Nothing to Crow About

This morning when Caleb did chicken chores, he discovered Morgan, our best rooster ever, lying dead on the coop floor.  No apparent predator invasion and no blood, so it remains a mystery.

He was a great rooster—always gentle and not once showing any sign of aggression toward anyone (unlike his predecessor).

He was also gorgeous—a brown leghorn with some of those pretty iridescent feathers.  Here he is one year ago as a scrawny youngster, before he grew into his roosterly glory.

He didn’t have the most impressive crow we’ve ever heard, but it had greatly improved over the past year and will nonetheless be very much missed.

Fun Poetry

We’re learning different types of poetry this week, and it’s been rather fun.  Yesterday we practiced acrostic poetry.  This type of poem does not rhyme, but uses few words to describe someone or something.  The first letter of each line will spell the title.

ACROSTIC  ~by Caleb

A type of poem

Called acrostic

Rhyme it musn’t

Oh you can

See that

‘Tis quite brief

It is simply

Called acrostic

 

The second type of poetry we practiced is called a Clerihew, which I’d never heard of before.  It was invented in 1890 by E. C. Bentley, who was a schoolboy at the time.  Incidentally, his middle name was “Clerihew”.

The purpose of a clerihew is to poke gentle fun at a celebrity, politician, character in a book, etc.  We bent the rules a little to include family members and animals.

A clerihew consists of two couplets, and the first line of the first couplet must end with the subject’s name.  The first line of a true clerihew will contain only the person’s name, but it seems that most clerihews include several descriptive words before the name.

 

TRICKY CHICKIE  ~by Nathan

Tricky Chickie

Is rather picky.

He wouldn’t let me in the coop,

So we put him in soup.

 

CHARLIE BROWN  ~by Hannah

A famous cartoon character Charlie Brown

Never wears a white gown.

His best friend is Linus VanPelt

Who does not wear shirts made of felt.

 

ELISABETH WRIGHT  ~by Mommy

Elisabeth Wright

Is our little delight.

With her blankie she won’t cry,

But she’s always asking whyyyyyyy!

 

Hope you enjoyed these.  Tomorrow it’s on to haikus.

 

 

 

Bye-Bye, Tricky; Hello, Morgan

Just for the record, I am probably missing Tricky Chickie more than anyone.  Some of you will be relieved to hear that my heart is not as stone-cold as you thought it must be, and others of you will mock me for being such a softy.  I had watched him grow from sweet little chick into an old meanie that you couldn’t turn your back on.  It had to be done.

Yes, it had to be done, and I’m the one who did it, though I surely took no pleasure in the task.  I’ll tell you what, though—I have an even greater appreciation for our food now, since I was a bit attached to him.  Back in the “old days” this was commonplace.  Everyone slaughtered their own meat, if they were fortunate enough to have meat or hunt for meat.  They weren’t vicious or heartless—just hungry.

We like knowing where our food comes from.  Though we still have much to learn, we raise our animals humanely, even affectionately, then we’re thankful when they provide us nourishment.  Still, it can be a sad, sobering business.  I do miss Tricky Boy.  He had one fine crow that I loved hearing every morning (noon, and night).  It’s a myth that roosters crow only in the a.m.

Anyway, it’s time to introduce you to Morgan, our Brown Leghorn roo.  I think Nathan is the one who named him.  He is a gorgeous bird.  And so far he’s nice, even a bit timid, though that may change given time.  He is the new “top dog,” and he likes to perch on top of the chicken tractor where he can survey his newfound kingdom.

His crow can’t hold a candle to Tricky, though.  The words “shrill” and “wimpy” come to mind.  The first time I heard him crow, back when he was just learning to vocalize, I looked out all the windows, thinking surely a neighbor was yelling for help or crying out in pain.

Then the realization  s l o w l y  hit me . . . this was the sound I was going to hear every morning at breakfast.  This, this noise was our biggest roo asserting his authority.

I am beginning to get used to it, and I hope it grows on me (either that or he matures into a real crow.)   And though I do miss Tricky, I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to walk through the back yard without needing a weapon.

In Memoriam: Tricky Chickie…by Caleb, 10

Tricky Chickie

Tricky Chickie met his demise on September 13, 2010, and will be missed in spite of his menacing behavior.  He always held to the idea that human kind was inferior.  And he let them know by his flogging and pecking to show that he was the boss.  His last words were made while in the hands of his owner just minutes before his death.  He bellowed his famous old war cry, “Cock-a-doodle-doo”.

For those of you who have not heard this war cry, it is a beautiful slur of beautiful syllables.  It was hard to butcher him, even after he had so defiantly denounced human authority.  It was also difficult because he had a name.  He earned it when he was very young and escaped from a temporary cage and when he led us to think he was a hen.  So to all those who have animals to eat we say, “Don’t name the stock”.  He will always be in our minds as the cockerel with a grudge.

In his memory, we show the first time Nathan and Caleb caught him after he turned bitter.  The latter two pictures are of better times, when he was living in a box with his brothers and ruling happily in a peaceful kingdom with his hens.

Fun with Tortillas and Other Weekend Adventures

What?  You were expecting some fresh cooking ideas?  Sorry to disappoint you, but this is just a recipe for mealtime fun.  Normally, I discourage all manner of unmannerliness, but we lightened up a little at suppertime tonight.  This is Joseph through and through.  Who knew you could make a mask out of a tortilla?  I sure never thought of that.

We had a full and productive weekend.  After two trips to the old house, our new house is now sporting transplanted landscaping with familiar perennials I love.  Boxwood…the aroma takes me back to Williamsburg, where I first fell in love with them…also my lavender and bee balm, peonies and black-eyed Susans, and many others that needed divided anyway.  It sure beats the hosta and tiger lilies that surrounded the house up until yesterday.

And if that isn’t enough to make our new home more homey, we hauled over the large wooden swingset.  Elisabeth was delighted to be able to swing in the baby swing, and Joseph zoomed down the slide head-first.  It really completes the backyard.

We also began free ranging our chickens, under supervision, since Tricky doesn’t know how to be a good boy.  Oh, happy chickens.  The garden is basically done until I get my lettuce in for the fall, so they can scratch to their hearts’ content.  I don’t know who enjoys it more–the tomato-pecking, bug-eating, wing-flapping, running-through-the-grass chickens or us, since we get to enjoy the show.  And you should have heard the bewildered squawks coming from any poor hen who dared venture anywhere near Penguin and her chicks.  I thought Tricky was assertive, but I must say that a mother hen is equally impressive in her ability to defend and protect.

We butchered our last 8 young rabbits tonight.  Mission accomplished.  I’m convinced my sons could skin a rabbit unsupervised if they had to with little or no shedding of their own blood.  We also have one rooster to butcher (not Tricky) and possibly a hen if we can determine who the new egg-eater is.  In the meantime, we check the nest boxes often in our efforts to thwart temptation.

What else…I baked 11 pumpkins from the garden, pureed them and put them in the freezer for pies and muffins.  Yes, in spite of the cross-pollination, I got a number of true pumpkins.  Hurrah!  And I’ve also learned that just about any ol’ squash can pass for pumpkin if you add enough cinnamon.    Made some delicious sourdough pumpkin pancakes, which were eagerly devoured this past very cool Saturday morning.  It really seemed like fall.

Sourdough Pumpkin Pancakes

1 cup sourdough starter (fed within the last 12 hr)

3 cups Prairie Gold white wheat flour (or whole wheat pastry flour or barley flour)

3 1/2 cups raw milk

2 eggs

1- 1 1/2 cups homemade pureed pumpkin

2 tsp. baking soda

1/2 tsp. sea salt

2 tsp. ground cinnamon

1/4 tsp. ground cloves

1/4 tsp. ground nutmeg

The evening prior to cooking, combine starter, flour and milk in large mixing bowl.  Mix until smooth, cover with towel and leave on counter overnight.  (Depending on the type of flour you use and whether or not it’s freshly ground, you may need to adjust the flour-to-milk ratio.  You don’t want it too soupy at this point since you’ll be adding more liquid ingredients in the morning.)

In the morning, whisk eggs, pumpkin, baking soda, salt and spices in small bowl.  Add to the flour/starter mixture and stir gently until smooth.

Oil griddle lightly with coconut oil and scoop batter onto griddle with large ice cream/cookie scoop.  Turn when tops are covered with bubbles and edges look cooked.  Flip and cook second side until golden.

Serve with butter and real maple syrup.

My last item of interest really deserves its own post, but I’d be remiss in leaving it out of this weekend’s highlights.  On Sunday we were again blessed to spend the day with our church family.  It’s difficult to put into words how very thankful we are to have found this fellowship.  In a day and age where biblical preaching is often an oxymoron, we are so grateful for the depth of expository preaching we hear.  I feel as one friend so eloquently puts it, “We feel like we stand under a refreshing waterfall each Sunday, having truth poured over and filling our hungry souls.”

Our family has been on a journey these last years, and we’ve found that the “narrow way” keeps getting narrower, and we thank God for directing us to the path of sola scriptura and placing us in a body of likeminded believers with similar vision for their families, where our iron is sharpened regularly.

Funny Fiasco!…by Nathan, 12

THE CHICKIE TIMES

8/13/2010

This post was originally planned to be entitled, “Moving Day” because we moved two set of chickens together. However, as I went in to take pictures, the wooden, chicken-wire door blew open (because of course it doesn’t have a latch on the inside) and all the chickens made a mad dash for the gate.

Yeah.. alright, this was not supposed to happen:

Hardly funny.

If you’ve read the post “Our ‘Roo’ “, then I told you that our rooster, Tricky Chickie (see link to hear to story) was aggressive.  When I tried to heard him back into the run, what I mean shows.

Here we go again.

Dad and Hannah and Caleb came out and helped put them back.  It sure was an adventure!  Hopefully it won’t happen again.

Written by Nathan Wright, chicken raiser from OH

Our “roo”!…by Nathan, 12

He’s our rooster – Tricky Chickie.  When Richard Nixon did his share of no good, he was called “Tricky Dick.”  That was nothing very nice, but this guy earned his name too.

When he was wee little, he got out of the pen.  Caleb chased him around, saying, “tricky chicken!”  The name “Tricky Chickie” stuck.

He proved to be even more tricky when we butchered some of his brothers and we thought he might be a hen.  Then one day it happened.  COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOOOOOO!   Mom and Dad decided to keep him, though since he was our favorite.  He doesn’t realize how fortunate he is!

By the way, if you are planning on butchering roosters, then don’t name the stock! You see, you’ll get attached to it; somehow when an animal has a name, you can’t get yourself to get rid of it!

As he got older, Tricky got mean.  He’s irritable, bossy, and thinks he’s altogether better than everybody else.  We take the toy baseball bat in the coop in case we need to defend ourselves.  Ever since I gave him some of his own medicine, he pretty much obeys.  He wants to be left alone at all times.  If you do the slightest thing that he doesn’t like, he’ll run as fast as he can and flog you as hard as he can and growl REALLY loudly.   I think maybe once our chicks hatch, we’ll get rid of him.

There are two lessons we can learn.  When I say that he doesn’t realize how fortunate he is, can the same be said about us?  Jesus paid the penalty for our sin, and we didn’t even earn it!  God has been so good to us–more than we can ever imagine.

And the next lesson goes with another short story:  One day, we put all the hens in what we called Dad’s homemade “chicken tractor” to get fresh grass.  Dad tried to put Tricky Boy in, but he fussed and flogged and flapped and squawked and  just wouldn’t cooperate.  Finally Dad gave up.  We are the same way sometimes.  We just won’t surrender to the Lord even though he knows what’s best for us.  Don’t be like Tricky.