my pantry and use what I have before I go out and buy more food.

ABOVE: My pantry–dwindling

After a nice conversation with my friend Liz, I decided to go through my fridge and I found my leftover basmati rice from last night.  I hate to throw away rice–especially at the prices they’re charging now.  I decided to make up an Indian style rice pudding.  I’m very happy with how it turned out.  I brought some out for Mark to try and he said it was really really good. 

I tried to use what I could from the pantry: coconut milk and rose water

ABOVE: Rose water I bought in my “Act like a lunatic and buy food you don’t need” days.

In the end, I have to say, I think the rice pudding turned out great.  I’ll make it again. I’m not sure if the rosewater added anything.  I think using vanilla and cinnamon may have defeated the purpose of the rose water, but I was aching to throw it in.  I was having one of those “Act like a lunatic and add ingredients you don’t need” days.

 
want to see the recipe? Click here… Continue reading Chicken Coops and Basmati Rice Pudding…

The “chicks” are in their awkward stage now.   They are 6 weeks old.  
Mark and I decided to let them play out in the grass for a while this past weekend.  They need to get aquainted with their environment.  This is the first time they’ve touched the grass.  They peeped and squeaked for a bit before they settled down and realized they were going to be okay.  

The chicks love Mark.   I suppose he is like their mother now because he feeds them and checks on them up to three or four times a day.  

The coop foundation is set, and now we’re starting to build.   They’re going to love having more fresh air and room to raom.

Sean Junior enjoys perching.  I’m told by several online chicken sources that he is definitely a rooster.  Seeing he is the smallest and the most hen pecked, I’m still wondering if there is a possibility he is a she.  I’m hoping.  Does it look like a rooster to you?

The Rhode Island Red, Lucille, seems to be their leader.  I hope Lucille isn’t a Louie.  I’ll be so disappointed.

I think we should have a chicken coop raising party!  Sounds like a good excuse to cook something fun.  I don’t think fried chicken would be politically correct, so I’m thinking a slow roasted Cuban pork shoulder!

 We’re in the construction business, which means every now and then there is a lull, which means Mark has off time and is home with me.  It’s lovely for the first day or two and then something shifts.   I call it “Vagina versus Penis” time. 

I’m sure Eckhart Tolle would say it’s simply our egos–our false selves– and pain bodies, but I have to admit, I often wonder if a penis and vagina actually take on lives of their own.  

It started innocently enough.  Mark decided he would go out and start building the foundation for the chicken coop while I showered.  I love how skilled Mark is in his line of work and I appreciate how physically strong the man is too.  I know he knows more than I do about construction, and I know he knows I know more than he does about cooking and baking.  I also know neither one of us knows much about building a chicken coop.

As I exited my shower, dried my hair, applied some makeup and sunscreen, something hit me!  I remembered during my research of chicken coop building many people had set their foundation with cinder blocks.   Realizing Mark hadn’t picked up concrete blocks I raced out to tell him we needed to stop and run to the shop for concrete blocks.  As I started to exit the back door I stopped myself and remembered how Mark had reacted when I made a suggestion about the raised garden bed–let’s just say it was a four hour event.  You see, I know Mark doesn’t “appreciate” my input in construction projects and I knew I had to tread carefully on this one.  I walked out with a big smile and complimented the work he had done so far.  It really was quite impressive…I guess.   

Me:  Hey, Mark, you know I just remembered that many of the material lists I’ve read online include placing the foundation on blocks.

Mark: Well, I’m using treated wood, so I don’t need the  blocks.

Me:  Oh, well, why do you suppose the lists I read call for the blocks?

Mark: I don’t know, but we don’t need them.

Me:  Oh, well, I just wonder, why do you suppose they use them?

Mark:  Because they’re farmers and probably have them lying around.

Me:  Hmmm.  I wonder if it has something to do with lifting it off the ground so water damage from rain can’t leak in?

Mark:  Water won’t leak in this coop.

Me: (starting to get a little tired of this BS now) Oh, really?  How do you know that?

Mark:  It just won’t.

Me: (starting to lose it)  What about rats?  You don’t even know why they use the blocks and I’m thinking there might be a good reason for it and you won’t even research it.

Mark: (Starting to lose it now) What do you want me to do , Anita?  How do you want the coop built?

Me: (pretty pissed off) I want it with cinder blocks on the bottom.  At least I would like to find out if we need them or not.

Mark:  Fine, we need to stop everything and go buy cinder blocks.

Me:  (completely in ego now)  Why stop everything?  Just go on and build it the way you want to and ignore me and the 200 other chicken farmers I’ve read about who DO use cinder blocks because you know everything and I don’t have a penis, so I’m a complete idiot!

At this point, I stomp off in my pink slippers and go back into the house to stew.

When I’m trying to center myself I do things like cook or bake.  I immediately threw a chicken in the oven to roast and started a quick soak on a pot of pinto beans.  When I was centered again, I went back outside to tell Mark that I have no idea  why people use the cinder blocks and that I’ll just let him decide what to do with the coop himself.  He said he had thought about it and decided it was a good idea for a few reasons and that he would go get the blocks.

We hugged, and I turned to go check my beans, but as I turned, I noticed the markers I set posting 30 feet from property lines (legally our coop has to be 30 feet from all property lines) had been moved.   I asked Mark if the coop was actually 30 feet from the fence?  

Mark: Yeah, it’s about 30 feet.

Me:  About 30 feet?  Is it 30 feet or not?

Mark:  I don’t know, I don’t really think the neighbors will care.

Me:  I think the law cares, and you don’t know if the neighbors will care.  

Mark:  It’s 30 feet.

Me:  Let’s measure it.

Mark gets pissed and grabs a tape measure and starts to measure the distance while stomping his feet, kicking lumber,  and snapping his tape measure like a mad man,  and the whole scene escalates again.  

Me:  See? It’s not 30 feet!

Mark:  The neighbor won’t care.

Me:  Mark they can make us tear down the coop and get rid of the chickens if it isn’t 30 feet.

Mark:  Nobody will know, and I don’t give a shit what the neighbors do.

Me:  (completely beyond ego with full blown pain body rising up like a demon and changing my voice to that of the girl from the Exoricist)  You are such a damned know-it-all!  I’ve had it!  Just because I don’t have a penis doesn’t make me an idiot!   I don’t want the chickens anymore–this is too much stress.  I have to spend more time kid gloving your ego than it would take to build the fucking coop by myself!

Mark:  God, you don’t have to freak out.

Me:  I quit!  I give up!  Do whatever you want.  I hate the chickens!  

I went back into the house, placed the beans in the crock pot.  Centered myself again, and after about 30 minutes went out to invite Mark in for some lunch.   
I passed the plate:

Me:  Would you like some more?

Mark: Yes, thank you.  Oh, I went ahead and measured the 30 feet from both sides and I staked them.  Sorry I was being such a jerk.  You’re right, we don’t need to go through all this work again or draw trouble from the neighbors.  At least this way it’s all legal.

Me:  Would you like a cookie?

Mark:  Yes, thank you.   Uhm, do you still hate the chickens?

Me:  No, I love the chickens.

Mark: Do you hate me?

Me: Just a little bit. 

ABOVE: The chicks looked like this 2 weeks ago

ABOVE: At 4 1/2 weeks they look like this!

We had to make a new brooder!  These babies are getting huge and they’re eating their chick feed like piglets :)  We used an old kitchen cabinet that we scored on a re-model job.

ABOVE: Uh oh…Sean Jr might be a rooster.  He’s the only chick with red on the crest and cheek.

UPDATE: A lady in my chicken group just told me Sean Jr IS a rooster.  I’m so disappointed.

I can’t keep a rooster in this neighborhood.  I wouldn’t want to freak out the neighbors.  It’s just too bad I don’t live on 50 acres.
 

PS We still haven’t built a coop.

Thank Goddess, Buddha, Jesus, and ”insert appropiate diety here”.  I discovered Eckhart Tolles book,  “A New Earth”.

I’ll tell you, I can drive myself completely insane, in a matter of seconds, once my mind wraps around a negative idea.  Fear paralyzes me and then I play the victim role and then all hell breaks loose.

Every since I bought my chickees, I’ve had a voice (ego) in the back of my head saying, “It’s probably illegal to have chickens.  You probably misunderstood the codes.”  I read the bulletin over and over, and then forgot to call the county before I bought the girls.  I worked myself into a frenzy worrying and repeatedley asking Mark, “What if it’s illegal, and we misunderstood the bulletin?”

Today, we finally made contact with a real live county person and sure ’nuff, we’re legal chicken farmers!

I don’t just do this with chickens and chicken laws.  I can do this with anything.  You name it–I’ll find a reason to fret about it.  Go on, try me! 

Although, now that I’m becoming AWARE of the games my mind (ego) likes to play with me, I’m starting to settle down.  Not only am I settling down, but I’m finding new pleasures in life.  More on that later.

In the meantime, the damn sky aint falling, and the girls are staying!

ABOVE (clockwise from back left row to front left):

Lucille Ball stands the tallest, Ethel is beside her, Sean Junior (don’t ask) in front of Ethel, and last but not least, is Little Edie.

ABOVE: Lucy- Rhode Island red (my little hawk)

ABOVE: Sean Junior (who had better be a hen)- Gold Laced Wyandotte

I still need closeups of the girls below:

Little Edie-Black Sexlink

Ethel- Black Sexlink

Have you ever seen how baby chicks take naps?  It’s very funny.  They tip forward on their little chins and pass out.  I kept thinking the chickies were dead, but when I touched one it would pop right up and start running.  I took this photo when they first came home.  This is Lucille (Lucy) looking like a fall down drunk.  I just LOVE LUCY!

I’ve renamed the chicks.  I will share their names and breed types here soon.