You Won't Believe What Dave Said

While I was upstairs folding clothes the other day, I heard Dave call out these words: 

"Hey Son, I found a cool chicken coop on the web!  Come look!"

And they definitely put a smile on my face.

New Neighbors

The last few months have been very busy around The 4902.  Three new homes were constructed and yesterday the first of three new neighbors moved in. 

The U-Haul came and went as did a string of cars; friends and family members eager, I'm sure, to share in their loved one's big step.  

I'm sure we'll meet them soon.  And, although, I'm not sure if the new family has any kids, I was happy to see a Golden Retriever romping up and down the street.  That's always a sign of great people.  

As we sat down to dinner, however, Dave noticed another new addition to our neighborhood.  Calmly sitting atop my fence rail, staring at the swaying suet feeder, sat this fella:

My arch nemesis:
Cooper's Hawk

We have lived at The 4902 for eight years and NEVER have I seen this guy, or any others like him.  Thus, as a proud new owner of three quickly growing chicks, you can imagine my horror.  This was not the kind of neighbor I was hoping for.  So with my mouth agape, I banged on the window and frightened him away.  Hopefully, for good.  But, just in case, maybe I should start working on potty-training the girls.....

First Day of Spring!

To celebrate this first day of Spring, the girls went on a field trip and enjoyed a few minutes of REAL sunshine.....

From Top to Bottom:
Arry,
Lena,
Winnie

.

Emerging Pt. II

Spring

Lilac buds

Blueberry Buds

And, of course, the rhubarb

(All photos taken by Nora Jane Larson)

P.S.  I learned that chickens LOVE blueberries.  So I bought another plant....

Emerging Pt. I

Tail Feathers and Personalities

Chicks + Nora Jane =  Laughter

Lena has proven to be the happy-go-lucky gal.  Content to eat, forage (in the carpet at "recess") or snuggle up in your hands.

Sweet Winnie The Affectionate is, definitely,  The Master of Escape.  Although she is very content to sit in your lap and coo once she is "free."  She especially likes to snuggle with me in the early morning while I drink my coffee and read a few pages from my book.

Queen Arya (Arry) is the ruler of the roost.  Donned in a cloak of black and white she keeps her constituents in line with a wild flutter of wings and loud, demanding peeps.  I mean LOUD DEMANDING peeps.

These four chicks are quite the flock!

I Am SO Going to Read This!

I just heard about this book and immediately put a hold on it at my library.

This author lives in Seattle-SEATTLE people!
You can't get much more urban than that :)

I hope whoever has it now is a quick reader!

Where's That Snooze Button?

Hattie Mae woke me up this morning like she always does: by pawing my hands and licking my face.  It's delightful!  

When I finally pried my eyes open and looked at the clock on Dave's nightstand I saw that it was already 5:53.  "Honey," I cried!  "It's 5:53!  Did your alarm go off?"

"Ya," he replied.  "I'm sleeping in a little.  I hit the snooze button."

"Oh!  Okay."  So then I turned back over to Hattie and asked, "where's your snooze button?"

I got another lick.

Out of the Mouth of Nora Jane

"Mom, when the garden gets going and the chickens start laying their eggs, we won't have to go to the store!  Won't that be cool??"

Reactions

Sheesh!  You get a few chickens and people think you've gone mad!  

The following are just a few of the reactions to my recent decision to add a few chickens to the home front.

From my niece:  "Aunt Sonja's gone weird on us!  I mean who names their chickens," she asked my mother?   Who, in turn, asked me "who names their chickens?"

From my dad: "Nothing like having chicken shit everywhere!"  But once I told him I was only getting three, and that they would have a coop, and one would even be named after his Grandma, well he started whistling a whole new tune.  He even called me to suggest that I get one of those South American Chickens that lays the blue eggs---for Nora, of course.  (Got it covered Dad)

Dave's still not sure about any of this.  Although I'm pretty sure he will never love the girls like Nora Jane and I do, I am confident that he will happily eat their eggs in a few months.  (In exchange for a nice cozy coop to live in)  And just to prove to me that he's supportive of my chicken endeavor, he bought me some wine to celebrate:

LOOK CLOSER!

And it even tasted good!
THANKS DAVE!!!!!!!

I'm sure the aforementioned are not the only people who think I've gone completely bonkers, but I'm okay with that.  For I have three new critters to care for and lots of eggs to look forward to.  Life is good.  

But just in case there's anyone out there who doesn't think I'm completely crazy, have I got a website for you!  It's called http://hencam.com and it's written and maintained by a woman named Terry.  Terry has two flocks of hens, two Nigerian Goats, one bunny named Phoebe, and two lovely dogs.  You can read everything you want to know about chickens and her life in Massachusetts as well as take a peek into her world via her chicken cams.  It's pretty fun.  And if you have little ones, they will love it!

Nesting

Well, hopefully, tomorrow's the day!  The day I truly become a Mother Hen.  And I couldn't be more excited! And more anxious.

To all you farmers out there, I'm sure my nerves must seem wasted and silly.  But that's me.  A worrier.  A planner, a reader, a learner, a worrier.  And it seems the more I learn, the more I read, the more worried I become.  

My worries have been over food, housing, diseases.... pasty butt! The whole gamut.  But, I've decided to let my worries go. To just relax and enjoy this whole crazy adventure.

So, this afternoon, instead of fretting, I nested.  I cleaned up Anna's room and got it all ready to host the girls.  Isn't this what everyone does when their kids go off to college?  Turn their bedroom into a brooder?  Of course, Hattie Mae kept a close eye on the whole process, even falling asleep on the floor very close to the heat lamp.  

So now it's 11:13 and I'm off to bed, for I want to be up bright and early so I can be first in line at the feed store, along with  my little side kick who is skipping school to go chick shopping.  How could I not bring her?  Becoming a nine-year-old urban chicken farmer doesn't just happen every day.  It's a special day.  A day that needs to be savored, remembered, celebrated.  

Just don't tell her school attendance secretary!

Welcome Home

The Girls 

Nora Jane and I welcomed The Girls into our home (literally--they reside in Anna's old room) and our family last Friday.  We rose at the usual 6:00 hour, and then waited, and waited, and waited, until it was time to go to the feed store.  And like the song says, "the waiting IS the hardest part."  So to keep myself busy, I swept, and vacuumed, and even cleaned the bathrooms!  You would have thought royalty was coming for a visit the way I tidied up, rather than a few silly chickens.  When I finished that I watched an episode of 24, my new favorite show.  How did I never watch this in it's heyday??  Nora, meanwhile, played Minecraft for a LONG time.  And then, finally, it was time to go!  

As we drove across the Narrows Bridge we continued to think of names for the girls.  "They have to be just right,"  declared Nora.  

When we entered the store, the peeping of chicks seemed to be everywhere.  Nora's eyes took on the look of Hattie's (when she sees food) and she looked at me for instructions.  I just said, "well, go look!"  And she was off!  

While she perused the choices, I located the "chicken helper," and then, together, we set out with our little brown box to find the perfect chicks.  Well, let me tell you, that is no easy job.  Every bin we encountered contained dozens of happy, peeping, wobbling, eating, beaked bundles of fluff.  

"Which one would you like," asked our chicken helper?  

When I informed her these were our first-EVER chicks, she sighed and settled herself in for the long haul.  Feeling bad for her, although no one else was even looking at any chicks, I continued, "but if you see one that looks really good, we'll just take that one."  

That perked her right up and our little brown box was filled with one Buff Orpington, one Ameraucana, and one Silver-Laced Wyandotte in less than two minutes.  While Nora Jane VERY CAREFULLY carried our box of birds to the counter, I grabbed a bag of chick grit and then we were on our way. 

As we drove home, I asked Nora Jane if she thought we'd ever get chicks and she said she wasn't sure, but she's glad we did.   

Me too, I replied.  And then I asked if her mom was the coolest mom ever.  The very enthusiastic "OH YEAH!" that came from the back seat was all I needed.  

The girls have been with us for three days now and I no longer check on them every five minutes.  Although I do spend a lot of time with them (as does Nora) watching them, talking to them, changing their feeder and waterer, and making sure the temperature in their brooder is okay.  Oh, and cleaning out poop.  My God can these girls poop!  Which my garden and I plan to take full advantage of later this year.  

So while my niece Nanny thinks "I have gone weird," I'm here to report that I have not.  In fact, I am the same old Sonja I was four days ago.  Just a little bit happier.  I still take my kid to school, walk the dog, do housework, work in the garden, and write crazy things on this blog. And while my house doesn't look any different today than it did on Friday, it's about to experience a transition too.  It's about to go from a regular old backyard to a teeny tiny farm with actual livestock.  Livestock which will not ever be eaten.  (I feel I should point that out)  

I mean once ya name them, it's kinda tough to eat 'em.....

So, allow me to introduce The Girls: 

Lena, our Buff Orpington, is named after my Great-Grandma Lena Dahl, who, my dad tells me, was quite the tough, little farmer.  She milked cows, raised meat and egg hens, and she even traveled by ferry from my hometown of Poulsbo all the way to Seattle (way back in the day) to sell her eggs and home-made butter at the Pike Place Market.  I never knew Lena.  I wish I had and I hope to make her proud.  

Nora and Lena

Arya (Arry) is our Silver-Laced Wyandotte.  She should grow up to be not only beautiful, but calm and docile, and a good layer.  Already she seems like the leader of the pack.  

Nora and Arry

Finally, there's Winnifred (Winnie) our Ameraucana. 

Nora and our Easter Egger, Winnie

This little gal will provide us with our very own beautiful blue and green Easter eggs when she gets down to business.  She is the smallest of the bunch but very sweet.  Nora chose her name because it means "prosperous with friends."  

So that's all for now.  Things are going well.  The girls are eating, sleeping, and pooping A LOT.  Their wing feathers are emerging and they are settling in.

As for Hattie.... Well, she's still not sure if she should eat them, lick them, or chase them.  Mostly, she lays under their heat lamp, along with Cooper, and soaks up their warmth.  

Cooper's rough life:
enjoying the glow

A Perfectly Normal Tuesday

Yesterday dawned like any other Tuesday.  Not quite mid-week, and with nothing extraordinary on the calendar.  Just a morning trip to the park with Hattie followed by the running of errands and some housework.  Yet, despite its routine ordinariness, yesterday was nearly perfect.  

For it was one of those days when everything seems to go just right.  One of those days when you feel as if you can take on any task and be successful.  One of those days when you feel completely happy because you are doing the things you love.  

Taken separately, all the things I did yesterday could be defined as mundane, boring even, to some.  For me, though, they came together like the aligning of the stars and they helped me to see that I am in the right place, doing the right things.  

So what was so ordinarily extraordinary about my Tuesday?

First of all, there was my run with Hattie.  You see, this run wasn't like any of our previous runs.  It was perfect.  She was obedient, calm.  She seemed to always know where she needed to be on the trail in relation to me, and she seemed to (finally) figure out how to be my partner in this endeavor.  

Next came the gardening, which really just consisted of potting up a few new primroses

and transplanting those pea seedlings of Nora's.  

But the sky was so blue and the temperature so warm that I didn't even have to don a coat!  And I wasn't the only one enjoying the nice weather.  Cooper, my ancient cat, was happily nestled on the back porch basking in the sun, while Hattie tried her best to consume all the birdseed that the wind had blown out of the feeders.  But it was my discovery, while digging in the dirt, that really made my day.  Those tiny, red, curly tips peeking up through the black dirt showed me that my rhubarb had not, in fact, perished.  

Hello Beautiful!
I am SO glad to see you!

On the contrary, it was very much alive.  And it was telling me there's pie in Dave's future!

But not today.  Today there was just a batch of thumbprint cookies.  Most of which are gone now--thanks to Dave.  

Finally, and most importantly, there was the chicken supply shopping.  While the chicks haven't arrived, their new home has.  And it's waiting patiently, for them, in Anna's old room.  

VACANCY

As you can see, none of my activities were truly spectacular, especially on their own.  But taken together, on this beautiful, sunny Tuesday they created a special day for me.  I'm sure if I had done all of these things on Monday, when it poured down rain, I would have felt completely different.  But that's not how a perfect day works.  A perfect day is just that because, thankfully, the stars do align and everything just fits.  

To Do List

Today's To-Do List

*  Buy ink for printer

*  Buy child-proof cupboard locks 
    (to keep the damn dog out of the garbage can!)

Sounds From a Sick Day

Sniffling Nora

turning pages

humming fireplace

thumping washing machine

clacking keyboard

and a 

quietly resting 

little brown dog

Nora stayed home today with the sniffles and a sore throat.  But does that mean she was confined to her bed?  Well... no.  

For, sick or not, the dog still needed walking.  And, since Dave is gone all day skiing, it also means no rest for the weary (and/or sickly).  

So, I bundled her up, piled her into the van with Hattie, and drove us all to Pt. Defiance where we walked the trails above Salmon Beach.  Hattie, completely unaware of Nora's weakened condition, ran the trails in her typical full-speed beast mode.  Nora, aided by, and very much reliant upon, the walking stick she found along side the trail, moved at a much slower pace.  Much slower pace.  But none of us cared.  Today wasn't about racing, or fitness.  It was about moving, being outside, breathing in the fresh misty air, and being together.  Cold be damned! 

I know I won't win Mother of the Year Award after this little stunt,  (a stunt my own mother never would have permitted) but a little fresh air never hurt anyone with a cold.  And despite Nora's sluggishness, she had a great time.  Especially when we FINALLY made it to the dog park and she got to watch Hattie play with the other dogs.  And by play, I mean chase after them, while frantically barking, as THEY retrieved the balls I threw.  

Nervous Nellie Makes Friends

I take Hattie Mae to Point Defiance almost every day.  Usually we jog the trails; but some days, when my knees and feet are feeling their age, we just walk.  Either way, Hattie has a great time; munching on sticks, sniffing the ground, hoping to stumble upon some deer droppings.  While we are there,  we usually run into the same people.  

Some of these folks I have been running into (no pun intended) for a long time.  However, it wasn't until Hattie started joining me that they became friendly.  Which means they want to stop, chat and pet a crazy, little, brown dog.

Dennis, The Chipmunk Feeder, is the perfect example.  This old guy has been walking the trails with his bag of bird seed for a few years.  He always walks quietly, with his head and eyes lowered, focusing on the trail in front of him and the noise coming from his very loud headphones.  Apparently, he's a fan of talk radio.  Yet, despite seeing him almost daily, he'd never said more to me than, simply, "hi."  If that.  Usually, it was just a nod.

Hattie Mae changed all that.  Now, when he sees us, his eyes light up, he turns down his radio, and he bends down to give Hattie A LOT  of attention.  He really has no other choice.  Hattie demanded that they become friends.  And she did so, like she always does, by barking like mad.  

This crazy behavior of hers did not deter him, however.  It did not frighten him.  It did not worry him.  On the contrary, it seemed to delight him.  The more she barked, the more he smiled and tried to pet her.  "Oh, she's just a pup," he'd sigh and be on his way.

Over a few weeks, her manic barking lessened.  She continued to jump and wag her tail, but a little less with each visit.  Until, finally, he was able to pet her and speak to me.  And speak he did!

"Well, I need to stop at the Metropolitan Market and bring her some dog bones!  That's the only store I shop at now that I'm retired, and sober.  Because they have the meat without all the preservatives and hormones in it.  I try to be healthy now."

I, on the other hand, was speechless!  I had seen this man frequently for several years--passed him almost daily over the last few weeks--and he he'd never said one word to me!  Now he's spewing multiple sentences!  Without pause!

How did this happen?  

Hattie Mae broke through his barrier.  She brought him into our world, or us into his, I'm not sure.  Either way, it's much better this way.  We look for him on the trail now.  As he looks for us.  Now he always stops, says hi, and gives the friend he dubbed The Nervous Nellie a few pets.    And, though I always tell him no, he also always asks if we've seen Susie.  I don't know who Susie is, and I doubt I ever will; but I don't care.  What I do care about is that we're talking.  That he's petting Hattie.  That Hattie's wagging her tail and trying to get her nose into his bag of bird treats.  That he and Hattie have become friends.

So This Isn't Working

small print:
Helps prevent dogs from consuming feces

After seven days.......

Hmmmm.........

Drying Out

 "It's not raining, so I'm going to take Louise to the park for a run after I drop off Nora."  

This was the message I texted to Dave this morning.  Sometimes,  I check in with him early in the day to see what his work schedule looks like for the day.  And, sometimes, if I'm lucky, he has a long lunch, or a break in the morning, and can meet up with us for a run.  Today was not one of those days.  But, alas, that's not the point.  

The point is:  it wasn't raining when I sent this message.  At. All.  Thus, there was no excuse to stay inside and soak up the electricity. (Like we did yesterday). 

Well, those famous last words got the best of me!  For as soon as Nora was out of the van, the rain drops began to fall.  And they continued to fall all the way to the park.  And, much to Louise's dismay, all the way through our run.  

You see, Princess Louise does not enjoy the rain.  So, obviously, she doesn't enjoy mud puddles.  Especially mud puddles the size of Puget Sound.  Perhaps I should tell her that she lives in the Pacific Northwest; the capital of rain puddles, the home of Bumbershoot!  

Or, perhaps I should just do it; become one of those dog owners.  The ones who appropriately dress their dogs for the weather, often matching their own attire.  Maybe, then, she wouldn't mind the rain.  Maybe, then, I wouldn't have to leash her at 10:00 o'clock at night and DRAG her out the back door to go to the bathroom before bed.  

Oh, but I can't!  I can't, in good conscience, walk around with a coat-wearing dog. Not when she already has one of her own.  

Instead, I will make help her overcome this ridiculous fear.  I will prove to her, once and for all, that no harm will come to her from trotting through a mud puddle.  Thus, today's run began with a little Immersion Therapy.

Whenever we  approached a large (or small, or medium, for that matter) mud puddle I ignored the little voice that sounded a lot like my mother's, that was telling me to stay out of the puddle.  Instead, I aimed for it.  I kept my eyes on it.  I kept Louise's eyes on it.  More importantly, I kept a tight rein on her leash.  And as we got closer, I didn't waver.  I didn't detour.  I didn't follow her off the trail, over the log, through the brush, and around the puddle (to grandmother's house we go) like I had in the past.  I charged in, full speed!  I filled my shoes with rain water, mud, and those little tiny pebbles that would plague me for the rest of the run.   And I dragged Louise right along with me.  I soaked her white paws until they were completely brown-ish.  

And, then, I did it again.  

I'm not stating that Immersion Therapy is fun.  Nor would Louise.  But, sometimes, as parents, as dog owners, we have to be tough.  Because, sometimes, the puddles are simply too large to circumnavigate.  

I didn't make Louise run through every puddle.  But I definitely showed her that, when necessary, it's okay to do so.  By the time we were half-way through the park,  I think she had it figured out.  She still hopped the little ones, and launched over some that were bigger when she could; but if there was no way around, in she went.  

So between the rain and the immersion therapy we were soaked (to the bone!) by the time we got back to the van.  All we both wanted was to get in, get home, and get dry!  Thus, there was no slow, leisurely cool-down walk.  There was no stretching (much to my hamstring's dismay).  There was no petting, no playing.  We hopped in, shoes and paws dripping, and I drove home while Crazy Louise licked the rain, and sweat,  off of my face, my neck and my hands.  (Have I mentioned that she's quirky?)

Once home, I immediately turned on the fireplace, and peeled off those wet, brown, shoes and socks.  I, then, continued upstairs, where I traded the rest of my wet clothing for nice, warm, dry sweatpants, a t-shirt, a long sweater, and Dave's Vans cap. It was quite a good-looking outfit.  I thought about taking a photo of myself at that point, but I don't have the self-confidence for that.  

Instead, I ran back downstairs, prayed to the Keurig Gods to be good, to be quick, (which they were) and settled in front of the fire with my dog and a hot cup of coffee.  

And there I stayed, drying out, for a long while.  Looking at my phone's weather app.  And telling Louise what a good girl she is.

Drying Out

Who Says I'm Not Romantic?

This is the e-card I stole off (@Chestertheminiv's) Instagram and sent to my husband at work today....in honor of Valentine's Day and all.

To which he replied,  "I know my place in the pack."

(See why I love him?)

But, seriously, I'm not really that loveless.  And to prove it, here's the REAL V-Day card I got him.

And I'm not!

Happy Valentine's Day all!

XOXO-

P.S.  He also got a few kisses...

And Thanks to @Chestertheminiv!

Feels Like Spring!

The sun is out.  The windows are open and the heat is turned off.  So,  I went outside and got this baby out

and this baby

sorry the sun's in your eyes girl!

because I've got peas to plant!