2010 by the numbers...

31 baby chicks brooded

10 killed by foxes, snakes & birds of prey, 3 died of shipping shock & disease

15 laying hens and 3 roosters survive

126 dozen eggs laid, washed, sold or eaten

5.5 red oak and pine trees cut down, chainsawed into 3 foot sections, split with a wood splitter or axe and stacked into a 2 year wood pile

3 raised beds built, filled with 12 pickups loads of horse manure, Black Kow, topsoil and organic fertilizers

2 beehives built, 10 frames and 3lbs of bees added to each, no honey harvested to help the bees survive their first winter on Cardinal Ridge

79 fruit trees pruned, thinned, sprayed with neem oil once a week until harvest and only God knows how many apples, cherries, peaches & pears picked

360+ jars of jam, preserves, salsa, pickles, peppers, tomato & apple sauce canned

24 liters of homebrew lager and ale fermented & consumed

125 - kilometers walked from Ferrol to Santiago de Compostela, Spain for our pilgrimage during holy year

3 - the number of lawnmowers I went through before finding one that could handle the slopes and bumps of our 5 acres of fruit orchards and clearings

4 - rooms we laid new flooring in

5 - the of ears of corn that survived hail, wind, raccoons, deer and the shallow soil in our raised beds to actually meet our tastebuds

70 - miles I now commute to and from work each day

4 fantasy baseball teams managed: 3 leagues won, 1 3rd place finish

10 fantasy football teams managed: 6 leagues won, 2 2nd places, 1 3rd, & 1 10th place finish

Merry Christmas!

Fallen leaves, rising gratitude

Now that the leaves have fallen from the trees and the weather has grown sufficiently cold, we will soon find ourselves seated at the table surrounded by family, friends and a tasty bird who has made the ultimate sacrifice. Sometime in between the moment I realize the Lions game has become an unwatchable beatdown again this year and later on when I find my eyes growing heavy as I lean back on the couch filled with gobbler & pie; I will try to reflect on some of the things I am thankful for. Yes, this will be one of those posts...so if you prefer to avoid predictably saccharine musings on the holiday; avert your eyes now.


oh, it's one of those posts...(enlarge photo for maximum facetious german shepherd expression)

This season serves as a mile marker of sorts, where I look over my shoulder and try to catch a glimpse of where I was last year and the years before. Almost 10 years ago, I asked my wife if she wanted to be my "steady" girlfriend and nearly one year ago we moved into this house. Eight years ago we celebrated our first Thanksgiving together in Orlando with a loco German Shepherd from Laredo named Dante. Last year, we spent our first turkey day with a Blue Heeler who was then the size of a Beanie Baby with the appetite of a dope smoking goat. Four years ago, we crammed 8 people into our tiny apartment in San Francisco and I poured everyone big gulp sized glasses of port wine after dessert. I'm not sure but I think I spent the new few hours walking in circles around the neighborhood with Otto; I was determined not to ruin April's party with projectile vomiting. I did learn that port wine is best served in smaller glasses and savored in sips not swigs. This lesson proved useful at the port wine institute in Lisbon this year. Twelve years ago, at the University of Hawaii, I spent Thanksgiving at a YMCA with my roommate Mike French & two Mormon missionary gals who made the turkey. I don't remember much about what else we ate that night but I do remember the good company and that I didn't feel homesick despite it being my first Thanksgiving away from home.


fallen colors

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite of the holidays. It's usually the one chance I have to watch the Lions on television no matter where I am currently living and every year I find myself believing that this will be the year they finally win the Turkey bowl. It's the day when the whole house will fill with the aroma of April's top secret turkey recipe and stuffing and cranberries and sweet potatoes. A day when I can finally stuff myself silly with the darkest of dark meats that I have been craving all year. Time for family and friends to come over or for us take April's turkey to them, for small talk and watching the first quarter of the Cowboys game before diving into the finest feast of the year. A time for fellowship and finding room for the desert you didn't believe it would be possible to cram into your gut but always do anyways. Time when the clock seems to slow down enough to savor each passing moment the way you savor each bite of sweet potato pie.

Thinking back on the many tables where I have enjoyed Thanksgivings past, the many noble turkeys whose flavor I have savored, the fine folk I have shared the holiday with; I do feel immeasurably thankful. Thankful I am blessed with a beautiful, loving wife, a warm & happy home, a wonderful family, many great friends, one loyal dog and one Clyde and after over a year of searching...a new job. So on my favorite holiday, on my 30th year upon his earth, I offer my humble thanks and praise to God who makes all this possible. Selah.


November sunset

One Night in Oveido

Oveido (Wednesday, October 20th 5:30pm-Thursday, October 21st 7:00am)

Stayed: Hostal Belmonte
C/ URIA, Nº 31 - 2º D
33003 Oviedo - Asturias
Phone: ++34 985 241 020

Highlights:
Gascona (The Boulevard of Sidra)
Chorizo cooked in sidra and the automatic sidra snake at Mater Asturias
Adolfo Garcia's history of Asturias in comic book form
Evening walk through Campo de San Francisco


streets of gold

local hero woody allen, his glasses keep getting stolen

the amazing automatic sidra dispensing snake at Mater Asturias

Gascona, the boulevard of sidra

Monasticism on the Move

“Travel can be a kind of monasticism on the move: On the road, we often live more simply, with no more possessions than we can carry, and surrendering ourselves to chance. This is what Camus meant when he said that “what gives value to travel is fear” — disruption from circumstance, and all the habits behind which we hide.

– Pico Iyer

Bilbao

Bilbao (Sunday October 17th 4:00pm-Tuesday October 19th 1:00pm)

Stayed: Pension Mendez
C/ Santa Maria / Andra Maria Kalea, 13, 48005 Bilbao, Spain
Phone ++34 944 160 364

Best of Bilbao:
Watching Athletic Club thrash Real Zaragoza 3-1 at San Mames
The Guggenheim Museum
Buying 1/4 kg of cabrales blue cheese, spicy olives and fresh bread and having a picnic in the square
Twilight strolls through the Casco Viejo (old quarter)

Llorente celebrates his second goal

shaggy perro

cabrales, spicy olives, bread and tangerines

lego condos

Guggenheim

reflections on Koons' flowers

bilbao sunset

Back to Busyness

I was planning on taking my time and posting pictures of our trip at a leisurely pace until my writer's block passed but so much has been going down on the farm since we got back, I wanted to get some of it down for posterity. We had my good friend from UNC, Mr. Brown, staying at our place while we traveled and taking care of the dogs, chickens, vegetables and my beloved sourdough starter. It was a huge blessing for us and the boys since they didn't have to go to a kennel and we didn't have to pay for one. Mr. Brown did a great job and we came home to almost 25 dozen eggs and all 20 chickens somehow managed to avoid death by fox, snake and chupacabra. I can imagine how lonesome it probably got up on the ridge here during the 17 days we were gone for with his only compnay being a redneck blue heeler and a german shepherd who smells like sauerkraut. Mr. Brown comes from Daytona Beach and I am pretty sure he didn't have much farm experience before he drove up to help us out, I was impressed to find out he did make some amigos at the local barber shop and even took a lady out to the metropolis of Hickory for dinner and a movie. One of the first things we did once we stumbled in the door was to throw our 2 weeks worth of traveling clothes in the wash. I only brought 2 pairs of jeans and I swear one of em was doing the stanky leg almost as good as my wife before I crammed them in the washer. We had planned on using a laundromat over in Spain but the Spanish aren't as big on self service laundromats as we had anticipated. Our repeated searches for "un lavanderia autoservicio" or "un lugar donde podemos lavar nuestro ropa (while making rapid scrubbing motions with our hands)" were met with blank stares for the most part. One very hospitable pension owner offered to let us use grandma's washer but since we had to depart early the next morning and they did not have a dryer, we had to politely decline the offer. To make a long story shorter, I ended up using liberal amounts of cologne in strategic places in order not to offend the nostrils of the Spanish and Portuguese. This is not a new problem at all though, April read how in the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela they employ an enormous incense burner on a long chain strung from the very top of the cathedral called a botafumeiro. When loaded with about 40 kg of charcoal and incense and swung like a deadly pendulum; it does a good job of masking the stench of pilgrims like us who may not have bathed or washed their hiking socks recently.

I was pleasantly surprised to find quite a few voicemails and emails with orders for our jams and eggs upon our return home. It took me a good couple of hours to wash 25 dozen eggs but yesterday I had our first customer come out here to the farm to pick up 3 dozen. I threw in a free liter of my home-brewed lager with the eggs, I am not sure if that is a bonus or not but we hit it off discussing bread baking and his grandson's exploits in karate. Then a few minutes later, I got a call from a gentleman looking for 5 dozen, so I drove out to meet him in the Lowe's parking lot before my Lion's Club meeting and ended up chatting with him for a good 45 minutes too. Not the most efficient way of doing egg business but it sure beats waking up at 5:00am to sell at the Farmer's Market. The biggest and best surprise was a call from a lady I took the Master Gardener course with who was looking for something to use as party favors for her upcoming family reunion. She had purchased a jar of our spiced peach jam at the market and was interested in getting a variety of flavors and some spicy tomatillo salsa for her husband. She ended up ordering 20 jars and April and I spent Sunday afternoon peeling off the old "colorful modern" labels and replacing them with our new "old-fashioned" style labels so they would look sharp for her reunion. I think the success we had at the county fair has been really good for business and as discouraged as I have been at times about the viability of making money off the farm, a friend reminded me that it takes at least 5 years for a new business to really gain recognition and a strong customer base. So, we will just keep on keeping on. After the big jam order, I was amazed to get another call asking for as many of of our sweet pear jams as we had left from a different couple I had met selling at the farmers market. I was able to get 10 together but we are starting to run blessedly low on our stocks of jam in the pantry and much sooner than I ever expected as well. The final feather in the cap was this last weekend at the Lion's Club BBQ fundraiser where I was able to move some of the things I am not allowed to sell at the Farmer's Market like my pickles, relishes, apple sauce and apple butter. No one would try and shut down a BBQ fundraiser for the visually impaired so I set out my jars on the counter of the trailer where we were selling pulled pork sandwiches and plates and was able to move about 24 jars in 2 days. It may not be enough to pay the mortgage and lights but at least we are getting back the initial investment in jars, lids , 50lb bags of sugar and a little for our time and efforts as well. It feels like God decided to smile on us here a little bit after the pilgrimage we made to Santiago during the holy year. Plus, as I have been telling folks around here legend has it that doing a camino during un ano santo will get you a free pass through purgatory too when the time comes to meet St. Peter. That's a pretty good deal for walking 125 kilometers.

San Sebastian (Donostia)

Sorry for the nearly month long lack of posts on here, wifey and I just returned from our 10th anniversary adventure through Northern Spain and Portugal. I will be putting up some of the better shots from our trip up on here as I go through the plethora of pictures we snapped. First up is our two night stay in San Sebastian (aka Donostia in the Basque tongue).

San Sebastian (Friday, October 15th 9:00pm - Sunday, October 17th 1:00pm)

Stayed: Pension Amaiur
31 de Agosto, 44(next to Sta. Maria Church), 20003 San Sebastian, Spain
Phone ++ 34 943 42 96 54

Best of:
Monte Igueldo funicular and amusement park(even though most of it was closed)
Seared foie gras at La Cuchara de San Telmo
Saturday late night featuring Basque heavy metal & vino rioja


calm bay, grey day

disco shawl

Seared foie gras at La Cuchara de San Telmo

post foie gras bliss

ominous clouds

Caldwell County Fair

midway in motion

padre y hijo

twilight riders

jam exhibition

number one eggplant

blue ribbon jam

Our final ribbon tally was 5 blue ribbons for first place, 4 red ribbons for second place & 4 white ribbons for third place. I aim for a clean sweep next year, grandma better watch out...

Haunted Factories & Dead Malls

The Specials -"Ghost Town"

Do you remember the good old days
Before the ghost town?
We danced and sang,
And the music played inna de boomtown

This town, is coming like a ghost town
Why must the youth fight against themselves?
Government leaving the youth on the shelf
This place, is coming like a ghost town
No job to be found in this country
Can't go on no more
The people getting angry...

stillness, quiet

pipe dreams

leftovers

exquisite decay

of 40+ retail spaces, we counted 5 open for business...with more than 500 parking spaces , we saw about 15 cars on a Saturday afternoon

The end of the world as I knew it (Part One)

It's now been well over a year since I last sat in a cubicle earning good money to adjust my fantasy football roster and send my friends links about how the end of the world was nigh. I suppose it sounds stupid to care so much about "fantasy" football when I believed the real world was ending, but like Whitman said, "I contain multitudes." Anyways, the point being that after only a few years working in the financial world I had become convinced that the whole freaking deal was a giant ponzi scheme bound to come tumbling down at any moment. Since I had no idea when or how exactly, I did my best to study up on other people's ideas and opinions of how it would go down. This period of reading the rantings of bloggers and other internet nutjobs slowly but surely transformed my mind from that of a recently graduated liberal optimist into that of the dreaded doomer/survivalist.

It wasn't long before I was having freeze dried food, bullets and body armor delivered to the office. Word of these deliveries spread quickly, causing some good natured ribbing, a few nervous stares and a meeting with my boss about the reasons why I should wait until I get home before trying on a bullet proof vest for fit.

I became convinced that having a "bug out" plan was a necessity in case we had to leave San Francisco by foot in the event of a huge earthquake or declaration of martial law. We started having bug-out drills walking to Ocean Beach and back on the weekends. I stuffed heavy rolls of coins inside Otto's dog backpack to simulate the enormous loads of canned goods and spare ammo I envisioned him carrying. His performance was less than satisfactory and I ended up with 40 rolls of quarters in my already heavy pack most days. After realizing we weren't going to make it too far on foot, I got bicycles for April and I along with a tow behind cargo trailer. Not for supplies but for Otto to ride on since he wasn't able to keep up with us on the bikes. Otto did not enjoy my attempts to get him to ride on the cargo trailer despite the additions of a pop up fabric dog crate and cushy pillow for him to lie on. I was beginning to worry that our dog would end up as zombie hors d'œuvres due to his lack of effort in our apocalypse preparations.

I bought enough firearms to overthrow a small island nation. Soon April and I were taking field trips up to the Circle S shooting range in Sonoma where we familiarized ourselves with Messrs. Glock & Mossberg. We learned a little bit about long range riflery from a Korean War veteran with gnarled hands named Kim. I was trying to get myself into survival shape as well and took up mountain climbing with my buddy Stu. We made the long drive through Yosemite to the eastern side of the Sierras to summit Mt. Whitney & Mt. Langley and took a class on the basics of winter mountaineering and survival. I grew a unabomber style beard and kept my head shaved which looked like the lovechild of ZZ Top & Kojack. This also proved to be a great way to avoid having people sit next to you on the Muni bus.

I decided surviving the apocalypse only to never again enjoy the musical stylings of Hawkwind, Mott the Hoople and Iron Maiden would be a fate worse than death so I researched solar panels for the ol Ipod and speaker setup. I ended up taking over an entire closet in the apartment and most of the cabinet space in the kitchen with camping equipment, bags of rice and beans and whatever canned goods Safeway had on weekly special.

April was somewhat less enthusiastic about the end of the world than I was, but managed to nod and uh-huh in the right places whenever I launched into my latest plans to escape San Francisco or listed all of stuff we needed to procure immediately. Bless her heart. I started reading books on how to live self sufficiently off the land and looked into small scale farming becoming an admirer of Joel Salatin. And then one day in July, after getting passed over a second time for a promotion I thought was long overdue, I got called into the sales director's office again...

to be continued

Label Design Poll

Busy & Colorful featuring Carl the Cardinal

Simple Black & White featuring the Blue Ridge Mtns.

Hibriten view on a fall afternoon

“In the name of God, stop a moment,
cease your work, look around you.”

Leo Tolstoy

Fleet foxes, fences & dead poultry

It has been a eventful couple of weeks since I last talked story on here. I have become convinced of the chicken snatcher's identity, all signs point to a fox. 3 more laying hens have disappeared leaving no more trace than a pile of feathers that trails away into the woods. Following the feathers leads me to well worn game trails that lead down to the creek and evaporate into dense forest. I let the dog's noses take in the scent of feathers and death and follow them as they inch forward holding their nostrils inches off the ground wearing the most serious expressions I have ever seen on either of their faces. The scent trails go on for a distance revealing scattered feathers here and there but no blood, no bones or carcasses. The hens have been locked up for nearly every minute of the last two weeks in their coop and exercise yard, growing ever squawkier and more determined to have their freedom after becoming so entitled to free ranging over the farm. Held prisoner by the ever present but never seen threat of death by fox, it becomes more and more frustrating to match wits with something much cleverer than I. Traps have been laid around the woods edge baited with tuna and dog food, a fence constructed around the chicken coop, sniper positions set up with lines of sight to the scene of each chicken theft. The traps sit undisturbed, the fence defeated by the wings of the freedom loving hens and the fox remains stealthy and unseen. I ask around for ideas and am offered things like an electronic call that simulates the sounds a rabbit in distress and the barks of a horny foxette, leaving piles of ground beef mixed with antifreeze out to tempt Mr. Fox to a poisonous end and calling the boys at Wildlife Control who charge $45 for the first visit and $25 more for each visit to check the traps thereafter. I feel like I should be able to solve this one myself, but I can't even lay eyes on the clever bastard. Down to 14 laying hens and 6 month old chicks, I continue to fortify their coop defenses and today finished "roofing" their larger outdoor exercise run for them so they can still enjoy some sunshine, fresh grass and dirt baths. It is "roofed" with bird netting because the fat hens can't stand the sight of the compost pile so near and promising the deliciousness of insects, rotten fruit and old vegetables. So they were doing ninja chicken escapes multiple times a day leading to chasing hens all over the place with my chicken herding stick and catching a clucker determined to be free is an exercise in frustration. So we have them fenced and roofed in until we can solve the fox problem and restore the halcyon days of free ranging chickens we could enjoy watching from the living room and the occasional intrepid hen who would stroll into the house to see what was going on.

At the same time I have been battling the fox to keep my chickens alive, I had been preparing myself mentally for a chicken butchering at my friends William & Marie's Bluebird Farm. I met William through one of the guys in my Lion's Club and came out to his farm for a visit to gain some more knowledge on running a profitable organic operation. He does an organic vegetable CSA along with pigs, lambs, laying hens and meat birds. He mentioned that they would be butchering almost 200 birds soon and I volunteered to help work the slaughter so I could learn how it was done. The night before I started to grow a little nervous and began wondering if I had what it takes to be a chicken killer or if would chicken out. I woke about 5am on Tuesday and made the hour long drive over to Bluebird Farm with a little knot in my stomach that I wasn't quite sure was nerves or the 32 oz. coffee I was swigging. Arriving I saw plastic crates full of the hapless broilers and the gleam of stainless steel tables under a pristine white awning, steam rose up into the chilly morning air from the scalder and gracefully my tension calmed as I came to the realization that this was how all the chicken I had ever eaten got on my plate. I was introduced to the other guys & gals working the butchering, a Peruvian, 3 Mexicans and a Guatemalan. I broke the ice with some bad espanol and William didn't waste any time breaking me in showing me how to load the birds into the killing cones, where the soft spot in their throats is and how deep to draw the knife across their necks. Soon I had slit the throats of 20 or 30 birds, quietly whispering Bismillah each time I slit a throat as my friend James had told me to in order to make the meat halal. I wasn't sure if these birds would ever end up on a Muslim's plate but treating them with holy reverence before their deaths somehow comforted me. The birds still in the crates saw what was happening to their comrades and grew more combative as we pulled them from the crates and loaded them into the killing cones. Soon I was fairly spackled with blood and bird crap and feeling less in my heart with each pull of the knife. I got to load the dead blood drained birds into the scalder and dunk them 7 or 8 times to loosen the feathers before running them through the plucking machine. Eventually I moved over to the table with my fellow latinos and did the fine plucking of the birds by hand before the ladies eviscerated them and dunked them into ice before weighing and packaging them. I had been told to expect to work until 4 or so but we had a fuller crew than usual and worked quickly and efficiently, I learned a lot about killing and myself and got some of the dust off my Spanish too. After a hearty lunch with the crew, I was in the car headed home thinking about a clever title for this post and wondering if my hens would know what I had been up to...

first colors of fall

Backpacking in the Pisgah

Lost Coves Loop
7.5 miles over some rough terrain, 14 creek crossings, beautiful waterfalls, freeze dried chicken gumbo, camping under the stars with the bears & some steep switchbacks up Bee Mountain

deep in the green

soggy dogs doing a creek crossing

verdant & peaceful

just do it

“Do what you can,
with what you have,
where you are.”

Theodore Roosevelt

Sourdough and More Missing Chickens

One of the things I miss most about San Francisco is fresh baked sourdough bread. The pungent unmistakable sour aroma rising with steam off a hot loaf has got to be one of my nose's all time favorites. The initial crunch biting through a thick, flaky crust and finding a soft, chewy treasure of flavor inside. Whether sopping up some cioppino from your bowl, making the best eggs in a frame or even just a PB&J; sourdough makes everything even better. So before we left, on an expedition to Chinatown on a sunny August afternoon, we found some sourdough starter descended from the original 1849 gold rush culture which has been cared for and spread around the world by now. It is so synonymous with San Francisco, that even the yeast that makes the bread a living entity and causes it to rise is called Lactobacillus sanfranciscensis. So once I had a grip on making jams, I knew it was time to bust out the sourdough starter and figure out how to make something proper to drop our tasty fruit spreads on. What follows is a brief guide to making your own sourdough with a few tricks I learned experimenting with the recipe. The one thing you need that I am not sure how to make yourself is the actual starter. It should be easy to find in California, comes in a little paper envelope to which you add 3 cups flour and 3 cups water to get things started. Pretty easy as chemistry goes, eh? It becomes something called a "mother sponge" which is alive and needs to be fed and cared for daily if left unrefrigerated or at least weekly if you keep it in the fridge. When you want to make your first loaf, this is how to do it:

1) Take the "mother sponge" out of the fridge (if it was being kept there) and allow it to return to room temperature. If you have some clear liquid on the top of the mother sponge, no worries that it normal, just mix everything up thoroughly before you begin. Take 1 cup of starter out of the mother sponge and put into another large glass or plastic bowl you can cover. Now is a good time to feed the mother sponge if you haven't done so recently, just add a mixture of half a cup warm water and half a cup flour to replace the cup of starter you just took out.

2)To the starter you just removed from the "mother sponge", add 1.5 cups of flour and 1 cup of warm water. This is now your "baby sponge." Cover the baby sponge and allow to rest for 8-12 hours at 80-90 degrees.

3)The baby sponge is ready to use when the surface is bubbly and has a strong pungent, sour odor. The recipe I am using here will make a 1lb loaf, if you want a bigger loaf or 2 loaves just double everything listed below:
Sourdough Starter (aka: Baby Sponge): 1 cup
Warm Water: 1/3 cup
Salt: 1 teaspoon
Bread Flour: 2 cups
Instant Yeast: 1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon

It is really important to use bread flour(11-13% protein)! I have tried recipe variations with regular and whole wheat flour and you need to add extra wheat gluten if you use anything but bread flour. Add 1 tablespoon of wheat gluten per cup of flour if you are not using bread flour.

4)Mix all ingredients (EXCEPT YEAST!) well until combined. Knead dough by hand for 15 minutes or 10 minutes if you are using a mixer with a dough hook. Dust with flour, cover and allow it to rest for 6-8 hours.

mixing it up

5) This is where we add the yeast, mix or knead well and transfer the dough to a loaf pan and allow it to rise. You can make baguette shapes or rounds if you prefer but I have had the best success just pouring the dough until it halfway fills a loaf pan and letting the yeast go to work until the rising action has almost filled the pan. Rising will take about 4-5 hours if you leave the loaf pan out or overnight if you refrigerate. Be careful about covering the rising dough. If you don't give it enough room to rise it will spread a stick mess all over what you cover it with and you will be stuck scraping half of your dough back into the loaf pan.

transferring the dough with added yeast to the pan before it rises

6) Now it's time to bake. Preheat the oven to 475 F and allow it to really get a good heat going. When you put in your loaf or loaves cut the heat to 425 F and check on it in 30 minutes. I usually bake for only 30-35 minutes but it may take up to 45. Pull it out and allow to cool a few minutes before enjoying your own homemade sourdough.

fresh sourdough goodness

If you can't find any starter, email me and I'll see if I can jar some up and mail it to you. I sold out my first 6 loaves at the Farmer's Market last week for $3 a loaf. I plan on expanding the line into whole wheat sourdough soon and maybe some specialty loaves with nuts and other stuff for the winter. Happy Baking!

On a much less awesome note, I discovered I was missing another 2 hens last night when I put them to bed. Excluding the 6 new baby chicks, this means I am down to only 15 laying hens out of the original 25 we started with back in March. This time it's lockdown for real. I can't be sure whether the culprit is a fox, coyote or human but I am pretty damn sure the hawks and owls around here can't take off with a 3-4 lb hens in their talons. We have been hearing some weird barks and howls later in the evenings and our dogs have been on higher alert than usual. This means they erupt in a barking explosion and dash out the door into the woods about 8 times a night instead of the usual 4. Since the hens are laying now and we are selling eggs at the Farmer's Market, I just can't afford to lose anymore of them. They have been squawking at me all day to let them out to free range but until I shoot the canine or person responsible, they are going to have to stay locked up in the coop. I am about to go out on a recon hike with the boys to see if I can find any bones or feathers or other evidence of the missing 2. I miss the Barred Rock already, she was a favorite of April and I. God rest her chicken soul. Vengeance will be mine just like with the snakes. There are no free chicken dinners on Cardinal Ridge Farm!

R.I.P - Betty the Barred Rock

So as not to leave this post on a total downer, here is one happy dog and some hot chicks...

Clyde and the baby chicks enjoy some summer sunshine

Football Weather Comes Early

When the sultry, humid summer gives way to cooler temperatures, April calls it football weather. I have been waiting for this magical time since the mercury first touched 90 degrees back in March. Sometimes it has seemed a bit like Linus from "Peanuts" waiting for the Great Pumpkin, but I kept the faith just like good ol Linus. This morning we awoke from beneath the covers, threw back the curtains and a wave of crisp, almost autumnal air burst into our bedroom. I was so surprised that I had to wade outside into the coolness to check our ladybug thermometer before I would believe that we had 60 degree temperatures. My second thought was for the baby chicks out in the chicken coop who are supposed to have a heat lamp if the night air gets that cool, but upon inspection they had all huddled together and were doing just fine. The return of football weather was the cherry on top of a pretty spectacular weekend for us.

linville falls

Our best friend Chris had flown in from California last Wednesday to see our place and check out the area. We had hoped that by showing him some of the local highlights like Boone, the Blue Ridge Parkway & Brown Mountain Lights and also keeping him out of local Walmarts; we might be able to put enough lipstick on this pig to convince him to move out here. We shot guns in the backyard, hiked up steep ridges onto the Highbriten land, BBQ'd on the back porch and swung from our treacherously roped tree swings. We fed him every variety of local sandwich with coleslaw and chili on it from Hannah's pulled pork to a burger all-the-way at Boone Drug; he drank his first Cheerwine and some of April's ma's sweet tea and we even made it over to Hickory for a taste of some fine Tap Room micro-brews. Clyde took a real shine to Chris and spent the whole weekend following him around so he could lick his calf or hand incessantly enjoying the sweet, sweet flavor of Californian (or whatever it is Chris tastes like). I was debating the idea of holding him hostage in our back cabin but knew he had to get back to his family and appraisal business so the ride to the airport was bittersweet. We were all sad to say goodbye but it didn't really sink in until this morning when Clyde did laps through the house searching for his tasty amigo.

"What happened to my Chris?"

It was nearly a year ago that April and I said goodbye to Chris and his family at his daughter's 4th birthday party in Palo Alto. The distinct seasons here in Caldwell County really help to mark the passage of time, but even so it is tough to understand how quickly this year has flown by. From the first hikes we did and looking for our first home last fall, the snow, sledding and coziness of a wood stove fire in the winter, seeing the first blossoms on the trees, baby chicks and planting our first seeds this spring. And the relentless simmering heat and humidity of this long summer, even that seems to be coming to a close. We haven't stopped missing our friends in California, sometimes we even miss California. I still struggle to quiet some of the voices in my head and wonder if I have what it takes to be a real farmer. I wonder what some of the people in my old office are up to when I gather eggs in the morning. I wonder what the special might be down at Freddy's Deli on Ocean Beach especially on Saturday afternoons when April, Otto and I used to walk down there from our apartment. I wonder if anyone will buy our jams this weekend at the farmers market and whether I will have enough eggs and sourdough bread ready to sell. We did get our first double yolker egg this last weekend which was pretty exciting.

double yolkers are eggscellent!

We fed it to our guest along with some bacon and sourdough toast with blackberry jam so that he could say he ate like a good ol boy while he was down here in Caldwell County. Even if we did take him to the Waffle House for his first meal here...

since 7th grade

new arrivals

baby roosters of the black australorp & barred rock extraction

oblivious to a sneaky chicken