Blue Yonder

Take Your Chicken To Work Day

One of our girls has developed a case of wanderlust. 

If there is the teeniest hole in the fence, she'll find it. She's caused me to wonder if Houdini himself hasn't come back as a hen named Hazel. 

We've retrieved her from the yards of each of our flanking neighbors. Thankfully, neither one gardens or has pets, and both find it funny to look out a see a little white chicken feasting on their bugs. 

Every time she gets out we scan the yard for gaps or holes, and fix the ones we find, no matter how small and incondusive to breakout they seem. And yes, her wings are clipped. 

Still she roams. 

The worst of it came the awful day when we could not find her anywhere. We checked every nook and cranny in our yard. We peered through knotholes in the neighbors fences. We looked up and down the street. 

Oh the crying. 

Oh the SOBBING and calling, "Haaaaaaazel! Come Baaaaaaaaack Hazel!

I was seriously considering making up some "Lost Chicken" posters to hang around the neighborhood when I heard a familiar scritch scritch scritch BEHIND our fence. Behind our 8 foot, solid concrete fence!

Now, our yard used to back up to a lovely field where deer roamed and blackberries grew. In the last few years though, It's been paved over and dotted with office buildings. 

I don't care for those office buildings one wit, but never have I despised them more than when I realized what I was going to have to do. 

We piled in the car, drove around to the office park and sure enough, there was our girl, happily standing in a manicured bed, kicking all the mulch out and digging around for tasty bugs. 

And the chase was on. 

Up and down we ran. The boys were calling "Here chick chick chick!!!!" (as though she was going to just say, "Okie dokie, let's go on home now!"

Hazel was bawking her version of "You can't make me!"

And we were all, no doubt, putting on quite the show for the people chained to their desks, slaving away behind the one way office windows. 

Oh. 

My. 

Gosh. 

All I could think was that they were probably gathered around the windows laughing their heads off at the crazy woman and her half-dressed children chasing the chicken. 

Lord. 

On the drive home, my boys cooed and petted Hazel. I, on the other hand, gave her the standard mom talk, "Listen young lady. You will NOT take off on your own ever again! Do you have any idea who much you worried us? You are SO grounded!"

She's out back now, kicking at the ground, rolling her eyes and shooting me dirty looks. 

I'm sure that if she could, she'd say, "You just don't trust me. You never let me go ANYWHERE!"

There has to be one rebel teenager in every bunch doesn't there? One that wants to test the limits. 

I had no idea that this law of nature applied to chickens as well. 

Happy Weekend Y'all!

5 Hens a Laying

Well, it is official, and we couldn't be prouder. 

All five of our hens are now laying!

Sadie lays the lovely dark brown eggs. Persimmon's are the dainty almost pink ones. Hazel's are white as her feathers. And now, Tiger and Maybelle have contributed their sweet blue/green offerings. 

My oldest boy, resident chicken farmer, is just about to burst from his accomplishment. All of his babies are full fledged hens now. 

Glory!

In celebration, we made an egg casserole for our dinner. 

It was a joint affair, everyone in the kitchen cracking and whisking, shredding and grating and talking over the wonders of "real live recycling machines." In goes strawberry tops and sandwich crusts, out comes dinner. 

Amazing!

Our casserole turned out really well. 

So, should you find yourself with an overabundance of eggs, this is the dish for you!

Blue Yonder's Egg Casserole

12 eggs

1 cup plain yogurt

salt and pepper to taste (maybe 1 tsp salt and 1/2 pepper)

1/2 stick butter

3 large red potatoes, shredded. (I think we ended up with maybe about 3 cups of shredded potato)

1/4 cup chopped onion

2 cups of cheese (we used half colby jack and half medium cheddar)

Preheat oven to 350 F. 

Whisk eggs together with yogurt and salt and pepper. Mix in half the cheese. Set aside. 

Melt butter in a pan and saute onion and potato until the onions are translucent. Its okay if the potatoes aren't completely cooked.

Pour potato/onion mixture into a greased 13/9 inch pan. 

Pour egg mixture over the potatoes. 

Top with cheese and bake for 25-20 minutes or until set in center and golden on top. 

Enjoy!

July's First Monday Contest Winner

Happy Monday everyone!

It's been a flurry of weekend activity around these parts. The boys had a sleepover at their cousin's house (Ryder's first!) while Daddy and I celebrated our 11th anniversary. 

I don't know what we were thinking getting married in August. It's too hot to do anything at all. So, we rented a bunch of movies, got take out, and vegged. Which frankly, was the nicest possible celebration I could imagine. No shoes, no dressing up, plus air conditioning, mojitos and the man I love. Bliss. 

We got a new (used) dehydrator this weekend too. So we've been like busy little bees, shriveling up everything in sight, from the last of our peaches to the tail end of our garden's herbs. Which, in turn, means it's time to ready the beds for our fall garden. 

AND one of our babies, one of the hens we raised from chickhood, Hazel, began laying this weekend. I can't tell you the excitement this brought. Our little chicken Papa, my Luke, was so proud and so worried all at once. He got sincerely mad at me when I refused to let him strap an ice pack on her rear. 

"Did you see the size of that egg, Mama? She NEEDS an ice pack!"

So, we've got a long list of suburban farm chores that need to be accomplished today... paver stones going into the chicken coop, compost and anti-chicken fences for the garden beds, more preserving of our summer bounty (read: more playing with our dehydrator)... 

But, I did want to pop in for a bit to announce the winners of July's First Monday Contest

As usual, you guys made this a TOUGH decision. I highly recommend that you go back and read all the wonderful ideas and comments!

There were SO many good suggestions. Some of my family's favorites were: 

Hanna's easy no-knead bread, Jennifer's home-brewed root beer, Lisa's cream cheese made from yogurt (we used our own homemade yogurt, and my kids LOVED it on pretzels!), Regina's lunch pail pucks (frozen single portions of food, made in muffin tins, to toss in lunches - so smart). 

In the end, though, we had to go with Shawn's ant spray as the winner. A little water, a splash of rubbing alcohol, and a few drops of peppermint oil, and we are DONE with those creepy little black buggers that have been raiding my kitchen! 

Do I have to tell you what a relief it is to have  bug-free kitchen without worrying that some kind of pesticide might be seeping it's way into our food? THANK YOU SHAWN! Email me with your address, and I'll send along your prizes!

I had to add in a secondary prize too though, because my kids lobbied hard for it. They don't really care if there are bugs in their kitchen or pesticides in their food. They thought that the winner should have been Maggie's Ann's homemade "Bisquick" baking mix. My boys love waffles and biscuits for breakfast, but we all know I'm not a morning person, so, this recipe has been a wonderful compromise for us. 

You just mix 10 cups of flour,6 TBL of baking powder, 1 TBL salt ( she uses less), then cut in 1 1/2 cups of shortening, and store in fridge until needed. 

For biscuits and cinnamon rolls, mix 1/4 to 1/3 cup of milk or yogurt to 1 cup of mix and bake 425 degrees 8 to 10 min. 

For waffles, add in 2 tbsp of oil, one egg and a cup of milk to 2 cups of the mix, then, pop in your waffle iron. 

Maggie Ann, my kids cannot thank you enough! Please email me your address, and I'll send you a little something too! I don't know yet what, but something fun. Okay? 

Now, it's time to get to the chores, which means that August's contest is gonna have to wait. 

Thanks so much to all of you who participated in our DIY contest. Your ideas have been truly an inspiration!

A Woman's Place

I swear, I did not set up this photo. 

Somehow, someway (read: no one is fessing up), my stock pot ended up in the back yard. 

For some reason, our Sadie girl thought it was fun to stick her head in it. 

I'm thinking that this, like nothing I've ever seen before, epitomizes the phrase, "ignorance is bliss." She has no idea that less than a week ago, that pot held chicken noodle soup!

I told her that she'd best be careful. Folks are getting a little worried about the economy, and what with the presidential race, and the accompanying promises, it won't be long before the speech makers take a page from Herbert Hoover's book and start talking about a chicken for every pot in America. 

MIght want to steer clear of pots, old gal. 

As for me, I might be steering clear of what I thought was a safe and wholesome bit of entertainment for my boys. 

They have been watching old Leave It to Beaver episodes here lately, thanks to Netflix. 

Today, I let them watch one while I cleaned up a bit and got myself ready for my girl night with a fellow blog friend. (Which turned out to be completely wonderful in every way, thank you!!!)

So there I am, bustling about, towel on my head, picking up toys, wondering what happened to my other shoe, you know, the usual, when I stopped for a second to kiss my boys. All eyes were glued to my computer screen as Wally and Ward tried to start a fire in the grill for burgers. 

Wally said, "Hey Dad, how come when we eat inside, mom does all the cooking, and when we eat outside, you do the cooking?"

Ward replied, "Well you know son, they say a woman's place is in the home, and if she's inside, I guess she might as well be in the kitchen. Besides, us men are better at rugged outdoor activities."

Oh my. 

I didn't have to say much about that. I think my feelings were pretty self evident, seeing as how on this night, THIS woman's place was at the Cheesecake Factory. 

As far as Sadie and I are concerned, Herbert Hoover and Ward Cleaver can just stick that in their pots and cook it!

Backyard Battle Royal

 

Our dear sweet Papa treated me this afternoon to a little alone time. He came in from his office, declared that it was "pool time!!!!" and after much squealing and pushing and "mama where's my swimsuit", "honey, don't forget the sunscreen." giggling and door-slamming they were off. 

The house was blissfully quiet. 

I got myself a popsicle, and prepared to sit (SIT!) and just surf and write and listen to all my backed up episodes of This American Life when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter... 

Chickens were squawking in a way that even an untrained poulty farmer like myself recognized as, "COME QUICK!"

This, friends, is what I saw:  

Remember Matilda? She's a tricky one, that old gal. I hadn't seen hide nor hair of her since that first time, and had long since given up on her. 

Turns out she's been around all along, and has four young-uns now. 

Good heavens. 

As appalled as I was though, watching them tear up the grass, it was nothing compared to the complete and utter horror expressed by my gals. 

Oh how I wish you could hear the clucking. It sounded something like,

 "Have you ever?"

"Not in all my born days!"

"Well there goes the neighborhood."

"It isn't bad enough that we have to put up with boys chasing us all day? Now we have to share the yard with these no good punks too?"

"What has the yard come to?"

Every now and again, one of the girls would gather herself up and run at the armadillos, her sisters squawking and flapping her on. 

 

And then just as she got near the snorting hard-shelled masses, she'd  turn tail, and run back to her posse, swearing under her breath. It was like a real live game of chicken!

The girls would huddle up again, drawing their feathery petticoats about them, discuss things over and send a new spokeswoman in to tell the miscreants to hit the road. 

The armadillos, like rowdy teenagers skateboarding in the parking lot of the BINGO hall, could not have cared less what the old biddies thought of them or their fun. They burrowed and snorted on. 

This went on for quite some time until finally, apparently, the last straw was laid down. 

All four armadillo backsides where turned toward the ladies in unison. Then, one unceremoniously flipped shell and showed the old gals his boy bits. 

 

My girls, shocked out of their bird brains, marched off in a ruffled huff and spent the rest of the afternoon clucking their disapproval from the bushes.

 

I spent the rest of the afternoon looking into live traps. 

So much for peace and quiet.