Charlotte to Munich, First Day in Budapest: 11/16-11/17

stop-over in Munich

The Beast & dad catch a few zzzs on the short hop from Budapest to Munich

Matilda and her kitty settle in for our first night dinner at Karma

Hungarian pride mural

Great Market Hall

Meat

working the euro scarfs

quiet side-street on a late November afternoon

April & Matilda's shadows

sexy bearded Hungarian statue

Ghosts & Goblins & To-Do Lists

First thing on the to-do list: update this blog which has languished in limbo since early August.  Ideas for a new post included Matilda's first birthday party, Matilda learns to walk & Matilda does P90x.  It is amazing how quickly this turned from a blog about farm life into a scrapbook on our daughter's development.  The focus on MatildaBeast coincided with the least productive, most dissapointing growing season since we moved to Cardinal Ridge.  The apples never appeared on the apple trees.  This time of year it usually is impossible to get any traction with the riding mower on the orchard hill.  With so many fallen apples laying in the grass, it's a bit like driving over fermenting, green marbles.  No trouble at all this year, nary a single rotting apple amidst the drying grass and leaves.  Same story with the peach trees, I remember walking back to the peach orchard in early June and smelling the sweet perfume of the young fruits ripening on the trees, nearing delicious maturity.  The peaches were set heavy on the branches this year and I had no time to thin them to allow the most promising fruits more time to develop.  When I went back to check on them the very next weekend, an assault force of beetles, wasps & flies had ravaged every tree.  I gingerly plucked bitten and oozing peaches off the trees and ate around the wound, but the joy of biting into a ripe peach and tasting the explosion of juice and flavor that runs down your face was just not to be found this year.  Our incredibly mild winter last year never allowed the trees to really go dormant, the mercury never dipped down below freezing long enough to kill off the legion of insects waiting to consume everything we cultivate either.  The warm winter was a fickle mistress, in March not longer after the fruit trees had set their blossom flowers we had a bitter freeze that killed off much of the new growth.  Each bud only can produce one blossom, so that set the season off to a poor start we never recovered from.

Up in the raised beds we had cut down on the varieties of tomatoes we grow, replacing some of the finnicky heirloom types like Cherokee Purple with low-maintenance varieties like Roma and Yellow Sunshine.  We ended up with blossom end rot for the first time in our tomato patch, brought on by heavy rains followed by hot dry weather.  We lost nearly all of the first crop of tomatoes.  April finally cured the rot with a generous application of calcium, using the oyster shell pieces we add to the chicken feed to make their egg shells tougher.  The persian eggplants I was so excited for never showed up on their vines.  Only a single pear hung from the droopy limbs of our pear tree.  I plucked it too early, while it was still hard and it tasted of tofu-esque nothingness, devoid of any of the sweet goodess that had once inspired preserve flavors like Caramel Apple Pear & Lemon Ginger Pear.  Japanese Beetles set up shop in the grape vines and munched through untold numbers of leaves like an irridescent green buzzsaw.  No amount of neem oil or pyrethrum could halt their orgy of devastation.  Then black rot moved in for the win, shrivelling the succulent orbs of ripe grapes into wrinkled black raisins overnight.  It was an agricultural apocalypse, a total farming fiasco.

One of the few bright spots were the bullet-proof, goliath carrots that produced all summer long.  They stayed ripe in the ground until we finally pulled the last few out of the raised bed last week.  The blackberries and raspberries were prolific, nearly every delicious berry met its end in the maw of the MatildaBeast.  24 of our 27 baby chicks survived to see young adulthood.  Due to their late hatch in May none has started laying yet and with the start of cold weather I don't think we will be seeing any eggs from them until next spring.  It has been a much less deadly year for our birds with regards to predators, knock on wood.  I have been able to free range the flock without any losses in over 3 months.  I'm not sure if Clyde has stepped up his game or if I have just been real lucky.  Our Blue Heeler will let the deers frolic in the front pasture for hours without doing a thing but he is pretty good about streaking out towards the coop barking like a madman without any provocation.  I guess I have to give that chubby bastard a little credit.  The older gals have started to molt and egg production is way down, we barely have enough eggs for ourselves let alone enough to sell.  As the girls have gotten older their egg shells have gotten flimsier and we have to take special care now washing them so they don't break.  One of the biggest sucesses this year has been our automatic chicken watering system comprised of a 50 gallon rain barrel set up on a stump that feeds a water bowl with a gravity valve.  We still keep some 5 and 7 gallon waterers in the coop as a backup but it has cut down the number of times we have to refill those from daily to once a week.  Once we are looking at a good freeze, I will need to drain the rain barrel so it doesn't crack and bring in the hose as well.  I thought of putting an electric coil heater in the rain barrel but I don't like the idea of having electric wire exposed to the winter elements and a hot coil in a plastic barrel.  So it looks like it will be back to filling the waterers the old fashioned way, trying not to splash the ice cold water on my flannel pajama bottoms.  I am looking at going to an automated coop door opener as well, which would allow us to take overnight trips without worrying about a raccon or possum getting into the coop.  It isn't cheap but I've learned from the automatic waterer that dollars spent making chores easier are dollars well spent.   The farmer' almanac is calling for a colder than average winter with much more snow than we had last year so I am also considering putting in a few more lights up since the ladies may be cooped up for extended periods.

The never ending to do list has entered its winter preperation phase which includes such favorites as stacking firewood on the front porch, cleaning the gutters, mulching up leaves on the riding mower, cutting down some dead trees and covering the berries and asparagus with hay.  I always look forward to the fall because I think there will be so much less to do, but I suppose it's just doing different things that I am looking forward to.  It may be trite but I really enjoy experiencing the changing seasons and knowing what time of year it is just by looking at the leaves or by what chores I am doing.  With April and I both working again, we have been dreaming of some rennovations on our old brick pirate ship of a house.  First on the list would be a bathroom remodel, then we'd like to paint the brick exterior white and replace the windows, trim & gutters, eventually we will replace the ceiling tiles with drywall and maybe put in some built in bookshelves and cabinets for our ever growing collection of books & stuff.   All in good time.

That's the current state of affairs up on Cardinal Ridge.  We'll surely make some time to go for a hike or two with the dogs and to rake up a big leaf pile for Matilda to play in.  There will hopefully be some apples to pick and hot donuts to eat out at the Apple Hill Orchard & Cider Mill outside of Morganton.  We'll be rooting for South Caldwell High School's football team to stay undefeated and make some noise in the playoffs this year.  And we'll probably go back to annoying our friends by posting way too many pictures and stories about the MatildaBeast on Facebook and this blog.  Happy Halloween!

Overheard at the Petting Zoo

Please don't feed the children

Woman in line to buy treats for her kids to feed the animals in the petting zoo:

Remember these ain't for you 'uns to eat!

The Fabric of our Lies

Man turns to his son and points out a white, wooly lamb:

Look Josh, that's where cotton comes from!

Damn you & your sunshine, fresh air & deadly flying insects Mother Nature

The Jacob family spends their Sunday evening relaxing on the lawn; a few days after April was stung by a wasp in the laundry room...

April shrieks and swats her arms frantically as wasp zooms nearby:

That's it!  I'm going inside!  This is unacceptable!

Jon looks up from watching Matilda swim in her kiddie pool:

What is?  Nature?

Snake Eyes

It's been a hot summer so far up here on Cardinal Ridge.  Temperatures have stayed near 100 degrees for the last couple of weeks and rain has been scarce.  We've kept the garden on life support with some sprinkler drenchings after the sun goes down and learned how chickens look when they pant.  The dogs are lazier than ever.  We can't leave Otto outside for longer than a few minutes without him taking a field trip down to the creek and coming back with his undercarriage filthy with mud.  The dry heat seems to keep the grass growing a little slower so I have been able to spend more time playing on the floor with Matilda under the ceiling fan.

the thicket

The berries were especially bountiful this year.  A big thicket of wild blackberries rose up at the bottom of the apple orchard along the driveway.  We were able to fill 4 buckets full, but as slow and thorny as that work is, I think blackberries should rival gold in price per oz.  We snacked on the tart, seedy little treats while they were fresh and then put up 6 jars of blackberry preserves.  Matilda is a big fan of the blackberry, but her favorite berry is definitely the raspberry.

blackberry beast

We planted a thornless raspberry bush next the garage when we moved in and two years later we finally got a decent harvest this year.  Every night when April arrives home with Matilda we walk over and pick all the ripe raspberries for her, enjoying listening to her as she happily chomps down and coos, "MMMMNNNN!"  Two blueberry bushes we planted in whiskey barrels also hit their stride this year producing a nice bounty; but we lost one of the two bushes we planted in the ground due to the heat.

putting up blackberry preserves

The apples and peaches have suffered this year.  They both need a good number of days with below freezing temps in the winter to go dormant and conserve energy for the spring and summer.  This winter was mild and short so they never really shut down; spring came early and was really wet.  The apple trees are covered in water spouts,  thickly leafed with very few apples.  Cedar apple rust has covered many of the leaves with golden raised scabs, inhibiting photosynthesis and reducing yields.  The peaches are almost a total loss.  We haven't harvested a single one and it's not looking like we will.  The cytospora canker has worn them down;  the wet spring & brutal heat are just the nails in the coffin  Matilda seems to enjoy munching on the few apples we have, even though they are still really tart and weeks from fully ripe.  There's always next year...

Our raised beds are doing great.  The heavy rains in March and April got the tomatoes, tomatillos and hot peppers off to a roaring start and they have continued to thrive through the long, sun-drenched days of May & June.  We'll be getting back to  making our spicy golden tomatillo salsa this after focusing mostly on the red tomato based stuff last year due to a dearth of tomatillos.  We spent Fourth of July pulling carrots and beets out of the lowest raised bed and April found an awesome recipe for Moroccan raw carrot salad.  It sounds like the last thing you would want to pair with hot dogs and hamburgers to celebrate American independence, but Morocco was the first country to recognize the new United States in 1777.  Think grated carrots, lemon, cilantro, garlic, olive oil & spices.  It's surprisingly awesome and the full recipe can be found here(we left out the cinnamon and substituted jalapenos for the harissa).  We steamed some beets,  threw a few links on the grill and enjoyed a mellow 4th on the porch.

making Moroccan carrot salad & Chioggia beets

There is a strange cycle of dominance with our roosters that is both fascinating and heartbreaking.  The current King of the Coop is Chet who usurped that position from Bad Bird.   Bad Bird had been hyper-aggressive towards April, Clyde, and I before a duel with Chet that left him near death when I found him gasping for air deep in the woods.  I separated him from the flock and nursed him back to health with another sick hen in the barn next to the coop.  One morning, I went to check on the convalescing duo and discovered a pile of feathers on the dirt floor.  Bad Bird had repelled an assault by either a raccoon or possum on the hen and somehow survived the fight.  That was when I fell in love with Bad Bird and we became inseparable.  He began to follow April and me around the garden and orchards.  Where he once would strike aggressive postures and charge, he just meekly hung around and pecked for bugs.  Even his beef with Clyde was put on ice once he lost his crown. It was amazing how the new pecking order seemed to be recognized across inter-species lines.  Clyde and Bad Bird began to co-exist peacefully once there was nothing left to prove with regards to dominance.

Saturday: I walked out into the soupy humidity to find the two previously submissive roosters attacking and pecking the living crap out of Chet.  My first thought was to find some gloves.  Chet would never allow me to pick him up without some serious resistance from beak and spurs.  After donning gloves, I got between Chet and Wang, the Sumatran fighting cock.  Turns out I didn't need those gloves.  I recognized the same labored, raspy breathing in Chet as when I had found Bad Bird in the woods.  His comb was tattered and bloody.  I scooped him up and held him in my arms for the first time.  Chet was docile as I put him in the other side of the coop where the little biddies had been living.  I got him some fresh water and made sure he drank a bit, then I left him to recover in a dark corner of the coop.  The king had been usurped.

Sunday morning: I walk out into 90 degrees before 9 am.  The kind of heat that sucks the energy from you and sticks to your skin like sweaty syrup.  The day did not begin well.  I let the big birds out and then opened the door to the chick's side of the coop.  A Blue Andalusian lay prone in the sawdust; stiff with rigor mortis.  I picked up the pullet and saw the entire body was intact, no obvious wounds or bites.  The head was still attached and the vent had not been gnawed out, this was not a weasel or possum casualty.  What caught my eye was the matted, damp feathers from the head down to the neck, the beak had been slightly crushed, there were shallow cuts along the trachea.  It looked like something tried to swallow the chick and got hung up on the body, the chick was too big to eat whole and had suffocated while the predator tried to cram it down its throat.  A snake.

The other chicks had crowded around Chet, I believe he attacked the snake and drove it out of the coop. A snake will usually never leave the scene of the crime especially with more victims readily available.  Chet looked even more torn up than he did the day before, there were fresh wounds on his comb.  I walked back to the house hurting from the heat and the loss of the baby bird.  I told April I wanted to move all the chicks over to the other side of the coop where the other roosters might provide more protection.  After breakfast, we walked back out to the coop and commenced Operation Relocation.  I caught the pullets one by one, handing them off to April who placed them into the other side of the coop.  Once we were finished, I told April I wanted to dig up the corpse of the Blue Andalusian from the compost pile to get her medical opinion on what had killed it.  Before I could  plant the shovel into the pile of wood chips, April was shouting, "SNAKE! SNAKE!"  April does not like snakes.  I looked down around my flip flopped feet and saw nothing.  She pointed up around shoulder level, toward the gate to the coop and I saw this:

black snake caught in the bird netting

My first instinct was for revenge.  I wanted to shoot that snake straight through its head with the Ruger 10/22 or my Daisy Red Ryder,  avenging the chick without blasting the coop to pieces.  As I examined the snake, I saw its considerable girth somehow wound through tiny openings in the plastic bird netting, the thin black nylon cutting deeper and deeper into its scaled hide.  I thought about the reptilian brain; cold, remorseless; a killing machine that feels no pain.  At that point, I believed the snake was sure to die.  Doomed to slice itself to pieces writhing against the netting in the heat until it expired, a death not befitting a warrior.  I felt it would be right and merciful to kill it quickly with a couple shots to the head.  April retrieved my BB gun and I loaded it and test fired a few shots against a stump.  I don't know what came over me next.  I just could not stand to kill the snake without trying to save him.  He did not deserve salvation, not after killing a chick.  But death had already visited the ridge that morning and I would be damned if it returned by my hand.  Life is too precious, even the life of a black snake.  I hatched a plan to cut the snake free and throw him into a chicken feed bag; relocate him to the back acreage by the cabin a long ways from the coop.  It took almost an hour of slow, methodical cuts to loose the snake.  The serpent never got aggressive towards me, even as the knife slid under its scales into its corpus into order to cut the netting.  I swear I saw an almost human gratitude in its eyes as it regained freedom of movement with each cut.  My mistake was to not get a firm grip on him behind his neck before I sawed the last strands binding him to the netting.  The snake slid off like a black rocket towards the entrance to the coop.  I panicked.  I could not lose any more chicks.  I grabbed a hoe rested at the entrance to the coop, walked into the coop, measured the distance and swung; decapitating the snake I had worked so hard to save.  It took several more swings before I was satisfied that the wounds were mortal.  I scooped the snake's body onto a pitchfork and buried him as far from the chick as possible in the compost pile.  I can not explain the feelings you experience going from savior to executioner in seconds flat.  The moral dilemma of the gentleman farmer.

Back to Chapel Thrill

dude, puffs are so tasty...

Dad delivers the nutrients in the old Skylight Exchange alley

Top of the Hill

Toasty in her new Carolina Snuggy thanks to the owner of Vespa

seeing Mom off to her conference on pain management

McCorkle Place aka Silent Sam's Quad

Mural in the old Schoolkids Records alley

Two of dad's old dorms: Stacy & Graham

kicking it at the Dead Mule Club

Once Upon a May weekend

When we finally sat down on the freshly mowed grass by the chicken coop late Sunday afternoon, I realized what a blessedly wonderful weekend it had been.  Watching Matilda grinning as she alternated between pulling up grass and pulling out Otto's back hair, watching Clyde and Chet the Rooster do battle, enjoying a beer with my wife underneath a Carolina blue sky; it was about as good as it gets.  We laid back and watched clouds like a pulled apart cotton ball drift by overhead, hearing the distant, happy chirps of the newly arrived baby chicks from the house and talked about how many hundreds of apartment dwellers would fit in that space were we still in San Francisco.

Gazing up at pulled cotton and Carolina blue

Friday night.  We had been jonesing for pizza all week long, coming dangerously close to making midnight runs to Domino's on two occasions since they don't deliver to our hollow.  We considered our options.  It can be really tough to get some decent pizza and a beer around here.  April had been talking up a spot in Hickory called Bistro 127 ever since she went there for her office Christmas party last year.  One thing I really enjoy is the drive on our secret backroads shortcut into the "city"; especially on a warm spring evening.  Bistro 127 does tapas & gourmet pizza, home brewed beer as Loe's Brewing Co. and in the mornings they make fresh doughnuts and sell them under the nom de beignet, Daylight Doughnuts.  We got an outside table, plugged the Matilda Beast into a high chair, ordered a house salad with orange champagne vinaigrette and two beers.  A porter for April and a stein beer for me, made by throwing hot rocks in the brew to caramelize the sugars in the beer creating a deep red color and smooth finish.  The pizza options were mind boggling, we went with two small pizzas in an attempt to taste the rainbow.  I went for the pizza rustica with olive oil,  spinach, caramelized onion, kalamata olives, mozzarella, & Ripshin Dairy goat cheese.  My wife opted for the black and blue with tenderloin, dijon cream sauce, mushrooms, blue cheese, & mozzarella.  Both were awesome with that thin crispy crust that you only get in wood oven and just enough cheese to bind the toppings to that crust without getting puddles of grease.  A perfect meal to kick off a perfect weekend.

Saturday morning.  Waking up late is something that seemed like a God given right from college straight thru our half decade of hedonism in San Francisco.  Now waking up late means whoever gets to lay in bed for 5 extra minutes while the other person mixes up a bottle and fetches Matilda from her crib.  This Saturday morning was more like a gift from God because it was so unexpected.  Matilda slept through the night and when we brought her into our bed for her morning bottle, she fell back asleep and so did we until after 10 o'clock.  It was frickin sweet.  When I did finally roll out of bed and trudged out to the coop to free the captive chickens (who were clucking like, "does that fool have any idea what time it is!?!") the air was warm and pleasant; every plant in sight was vibrant and beautiful.  From the highlighter yellow dragon flowers in the barrel beside our front door to the rose bushes approaching Shaq-like heights, the heavy rains and hot sun have shifted everything containing chlorophyll into overdrive.

fluorescent yellow dragon flowers

our friendliest hen in the rose garden in front of the garage

Once I had pants on, Clyde & I took a truckload of garbage and recycling to the dump, filled the jerry can with gas for the mower and picked up a Sundrop and Dr. Enuf to give our day a caffeinated jump start.  The Sundrop was for April; Clyde, our Blue Heeler, is more of a Marlboro and moonshine kind of guy.  When I got home mowed our front pasture down from knee high to the #1 setting on my Craftsman riding mower.  It took 2 hours to mow 3 acres because I had to make two passes to get the grass to kneel before Zod.  I think it looked pretty close to a putting green when I saw the view off our front porch after I finished.

front pasture - par 3

I had to call it early on farm work Saturday because we were going to a farewell party for the the good doctor my wife has been working with since we moved here in 2009.  We drove out Highway 18 towards Wilkesboro til we got halfway to the middle of nowhere and made a right, then followed the state road til it became dirt and arrived at our destination.  We added our folding chairs to a growing horseshoe of them next to a cozy cabin and a meandering, crystalline creek that you could see clear through to it's butterscotch sandy bottom.

hayride

the horseshoe

Miss Matilda & Jamie

It was paradise.  Chicken was on the grill, children were playing in the grass and the adults were making small talk before embarking on a hayride.  Yes, a hayride.  I had never been on one before and was way more excited than the children.  The tractor pulled us along behind in a wooden cart that creaked and groaned up every hill and around every turn.  We crept past a man-made lake, an old family graveyard, a covered bridge and waist-high seas of grass.  Matilda was passed around the cart to be fawned over and chattered happily as she took in the scenery and affection.  Upon returning to the cabin and BBQ, we partook of a potluck dinner to which April had contributed deviled eggs from our chickens with jalapenos, cilantro and sun dried tomatoes.  We feasted on chicken, baked potatoes, fresh salad and I even saved room for a brownie and whoopie pie.  After dinner, our host broke out his guitar and sang a few tradtional folk songs like "If my nose ran money, I'd blow it all on you;" before he led us in a couple of hymns "Amazing Grace" & "Victory in Jesus."  It was everything I had dreamt North Carolina would be before we moved here.  A mid summer night's dream in the middle of May.

Sunday morning. We slept in, not as late as Saturday, but late enough to feel rested and ready to get to work.  After a bowl of Raisin Bran, I mounted my cherry red Craftsman steed and got to mowing the highest, most overgrown grass of all in the back peach orchard.  April came out to check on me after an hour and a half and was shocked at how little progress I had made.  It was taking three passes to get the stubborn grass to lay down and I was feeling the tingling beginnings of a sunburn on my knees and face.  I asked April to take over the riding mower while I walked back to the garage to fetch the weedwacker to cut in around the trees where the mower couldn't get.  While I wacked weeds, she managed to mow down a 4 inch tall fuji apple seedling hidden in the tall grass but she successfully avoided the obstacle course of groundhog holes, peach tree stumps and large rocks I use to mark them.  Mowing the back orchard can be a pretty mental exercise in recalling a mental map of these dangers, usually seconds before I wreck the mower's blades on them.  April got a big patch mowed down before she had to relinquish control of the mower to go back and check on Matilda.  I finished up mowing until I had the grass about as even as it was gonna get back there.

just after I gave the grass a tight fade

Wang, the Sumatran fighting cock

the blue heeler from banner elk

I parked the mower in the carport and walked in the house to the smell of something delicious cooking for lunch.  April had asiago chicken burgers with carmelized onions sizzling in a lodge pan on the stove.  As we sat down to eat, I checked my phone and saw I had missed a call from a weird number.  I listened to the voicemail informing me that our baby chicks had arrived in Hickory after leaving Iowa at 5am that morning, it said I could pick them up after 2pm or wait until they arrived in Lenoir the next day.  I still hadn't even started getting the second kitchen prepared for the lil biddies, so after lunch April and I lugged a huge stainless steel feed trough from the chicken coop to the driveway and hosed it clean.  We scrubbed dirt and dust off feeders and waterers and the heat lamp, misted the heat and sweat off our bodies, grabbed Matilda and hopped into April's car to head for Hickory.  We made a pit stop at the Tractor Supply to grab some chick feed & wood shavings (and some treats for Otto with glucosamine for his aching joints) and finally got to the postal sorting facility in Newton to pick up our chicks.  I was so excited to show Matilda her new friends, I cracked the box open and selected one to show her, stretching to reach into the back seat.  Her reaction was amazing, she reached out a tiny finger and gently stroked the fuzzy chick's head.  I was filled with a father's pride at my little farm girl, taking to her flock so naturally and easily.  Of course, her next move was to clamp her little fist around the bird's neck until I could pry her death grip open.  So no more lil fuzzies visited Matilda in the backseat until we got home and I could properly supervise.  After unloading the car, we sat on the floor of our second kitchen with Matilda and the birds.  The look on her face was priceless.

CHICKS!

happy to be free of the box they shipped in

We made a point of handling each baby chick, gently stroking them until their eyes closed and they seemed content to sit in our palms.  Then showed Matilda how to touch them like E.T. phoning home and even let Clyde kiss them.  I think I saw him licking his lips once or twice, but even though he is a rude redneck from Banner Elk, he is extraordinarily gentle with babies of the human or avian extraction.  After we had their new home setup with food, water and heat lamp; we left them to chill out and settle in.  I cleaned out the big chickens coop, scraping the poo off the perches and laying down a fresh layer of sawdust, refilling their feeders with cracked corn and making sure their waterers were full of the clean, clear stuff.  I collected 4 dozen or so eggs and brought them inside to the fridge, the sight of our last two beers inspired me to call it a day.  April had no arguments against a little family time on the freshly mowed lawn by the chicken coop and we trekked back there with Matilda on my shoulders and the dogs bringing up the rear.  We talked of what we had accomplished the weekend, our life in San Francisco and watched the dogs watching the chickens.  Otto settled by Matilda and let her grab fistfuls of his fur without complaint, Clyde and Chet the rooster did battle repeatedly and life was good.  The sun sunk low behind the oak trees and our perfect weekend drew to a close.

rub me human

family time

Matilda's First Easter

ready for my first Easter Sunday

with Mom after church

wearing my Easter dress and new shoes

waving from my horse

loving my new duck galoshes and overalls

ready to read

Springing Forward & The Thrusty Brothers

The redbuds are sprouting from bare limbs, peach trees are blooming into delicate pink-white flowers and the roosters are fornicating furiously.  Spring has arrived.  The apple trees in the front have been pruned, much less severely than last year.  Two apple trees I killed with overzealous pruning last year have been cut down, sawed into pieces and stacked into an evergrowing pile for a bonfire.  Many of our peach trees have been suffering from cytospora canker which causes an amber sap to ooze forth from the bark and the peaches themselves.  It also leaves the bark looking fire damaged and severely reduces the quantity and quality of the peaches.  After trying to fight it organically for two years with neem oil and copper; I have begun to cut down some of the worst trees to make room for replacements.  I love peaches but they are fickle mistresses, prone to a multitude of diseases and do far better in a drier, less humid climate.  The dry woody canes that produced blackberries and raspberries last year have been pulled out to make room for the new green shoots that will bear fruit this year.  Our first grapevine is now 2 years old and has spead out like a giant squid to cover the entire trellis it shares with the berries, I trimmed it back to a denser more compact shape which will hopefully spur new growth and more grapes this year.  Two of our new trees have already arrived via UPS and been planted in the orchard.  A 3-in-one pear tree which has Chojuro, Shinseiki and Hosui pears and doesn't need another tree for pollination and a cold hardy Mericrest nectarine tree.  It will be 5 to 10 years before the trees are in full production but we joke that they are our retirement plan.  I sowed grass seed in the fenced chicken run which had been eaten down to bare earth over the last year and have been letting the birds run free range again to allow the grass a chance to sprout and grow before I let them back in.  So far, the roosters and dogs have been doing a great job keeping the predators at bay, no losses at all to report.

We have ordered a new shipment of poultry from Murray McMurray, 25 stout brown egg laying chicks to create a better hen to rooster ratio in the coop.  All 3 of the chicks I hatched from eggs last year have grown into magnificent, insatiably lecherous roosters.  We have taken to calling this group of horny teenagers, the Thrusty Brothers.  As a consequence some of the more attractive hens have been mounted and trodden on so many times they have bald spots on their backs and are in desperate need of saddles or a few extra gals around the coop for the men to divide their attentions amongst.  Our pin headed Sumatran rooster has assumed the role of second in command below King Chet and vigorously defends his ladies' honor from the advances of the Thrusty Brothers.

Wang, the Sumatran Rooster

We enjoy watching him chase the brothers all over the yard; when he is not doing his goofy side step shuffle and sidling up to the hens himself.  Right now we are at 22 hens to 5 roosters; ideally we are shooting for at least 8 hens per rooster.  There is so much testosterone out in the coop, I wouldn't be surprised if I walked in on the roosters doing bench presses and blasting Metallica or rebuilding a Camaro.

Two of the Thrusty Bros.

 Clyde used to only have beef with King Chet, but as the Brothers Thrusty have gotten bigger and more hormonal they have taken to going after him en masse.  I really need to get some video of the terror stricken look in Clyde's eyes as he flees from the 3 formerly docile roosters as half-run, half fly low with their combs fluttering in the wind like battleflags and their necks poised to peck him in his "no-zone".   I'm pretty sure I caught Otto grinning as Clyde streaked past with the 3 roosters in hot pursuit.  Anyways, the new additions this year will all be lady birds to balance out the coop.

Dark Brahmas - Large gentle chickens with striking plumage color in black and silvery white for males and beautiful silver penciled steel gray for females. Developed from Asiatic fowl brought to New England by China clipper ships in the last century.

Partridge Rocks - Quite rare, these are fairly good sized birds though not quite as large as their cousins, the Barred and White Rocks.  The females have brown plumage and distinct pencilings of black following the outline of each feather.  Hens lay brown eggs, and are considered one of the best setters and broody hens.

Dark Cornish - Originating from Cornwall, England. They are unique because of their thick, compact bodies, unusually wide backs, and broad, deep breasts. The hens are nice layers of firm-shelled brown eggs and wonderfully hardy. This variety will come as close as any to rustling for themselves under rough conditions and also make good setters and mothers. Another very distinctive character is the close fitting, rather hard textured feathers with unusual luster and brilliance. The close feathering and compact build will fool you on weight; they are always much heavier than they look.

 Buff Orphingtons - The color of pure gold they are symbolic of great value and high quality. Introduced from England in the late 1800's, they became one of the most popular farm fowls in this country. These are large, stately birds of quiet disposition. Their heavy, full plumage make them excellent winter layers, shelling out brown eggs right through cold weather. They also make excellent setters and mothers.

Blue Andulusians - These beautiful blue fowl originated in Andalusia, a province of Spain, but have long been known in England and the United States. They are magnificent to look at with their graceful, stately carriage and delicately blue-laced plumage.  The ideal feather color is a beautiful slatey blue with a narrow lacing of darker blue. Andalusian hens are fine layers of white or slightly tinted eggs with very little tendency towards broodiness.

We are dreaming of sitting under a stout wooden arbor covered in a leafy green canopy of grapes and berries enjoying a cool beverage.  I have been reading a book my grandma sent me on primitive architecture (Architecture without Architects) and imagining using some of the larger tree limbs as posts and crossbeams for the arbor.  I linger over pictures of  spartan Spanish castles, Japanese Shinto gates and cavernous thatched huts build from bundles of reeds in Iraq.  I allow the image of our landscape littered with a assortment of these structures to creep in and take hold of my brain.  If I were to come into a vast fortune somehow, I would transform our 23 acres into a redneck version of the Quinta da Regaleira that we have visited twice in Sintra, Portugal.  Conceived by Antonio Agosto Carvalho Monteiro aka Monteiro dos Milhões (Monteiro the Millionaire) and designed by an Italian architect named Luigi Manini (who bears an uncanny resemblance to my best friend, Chris Taylor)

Luigi Manini

Wikipedia describes the palatial estate:

"Monteiro wished to build a bewildering place where he could gather symbols that would reflect his interests and ideologies. With the assistance of the Italian architect Luigi Manini, he designed the 10 acre estate with its enigmatic buildings, believed to hide symbols related to alchemy, Masonry, the Knights Templar, and the Rosicrucians.  It consists of a romantic palace and chapel, and a luxurious park featuring lakes, grottoes, caves, wells, benches, fountains, and a vast array of exquisite constructions.  The architecture of the estate evokes Roman, Gothic, Renaissance and Manueline architectural styles.

Besides being the most beautiful & magical locations I have ever seen with my own eyes, we visited the Quinta the day that Matilda was conceived so it will always hold a special place in my heart.  I know I can't build my own, especially without Monteiro's millions, but the balance it strikes between natural beauty and a landscape created with human hands is perfect.  It inspires me to work for our land as a steward while building structures that complement and add to the beauty of our acres on the ridge.  I think every man desires to leave something behind when he departs this earth, something that will live on to be enjoyed and appreciated by future generations.  After I started this rambling post I came across another inspiration, Ferdinand Cheval and his Palais Ideal; a palace he built by himself out of stones he found.  My contribtion to future generations may not prove to be so elegant or well built, but there'll be a big ol pile of rocks and sticks somewhere up here by golly...

East Facade of Le Palais Ideal

Overheard in Caldwell County: April's Edition

Champagne Wishes & Caviar Dreams

April loads a can of organic baby formula onto the checkout stand at drugstore.

Teenage Register Kid with 3 pack-a-day voice:  Dang lady, yer baby’s got expensive tastes.

April:  Well, this is just to supplement nursing so it will last a while.

Register Kid:  Still… you should try an’ make yer baby like something cheaper.

April:  I’ll take that into consideration.

Just like Jane Goodall & the Chimps

April: Do you have any hobbies or interests?

Teen girl:  I like to do stuff for the environment.  Like, I drink a lot of Cokes in the white cans 'cuz it helps save the polar bears.

April:  Oh.

Do They Make a Supplement For That?

April (upon entering health food store):  Hi, I’m looking for the homeopathic teething medicine for babies.

Middle aged clerk (Simpsons Comic Book Guy doppelganger):  There (points at shelf)… I fixed it so I can’t have kids unfortunately.

April (trying to not make eye contact):  Uhh…yeah?

Middle aged clerk:  Yeah, me and my friends used to do things that made Jackass look like a bunch of grandmas.  My friend and I jumped our dirt bikes at each other one time, and they locked up together.  My leg got caught, and even though I was wearing a cup, it shattered and my testicles got jammed up into my body.

April (studying the fish oil intently):  Ouch.

Middle aged clerk:  Yeah they had to take a metal hook and pull them out of my abdomen (pantomimes said operation at groin)… and I hurt my ankle too.  I had to walk a mile and a half out of there ‘cause they couldn’t get an ambulance to me.  You know anything about the Jersey Turnpike?  We were riding on the marshland beside it.  Yeah, I remember every step of that walk…

April (quickly hands money to clerk):  Thanks, have a good day.