An Impressionist Art Lesson from the Chickens

I don’t do a lot of kid stuff on this blog, because, well, we don’t have any of the two-legged, non-feathered variety.  But from time to time, my ‘loaner kids’ come over for a visit (good friends of the family–the two girls were our wedding flower girls!) The chickens were thrilled to have three of their favorite kids (we refer to them as C2, C3, and C1, respectively) over the other day for an ‘art lesson’ on Impressionism.  (There are only a handful of subjects that I possibly know enough about to try to ‘teach’ anyone: decorative wreathes, cocktails, and Impressionist painters….for this ‘lesson’ it was a close call between subjects 2 and 3.  No one wants to learn about wreathes.)

We began with some print-outs of a few well-known Vincents and Claudes, so the kids could get a feeling for how these painters concentrated less on specific form, and more on color and light.  I also wanted them to notice the deliberate brushstrokes, and the layering of color upon color.  We were going to paint the chickens in this manner, but we weren’t going to paint what our brains told us a chicken looked like; we were going to paint based on the colors we were seeing.  To help with this a bit, I selected photos of each of our birds and applied a painting filter effect to them in Photoshop, then printed them out…they looked something like this:

This may seem a bit like ‘cheating’, but I wanted the kids to see the chicken more as bits of color and light, rather than just a chicken.

So each kid picked a chicken, and we began.  Because the focus of this project was the bird, I had them ignore the backgrounds in the photos and simply fill their entire canvas with simple, bold color.

We filled the entire canvas, and then let them dry while we had a juice break.  And yes, those are trash bag painting smocks.

Next, the kids drew the outline of the chicken in white, and filled it in so that we could layer other colors nicely over the top.  (This is mostly due to the type of paint we were working with; non-toxic kid paints tend to be very transparent and don’t work as well for layering as the oil paints of the Impressionists.)

The face of concentration.

A darned fine Gertie silhouette.

We then let that layer dry thoroughly (yay for the quick-drying powers of acrylic paint!).

So while we waited….this happened!

Epic photo-bombing.

Next, it was time to start layering on some color, Impressionist-style:

C1′s face paint is still cracking me up.

Another comprehensive animal photo-bombing.

I urged the kids to paint the colors that they were seeing.  For instance, instead of falling into the trap of thinking a chicken’s comb is red, look closer: it’s actually rather pink.

C2 couldn’t help but embellish the background.

C1 really got into the ‘dappling’ brushstrokes. Very Monet!

Yeah, Southpaw!

We layered and layered the different colors until we got some pretty good results!

Gertie has never looked better!

‘Millie and Eloise in the Garden’, acrylic on canvas, by C1

I somehow didn’t get a close-up of C2′s finished Clementine portrait (she was still working till the bitter end!)….but please enjoy the final group shots:

Not sure who wins best face….but we got some pretty awesome paintings here, if I do say so myself!!!

Scrap Wood Garden Edging

We have a very long driveway.  Along this driveway runs a very long planter bed.

This is what it looked like when we bought the house:

So originally, we built a raised bed of pressure-treated wood to hold in all the dirt.  For the last few years, it’s looked like this:

Nevermind the squirrel-hunting hijinks happening here (and also nevermind the pre-renovation ramshackle garage).

When we acquired the chickens, there was a whole lot of this going on in those beds:

And this:

It looks bad, I know. This looks like roadkill. But this is a seriously contented bird lolling in the warm dirt.

And this:

And so, most days, our driveway winds up looking like this:

And this:

Because of some very serious neat-freak issues, this just wasn’t working for me.  The obvious solution is to fill the planters with so much vegetation that there is no free dirt for the ladies to get into….but this is a huge bed to fill, and, though I am working on it, I needed a quicker solution (and also, I happen to get a kick out of watching their dirt bath antics).

Enter our ever-expanding piles of scrap wood:

With so many projects going on all the time, we are constantly collecting remnant wood….in fact, most moments, we are completely overrun with scrap because I refuse to throw it away.  So when we can come up with a use for it, especially a cute use for it….I get unnecessarily excited.

The scrap that I used for this started in all shapes and sizes: slabs of plywood, bits of 2×4, planks ripped off the side of the old garage, cedar fencing, and more.  You may remember this photo from a previous post about our scrap pile.

I selected my victims and cut the wood into completely random bits, all roughly around a foot or so tall (but sometimes as short as 6 inches tall, just to get a really good gap-toothed vibe), varying widths.  There was really no rhyme or reason, at all.

Then I gathered up all my miscellaneous cans of leftover house paint (my theory was that these were all colors I had used throughout the house and garden and so, therefore, they’d coordinate.  Right?  Right.), and painted them randomly and sloppily.  A lot of these pieces already had old paint on them–I slapped new paint on a few of them, but mostly left the old weathered pieces alone.  Also, I left quite a few pieces completely unfinished.

I wanted the paint finish to be patchy on these, because I want them to weather a bit naturally–I like the look of old, chippy weathered wood.  Obviously, if you want these to last a good long time, you’d better seal them up really well and not follow my lead.  But I want mine to weather.  I may seal them once they’ve aged a bit.  We’ll see.  I get distracted pretty easily.

After the bits and pieces dried, we screwed them in, in random order to the inside edge of the pressure-treated wood curb.  Obviously, not everyone has such a curb–I share my recipe for a stand-alone version down below.

The real point of this edging, for me anyhow, was to keep the chicken dirt bath spray somewhat contained.  Remarkably, it’s totally working!

The chickens don’t seem the least bit fazed by it.

The varying heights of the edging allows for some very lazy bug picking maneuvers.

Squirrel hunting is a much tidier affair now that the edging is in place. Chance approves (actually, it’s quite obvious in this photo how much he could actually care less).

We are currently in the process of turning our back garden into a ‘Chicken Garden’; what was once my enchanting, flower-filled oasis has literally gone to the birds.  As part of this do-over, I want to use this scrap edging back there, as well.  The only problem is, there’s no wood curb to attach it to….we needed to modify it so that it could be free-standing.

From Home Depot, I grabbed some cheap garden-variety garden edging that comes in two foot strips that click together on the ends.  I also got me some metal garden stakes.

For my purposes, the metal stakes needed a couple of holes drilled into each of them (though I am sure there are stakes that come like this, I just haven’t found them yet).  This is a little time consuming, but easy enough with a metal drill bit.

Now lay out your wood pieces and attach the plastic edging to their backsides with an industrial stapler.  Let the pointy side of the plastic edging stick out beyond the bottoms of the wood pieces–this goes into the ground and helps stabilize the whole thing.

Now screw in your stakes, one on each end of the two-foot length of edging.

Finally, pick your spot, and pound that sucker into the ground.

Unfortunately, the Chicken Garden is a work in progress….you’ll see the final results of this edging project when I do the reveal post on that.  Soon!  Very sooooon.  Bear with me.

Scarecrow Hawk Deterrent

I have to say, for the record, that every time I go out into the yard, this thing gives me a start.  The dogs spent fifteen minutes barking at her when I first put her out.  The chickens?  They couldn’t care less.

But the lady-scarecrow seems to be doing her job quite nicely; since she has been in the yard, the neighborhood hawks have not.  Coincidence?  Maybe.  But I like to think my well-dressed friend has something to do with it.

We’ve had our flock for about a year now, and in that time, there have been a couple of isolated scares that mainly consist of the girls taking successful cover, and me running and screaming like a psychopath through the yard to spook those crafty hawks off.  But then, all of a sudden, about a month ago, the attempts began to happen frequently–almost once a day.

That’s when I saw this:

The view from our ‘chicken yard’ of our neighbor’s big tree.

Don’t see it?  Let’s look closer:

Well, looky-there.  Those hawks went and built themselves a little penthouse with a view.  Of my chickens.  That dark mass in the tree is a big, fat hawk’s nest.  *&#$*%&!!!!

Immediately, I went online and started researching how I might be able to thwart their efforts without bringing harm to them or to my chickens (hawks are federally protected animals and killing or even hurting them comes with a hefty, hefty fine, at the very least).  I have always admired the red-tailed hawks around here–I find them to be incredible birds and wouldn’t ever dream of harming one–I just wish they’d take their incredible somewhere else at the moment.  So that’s what I was after in my research: hawk deterrent….come on, internet!

The best, most reliable deterrent I found, of course, was to completely pen in your chickens.  This is a no-brainer, and in an ideal world, I would have a big, spacious, fully-enclosed, state-of-the-art free-range yard for my girls, but as I live in the suburbs, I am not allowed to build this sort of structure, and I am not willing to keep them cooped up in a tiny run.  So that’s out.  Beyond the no free-ranging option, the internet was rife with suggestions about small modifications you can make to your chicken yard that may, or may not help deter aerial predators; among these are things like setting out an owl statue (as birds of prey are territorial and will often steer clear of another bird’s property), putting out flags or banners in the chicken’s area that will flap in the breeze, stretching string across the chicken yard with streamers attached (though I feel like this poses a threat to any hawk that gets bold enough to still attack–it seems likely that it could get tangled in string or wire that is implemented like this), and I even read one account of someone having success hanging a disco ball in the chicken yard.  I’m not going to lie, I heavily considered the disco ball.  I might still put up a disco ball.  I think the question is, why wouldn’t I put up a disco ball in my yard???

Ultimately, I found many accounts of scarecrows working.  Theoretically, hawks won’t attack with a person standing in the yard (of course, there are exceptions to this rule, always), in fact, there has never been an attempted chicken-murder while I was in the yard–it always happens when I am inside at my computer (probably on Facebook), and when I hear the chicken alarm call, I go tearing outside usually just in time to see the hawk flying away empty-taloned.  I like to think that my presence in the yard helps.  So the theory is that if you make a scarecrow, and move it around every couple of days in the yard, the hawks will believe it to be a real person.  This was definitely worth a try, in my book.  It would be inexpensive, quick, and hey, it sounded fairly logical.  Game on.

I decided, ultimately, that I would use a mop as the backbone of my scarecrow.  Why?  Because, digging way back into the depths of my childhood memories, I vividly recall the decorative scarecrows my mom used to make at Halloween–always a Mr. & Mrs. Scarecrow, and the Mrs. always had mop hair.  Little did she know it, but my mom had her finger on the pulse of cutting-edge scarecrow-building.

I attached the mop to two 4 foot garden-variety garden stakes.  The first was attached lengthwise, to give the scarecrow appropriate height, and also to have a ‘stake’ end to be able to drive into the ground.  I attached it with two pre-drilled screws along the length of the mop handle.  The second stake would be attached perpendicular to the mop handle, to act as arms.  It was secured with one pre-drilled screw right into the center.  To keep the ‘arms’ from pivoting too much, I then secured the intersection with tightly-wrapped wire:

Next, I took some plastic sheeting (leftover spray-paint tarp) and bunched it up and stapled it to the mop handle in such a way that it would give her a bit of shape–I knew I was going to put her in a dress, so she needed to ‘fill it out’ up top, and then have a bit of petticoat action going on below.  I then arranged her ‘hair’ into two ponytails, securing them with twine.  Finally, it was time to dress her; I selected an old dress, button-up shirt, hat, gloves, and neckerchief.  I stapled the shirt and gloves into place, but everything else seemed to stay put well-enough to leave alone.

This is when I decided that she needed some accessories….I planted a little red hanging bucket with petunias and moss and stapled this to her hand, and at the same moment, decided I wanted her to be holding a bit of her skirt (I like that she looks like she’s dancing, but really, this is purely scientific–the skirt billows more in the breeze like this–more predator-spooking action!).  And finally, I felt like she needed some sparkle (again, to deter hawks), so yes, I gave her some earrings.  What.

The girls approve of my accessory choices.

Is this a fool-proof predator-deterrent method?  Probably not.  But scarecrows have been implemented by farmers to spook birds for thousands of years.  So I’m giving it a go.  As I stated before, it could just be coincidence, but I have not seen a single hawk since putting the lady-scarecrow out.  I move her a bit, every morning when I go to let the girls out (as allegedly, if you leave it in one place, the hawks will get used to it and no longer see it as a threat).

At the very, very least, I get a good laugh from it every time the Texan goes into the yard and has a heart attack because the creepy thing has moved again.  Good times.

The First-EVER Farmhouse38 Giveaway

I am so excited to be dipping my toes into the wonderful world of giveaways, and I cannot think of a better prize than these exquisite little charms from Charmed by Heidi.  Each one is a hand-painted original, and so tiny, and so perfect that they completely defy logic!  I just love them!  Two lucky winners will be selected, and each winner will win one of these two custom chicken portrait charm necklaces (one is Millie, and one is Eloise, for anyone who is wondering!)

The rules of the contest are simple….follow the link below and be sure to like Farmhouse38 on Facebook, as well as sign up to follow the Farmhouse38 blog, and you will be entered.  To gain bonus entries, like Charmed by Heidi on Facebook, follow Farmhouse38 on Twitter, and follow Farmhouse38 on Pinterest.  You’ll be granted an additional entry for each.  Also, if you’d like to just bypass all this hoopla and go and buy one of these adorable necklaces, check out the Charmed by Heidi Etsy shop.

The contest opens today, March 7th, 2013, and closes at the stroke of midnight Monday, March 11, 2013.  The winners will be selected at random on Monday, March 11, 2013, and will be notified as soon as possible.  If you do not claim your prize within 7 days of the winner announcement, I will be forced to select and notify another winner.

Let’s do this!!!  Click the following link to enter:

Enter A Charming Giveaway

Rainy Day Trespassing

Yellow dog! You had ONE JOB.

When I let the girls out this morning, it was really pouring, and because of that, I didn’t expect them to venture very far from the coop, let alone all the way up to the house.  So….I left the side door open, and as I worked away at my computer, I happened to glance up just in time to see that our perimeter had been compromised.  On Chance’s watch.  He didn’t even bat an eyelash as a very drenched Millie strolled right on inside, passed him, through the dining room, through the kitchen, and to my computer nook.  Usually, the No House Chickens rule is in full effect, but this bird was on a mission.  I had to see what she was about.  Clucking with her special brand of chicken self-importance, she marched dutifully up to me where I was hunkered over the space heater that I have running under my desk.

Don’t cross a wet chicken.

After assessing the situation for a moment, and realizing that I wasn’t immediately tossing her out as per usual, she went right on up to said heater.  Oh, the joy of a wet chicken standing in front of a heater (as was also illustrated after the infamous Gertie Bathing Incident).

After witnessing a couple of minutes of preening and fluffing and other such poultry shenanigans, I finally opened the french door next to my desk, and with one last indulgent fluff of her feathers, she went right on back outside into the rain without a single cross word from either of us.

Right back into the rain and the mud with her cohorts.  The No House Chickens Rule went immediately back into full effect.

I will never not be entertained by the sight of a drenched chicken.  Especially when she’s doing an entertaining drive-by of my space heater.

Gert had to get one beauty shot into this whole silly Millie business.

Yes. I Bathed a Chicken.

So, it has come to this.

Yep.  I’m really committing this to the internet; flying my crazy flag high.  When I called the Texan at work to tell him that I had given one of our chickens a bath, he said, and I quote, “There are really just some things I wish you wouldn’t share with me.”

I didn’t want to do it.

But Gertie forced my hand.  Every once in awhile, chickens get a little bit mucky in their nether-regions.  Sometimes this is because they are sick, sometimes they are just having an extended ‘not-so-fresh moment’.  Hey, if you had all those fluffy petticoats to keep track of, you’d probably have a mess every once in awhile, too.  Well, Gertie got dirty.  I’ve been keeping an eye on it the past few days, making sure she seemed healthy otherwise, keeping tabs as to whether the situation was worsening or improving.  It seemed to be getting gunkier (though she seemed in perfect health).  This can be a bad thing (beyond just being disgusting), because the caked-on poop can actually create a roadblock, if you know what I mean.  Today, I decided, it was time for drastic measures.

I have chosen to spare you a ‘before’ photo.

After reading up on it, and assuring myself that I wasn’t the first person to try this, I sought advice from Lisa, over at Fresh-Eggs-Daily.  While she’d never actually had a chicken get dirty enough to bathe, she’d had to bathe egg-bound hens in the past (this helps to facilitate the laying, apparently).  She assured me that chickens were surprisingly agreeable to the process.  The basic method seemed pretty universal: small tub filled with warm bubble bath, set your bird in it, gently scrub gunk off, rinse.  COME ON.  There was just no way it was that simple.  I pictured a squawking, flapping, emotionally-damaged Gertie, and a squawking, flapping, emotionally-damaged me.  This just couldn’t end well.

Fortunately, my mom was visiting, and volunteered to both take photos and laugh at me.

I found a water-tight container that would fit inside our guest bath tub and filled it about 3/4 of the way full of warm water mixed with a bit of liquid dish soap–just enough to make it good and bubbly.  I wanted it deep enough that her bum would be underwater for a good soaking.  If I got that far.  I’ll admit it, I was S.T.R.E.S.S.E.D as I went out and picked up the bird–the last thing I wanted to do was get her partially wet and not be able to finish the job.  But I tried to remain calm, so that she would remain calm.  After a little bit of cuddling and a few words of encouragement, I steeled myself and gently set her in the bubble bath.

Expecting a whirling banshee, I was dumbfounded that she remained quiet.  I loosened my grip, and she hopped calmly up onto the edge of the little tub.  I picked her back up and set her once more into the water, and this time, I kid you not, she just stayed where I put her.  For a bit, we had to just sit like this, conversing softly with each other, while the water and suds loosened the spackling.

I may be enjoying this.

Finally, it was time to start kind of gently working the gunk out of her feathers.  I’m not going to lie, this was seriously gross.  But you gotta do what you gotta do.  Slowly, but surely, it all came off like a charm.  At this point, I pulled the bird from the bath, wrapped her tight in a dry towel, and then I dumped and cleaned the basin, filling it again with warm, clear water.  Then I set Gertie back in, and again, she just let me do my thing–totally relaxed.  I proceeded to rinse her all off.

At this point, with all those wet feathers, there was a lot of bare skin showing.  This was a great moment to kind of inspect her rear-end and make sure there was nothing that looked amiss.  Everything looked good and clean and healthy to me, so back out of the water and into a new dry towel she went.  She seemed all too happy to have some cuddles while she was wrapped up in that towel.

It is extremely important not to let chickens get chilled, which is why I chose to do this indoors in a heated, small bathroom.  But, I was not about to let her wander around wet (even though it was pretty warm today, it is definitely winter!).  So, at Lisa’s suggestion, I pulled out the blow-dryer.  Once again, I thought, “NO.  WAY.”  No bird is going to let me blast them with this loud machine.  I turned it on low, and pointed it away from her.  After she didn’t spook, I turned the very gentle airstream onto her, and again, she didn’t freak–she wasn’t sure about it, but she didn’t freak.

After a bit, I could tell she was really loving it, and so I let go of her.  Eventually, I was able to switch it to high.  I always kept my hand on her (except when I was snapping a photo), helping her to fluff her feathers so that I made sure she wasn’t getting too hot.

What sort of sorcery is this?!

Headless chicken preens her feathers as I direct the heat on her.

Oh, yeah, leaning into the current!

Gotta fluff that butt back up!

Oh, the stink-eye I got when I turned the blow-dryer off!

All dry and shiny and gunk-free, she actually scolded me when I turned the blow-dryer off.  When I set it on the ground, she went and inspected it, as if trying to figure out how to turn the thing back on.  Though she felt completely dry to me, and because I had already broke the ‘No House Chickens’ rule, I allowed her to lounge with me at my computer desk for a bit just to make sure she was good and dry before returning her to her natural habitat.

My gorgeous Gert all clean and shiny, back in the dirt immediately.

Glad to have that view back in order.

It is safe to say that as I was endeavoring to take on backyard chickening, I never expected or intended to give a bird a bubble bath.  Where was that chapter in the instruction manual?!  I am not going to sit here and recommend that anyone do this with their birds, or claim that it would even go this smoothly–I just wanted to share this crazy experience.  Against all logic, it went well for us.  We bonded.  I feel so much closer to her now.

The end.

Bring on the Compost!

Well, I finally got my behind in gear and officially set up to officially start composting.  This is something that I have been taking real lazy attempts at over the years (always with the idea that I could definitely do better), but after reading Chris McLaughlin’s book, Vertical Vegetable Gardening, (buy this book, people, it’s got the best small-space gardening tips and is getting rave reviews beyond just mine), my composting fire was lit.

I don’t have a lot of extra space around here on this little suburban lot, and I really have gone around and around as to where I wanted to locate the compost.  Ultimately, there was really only one spot that I could make it work, for better or for worse, and that was this one tiny stretch of planter area along our driveway.  Which is painfully out in plain sight.  So first, and foremost, I knew that, whatever composting method I chose, it needed to be inside some sort of container….furthermore, I needed to come up with a way to make this, what is essentially a trash site, cute.  Priorities, you know?

The other thing I don’t have much extra of is funds.  There are all these fancy compost containers out there (which are ugly, btw), but I could not fathom spending any more money on this thing than was absolutely necessary.  So, because I happened to have two 30-gallon galvanized trash cans that were sitting around twiddling their thumbs, they got the job.  I had space for three, so I did wind up going out and buying a third one, but hey, it was still my cheapest option.

The girls, ever-underfoot, thoroughly assess the soil at the selected site. Their findings indicate a compost deficiency.

After I had selected my location, and the girls had assessed and approved it, I proceeded to dig holes in the dirt roughly the size of each of my compost cans.

Gertie checks the size of the hole.

I’ve read it’s a potentially beneficial thing to have the cans slightly submerged in the soil with holes drilled across the bottom and bottom sides that not only allow for drainage and aeration, but also for beneficial microorganisms to come and go.  So I wanted to submerge my cans (that came out wrong) as much as I could.  Which, as it turned out, wasn’t very much….this is a pretty shallow planter, and I could only get them submerged about four or five inches.  So I drilled holes across the bottom of each can, and up only a couple of inches on the sides.

This drill bit is no joke. And, btw, keep a dust-buster handy if you attempt this–the slivers created from drilling through metal are a serious hazard–especially if you have chickens in the yard who want to eat anything shiny. And also, lock your chickens up while you are doing this. And don’t wear flip-flops. I’ve said my piece.

Once everything was drilled, I fit the cans into each of their spots, and back-filled so that they were as buried as possible.  I had already set aside a mound of composting materials to start my first batch, so my #1 bin is almost full.  The idea, here, is that once one is full, you move on to the next, and hopefully, by the time #3 is full, #1 might be ready to use.

From some scrap lumber that was sitting around the yard, I made a fun sign to hang on the fence (see how in a tutorial coming soon), that hopefully will not turn out to be false advertising.  In addition, I made some little scrap-lumber number plaques for each can….because there are just so many of them that I might lose track.

I seriously can’t plan this stuff….these girls just know how to get a good shot.

Allegedly, the ground around compost bins is supposed to get really good and fertile, so I intend to take advantage of that and keep things planted around the cans.  Despite the best efforts of the poultry.

I’ll be interested to see how quickly that kale becomes a salad bar for the chickens.

Oh, yes, and off to the side, of course, there is this:

This? This is not compost. This is where the dog poop goes.  I can understand your confusion.

This is our adorable new counter-top composter that I picked up from World Market. It makes it a lot easier to get kitchen scraps out to the compost zone when you’ve got an cute container for them. I’m such a packaging sucker.

So is this the best composting system in the world?  Nope.  I can assure you, it is not.  Will it be good enough?  Maybe.  I’ll have to let you know.  One major thing I took away from Vertical Vegetable Gardening is that I shouldn’t stress over the compost–I should just let it do it’s thing with minimal fuss (hopefully).  If I stick to an approximate 50/50 mix of brown and green ingredients, theoretically, the compost magic should happen.  Theoretically.  For an easy break-down of how composting works, as well as a straightforward list of acceptable brown and green materials, pick up a copy of Chris’ book.  Because I’m not sharing mine. 

Best Wishes in the New Year!

The Non-Existent Snooze Button on a Chicken

Roosters are not allowed in our town, and when one of my neighbors decided to test the neighborhood’s tolerance-level, it turned out to be pretty low.  The villagers promptly arrived with torches and pitchforks.  Folks don’t take kindly to 7 am rooster calls in these parts.  So, I’ve been feeling pretty darn lucky that all four of my chicks turned into fluffy-butted, egg-laying hen-ladies.  Lucky, except for the fact that one of my girls did not, apparently, get the memo about early morning rooster calls.

I’ve read about this happening.  When a flock has no actual rooster, sometimes one of the hens will step up and take on the role.  She’ll be protective, maybe a little bit aggressive, and she may even take a shot at some less than bearable vocal exercises.

So, yes, as of the last few wonderful days, this is exactly what’s going down at the Farmhouse.  Yay.  Only, it isn’t a 7 am wake-up call, it’s a 5 am wake-up call.  FIVE.  O’CLOCK.  IN THE MORNING.  Pitch black out.  Chicken party in the henhouse.

It’s exhausting to be up so early. An extended daily dirt-nap is vital.  Please make special note of the dirt overflow on the driveway.

Personally, I am an early riser, anyway, so the hour doesn’t actually bother me.  I’m just relatively certain that my neighbors aren’t going to share my same jolly sentiment.  Especially since my sweet little chicken sounds like a goose being strangled.  Good morning, neighborhood!  Hope you went to bed early!  Oh, how I love stumbling blindly out the door in my slippers and PJs and running across the yard in the dark to tell the birds to shut their beak-holes.  And then, as though it is simply a matter of reasoning with them, I have an extended whisper-conversation with them imploring them to climb back on their mother-clucking roosts and at least pretend to sleep….so. help. me!

I can’t stay mad. As I work at my computer, they hang out as close as possible.  They want to be inside, but curled up at the door is good enough.

Helping proof-read my posts through the window.

Before this nonsense started, we had been discussing the possibility of doing a roost-room add-on to the current chicken coop.  The room would be fully-enclosed, insulated, and sound-proofed (with a baby monitor added so the crazy chicken lady can keep tabs).  I guess it’s go-time on that weekend-killer.

Really, I’m hoping it’s just a phase that somebody is going through (still don’t know which bird is the culprit) and that the wee hours of the morning will soon go back to being wee.  I’d like to go back to being woken up by my other alarm clocks:

This one’s belly starts audibly grumbling at 6 am, on the dot.

Ever get that strange feeling that someone is standing over you and staring? If the hungry stomach sounds didn’t get me up, then I open my eyes to this sight.

If Abbie’s efforts are unsuccessful, then it is Nixie’s turn to have a go at it. This photo catches her mid-evil-genius-laugh.

My original chicken is actually very polite in the morning; very sweetly she says, “Good Morning!” over and over until you uncover her cage.  Then she says, “Thank youuuu!”  She is a very proper parrot, first thing.  The sailor language doesn’t bust out until after she’s had a hearty breakfast.

If we actually lived out in the country (like I like to pretend we do), I would just let the chickens make whatever racket they chose (in fact, I’d probably get a rooster to join in the circus).  But, in the close confines of our suburban setting, extra precautions (aka, bribery and flattery) are going to have to be taken in order to ensure our neighbors’ good will.

I’m curious to know if any other suburban/urban chicken keepers out there have run into similar chicken-noise-situations, and what, if any measures you took to handle them.  I just want to have happy neighbors and happy hens.  And a winning lottery ticket….is that so much to ask?!

Chicken Defense

More often than not, necessity is the mother of cute craft projects.  Case in point: these adorable chicken wire cloches (or plant jails, as I call them) are an easy craft project that have been cropping up all over the interwebs lately.  I wanted to make a version of my own and was forced into it yesterday in order to protect the baby romaine plants my neighbor had bestowed upon me.

Late season tomatoes and romaine seedlings from my neighbor’s garden.

Needless to say, we’ve got a lot of chicken wire laying around this place, and I was able to find some miscellaneous scrap pieces that would do the job quite nicely.  For the larger of these two cloches which is approximately 8 inches in diameter and 12 inches tall, I cut a piece approximately 24 inches in length and about 14 inches tall (cut it two or so inches taller than you want the end result to be).  I cut it so that there is a finished chicken wire edge along the bottom length, with all three other edges left rough.  Then I curled it into a cylinder, as shown below.  Overlap the two rough edges and then begin to fold in the sharp edges so that they wrap around each other and effectively staple the seam together.

Bend your raw edges in and around each other to ‘staple’ the seam closed.

You will then have a wire cylinder with a finished bottom edge, and a raw top edge.

At this point, and again many times in the process, you will need to gently mold the wire into an aesthetically pleasing shape.  It ain’t gonna be perfect, so don’t try.  Just make some semblance of a cylinder.  Next, you will bend the top, raw edge into the center to create a dome.

Gently mold the raw wire edge into the form of a dome.

Your cloche, for all intents and purposes is done, unless you want to add a handle.  For these, I used a small length of jute rope, wrapped the ends in thin wire, and wired the rope to the top of the dome.

Oh, hey there, frog.

I am so in love with these, that I will be making some more elaborate versions that will be available in our soon-to-be-opening Etsy mercantile.  Will they be an adequate defense against the gobbling talents of my chickens?  They are pinned into the ground with landscape staples, but it will not shock me if my girls linebacker-tackle those things just for one beak-full of romaine.  Time will tell.  In the meantime, they look cute, right?