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Southern California Permaculture Convergence! Be there!
If you are interested in any aspect of permaculture, such as organic gardening, herbs, planting native plants, aquaponics, natural ponds, beekeeping, keeping chickens, and so much more, then you must come to the Southern California Permaculture Convergence. It happens on March 9th and 10th at the Sky Mountain Institute in Escondido. The keynote speaker will be Paul Wheaton, lecturer and permaculturalist extraordinaire of www.permies.com fame. Oh, and I’ll be one of the many speakers as well (cough cough). The Early Bird special of only $50 for both days ends at the end of January, and then the price will rise, so buy your tickets now!
Also, for a full-on demonstration of taking bare land and creating a permaculture garden, there will be a three-day intensive class taught by Paul Wheaton on site the three days prior to the Convergence.
You can read about the convergence here at the official website, which will give you the link perm.eventbrite.com where you may purchase tickets. Also visit the SD Permaculture Meetup page to see all the free workshops that happen monthly all over San Diego.
This convergence is such a deal, you really shouldn’t miss it! And such a bargain, too. One of the best things I find that come out of these convergences is the exchange of ideas and networking among the attendees, and all the practical information you can take home and use right away. One of the largest parts of permaculture is building community, which means sharing with and assisting others.
Really. Don’t miss this! Tell your friends!
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Wreaths from Scratch
I haven’t bought a cut tree in ages. I used to buy a live tree, but after so many years of hauling in the heavy 15-gallon container while being face-whipped by the branches, I finally bought a very lovely fake tree about eight years ago or so. It works well, except it doesn’t have the fragrance of a real tree. In the ‘old days’ I could gather cuttings from tree lots, but the sellers caught on and now sell them or use them for wreaths themselves. I’ve been buying a wreath from Trader Joe’s which smells nice for awhile but is pretty expensive for just some branches.
This year my daughter and I used bits of plants that we trimmed as we pruned our fruit trees. Some pine branches had been left unshredded in the huge mulch piles I nabbed from my neighbor’s tree trimmer after they topped (shudder!) all his trees.
A large eager rose had hung some large lovely hips low over the pedestrian gate and needed trimming back.
A rosemary bush was encroching on a fruit tree and was cut firmly back. We cut some willow and sage as well. So one night last week my daughter and I had a ‘craft night’ and on spread newspaper with the help of wire and old wreath frames made three wreaths, a centerpiece and a huge mess on the floor.
We had a lot of fun, and the wreaths smell of herbs.
What can you do with what you have growing?
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The Life of Di, or Fall At My House
I like to be involved with many projects at once. I picture my life as an opal, my birthstone, full of swirled colors and hues. I have several books going at once, projects chipped away at around the house, volunteer responsibilities strewn across my week, and far too many animals and acres to care for. When I’m exhausted I can spend a day on the couch reading with no trouble at all being the picture of laziness. Prior to Thanksgiving I underwent a skin cancer preventative treatment on my face and hands, which required applying a topical cream twice a day that brings suspicious cells to the surface and burns them off. By the end of the second week I was quite a mess, and then took another week to heal enough to be seen in public without alerting the zombie hunters. The treatment, needless to say, kept me from being in sunlight, therefore housebound. Always loving a clean, organized house but never actually completely cleaning or organizing, I figured I’d get some work done. I tried sorting about 15 boxes of photo albums left by my mother and grandmother… and got through one box before I had to stop. I wanted to bake bread, and I wanted to find something to do with the small amount of hops we harvested, so I experimented with a recipe that had a starter, sponge and rising that altogether took five days. The Turnipseed Sisters’ White Bread from the classic Bernard Clayton’s New Complete Book of Breads .
The starter really smelled like beer. Not in a pleasant way, either. However the bread was good, and baking was fun.
Just the extra carbs I needed for sitting on my butt for two weeks, right? Then I wanted to thin, clean and alphabetize the fiction section in my living room.
Yes, I have enough books in my house that they are in sections. Former school librarian and bookstore worker here. I haven’t done the non-fiction section as yet, which extends to most of the other rooms in the house. Maybe next year? I did a little writing, a lot of reading, surrounded by my elderly dog Sophie
who keeps returning from the brink of death to sleep about 23 hours a day, and one of my hens, Viola, who suddenly went lame in one leg.
All advice was to cull her, but I thought that she pulled a muscle and hadn’t broken her leg, and being vegetarian I don’t eat my pets. Viola has been recuperating in a cage in the dining room, gaining strength in that leg, laying regular eggs, having full rein of the front yard, and crooning wonderfully. As I count wild birds for Cornell University’s Project Feederwatch, I keep an eye on the hen. The cats ignore her, thank goodness. I’ve quite enjoyed having a chicken in the house. Yep, I’m starting to be one of those kinds of aging ladies.
In between I’d spend time crawling under bushes to push and shove my 100-pound African spur thigh tortoise out of his hiding spot and into the heatlamp-warmed Rubbermaid house he shuns so that he wouldn’t catch cold in the chill damp nights. I always come out victorious, with him angry and begrudgingly warm, and with me wet, muddy, hair full of sticks and hands full of scratches. Does anyone have a life like this?
Finally my skin healed enough so that I was able to venture outdoors.
I planted seeds of winter crops: collards, kale, garlic, onions, carrots, Brussels sprouts and broccoli rabe, and prepared raised beds for more.
I ordered organic pea, lupine and sweet pea seeds from Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds , all nitrogen-fixers to plant around the plant guilds.
On Thanksgiving I hiked 1200 feet up Monserate Mountain in a record slow time; all that sitting and all that bread causing me to often stop and watch the slow holiday traffic on Hwy. 15, and be very glad that I was on a hike instead.
The neighbors had their annual tree butchering, paying exorbitant sums to have the same so-called landscapers come in and top their trees (shudder!) and thin others… for what reason I have no idea. Because being retired Orange County professionals they believe that trees need to be hacked back, contorted, and ruined? Possibly.
Please, please, please, friends don’t let friends top trees! Find an arborist who trims trees with an eye to their health and long-term growth and immediate beauty. A well-pruned tree is lovely, even just after pruning. A topped tree is brutal and ugly.
Anyway, the upside is that I claimed all the chips, giving new life to the ravaged trees as mulch for my pathways. Two truckloads were delivered. I think I have enough for the whole property.
How to spread it? Yep, one wheelbarrow full at a time.
I can now condition myself for more hiking and weight lifting without leaving the property. The heaps have a lot of pine in them (they thinned the pine trees!???) so there is a pleasant Christmassy smell emanating from the heaps.
They are also very high nitrogen and were hot in the center on the second day and this morning were steaming right after our brief rain shower. Mulch piles can catch fire; when I worked for San Diego County Parks we rangers would joke about who had been called out by the fire department when their newly delivered mulch pile had caught fire in the night.
I also received a gift of seven 15-gallon nursery containers of llama poo!
Hot diggity! Early Christmas: My diamonds are round and brown, thank-you. I layered them in the compost heap and am ready for more.
I also wholeheartedly participated in Small Business Saturday, finding happy locals and crossing paths with friends and aquaintences at several stores. I received my first Merry Christmas from a man at Myrtle Creek Nursery’s parking lot as he waited for his son’s family to pick out a Christmas tree. I do love this town.
That catches me up. Lots of projects, lots of volunteering, lots of cleaning up to do before my daughter comes home for the holidays and despairs at my bachelorette living. Lots of mulch to move. Lots of really great friends. Lots of sunscreen to wear. Lots to be thankful for.
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Keep In Your Pets: It is Predator Season
We are entering the time of year when outdoor cats, small dogs, free-range chickens and any small pet go missing. Pre-adult (aka teenage) coyotes from this year’s early litters are just as hungry and just as fearless as human teens, and they are looking to fill growling stomachs during the day and night. (Besides, a study by University of Nebraska found that feral cats are responsible for the extinction of 33 species of birds worldwide. Keep your cats contained!) Can’t blame coyotes because this is their land. Preditors are an important part of our ecosystems and the removal of them have devastating effects on our ecosystems, all the way down to the plants in a process called trophic cascade. During this heat wave I’ve been sleeping with windows open. At about 5:15 am I heard the hens going crazy down in their Fowl Fortress . Throwing on my white robe and slippers I ran down the hill towards the coop. Just before I reached it, a young handsome coyote came around the corner behind the compost bins and we nearly collided. He was across the property and over the chain link fence in a heartbeat. The hens were safe because the Fortress is wired up both sides and across the top, and the wire goes into the dirt. However if the coyote were to have time to dig he could have been inside. The hens were so upset that they didn’t lay right for several days. Miss Amelia, the leader, was on top of the chicken tractor screeching away. Chickpea and even formidably-built Lark were on top of the smaller coop. These three survived the coyote attack that killed two of their friends last winter (pre-Fowl Fortress). The two adopted Rhode Island Reds were standing by the door wondering what all the fuss was about; they’ve seen our two elderly, partially deaf and blind dogs walk past all the time. General Mischief, whose probably only working park is his sniffer, lumbered excitedly around the property following the coyote’s path. At night I began to lock the hens inside the chicken tractor where they roost inside the Fortress, so that they’d have two lines of defense.
The next morning I arose to chicken screeching even earlier, and ran down there to see a coyote coming from around the back of the Fortress. I knew where it would jump the fence so I ran in that direction, which gave it quite a surprise as it had to pass me to get there. I stood at the fenceline brandishing a rake that I had caught up on the way down the hill, dressed in slippers and long white robe, shouting threats into the neighbor’s backyard like a lunitic. One thing about growing older is that eccentric behavior is excused.
I wasn’t about to let the coyotes believe they could hunt within my fence. The next morning I was up and out just after five, me and General, my rake and my white robe, over which I’d pulled a red jacket because the morning was misty. I stood at the fenceline, pulling some ragweed to not waste time. In about five minutes I felt that they were coming and stood waiting. Sure enough, halfway across the neighbor’s property were some bushes and from around behind them trotted a coyote. He looked pretty jaunty and sure of himself until he turned and caught an eyeful of me. I shook my rake and he seemed to shake his head disbelievingly. Then he cut out the way he had come. Victory for me!
I collected dog poo and dumped it along the fenceline, and stuck clumps of fur left from shaving General’s thick coat into the top holes in the fence. I love the country life.
For the next few mornings I’d roll out of bed, motivate Sophie and General to get up and go outside, and I’d patrol the fence and make my presence known at the entry point. Although I was sleep-deprived (with the late darkness I tend to only get dinner at about 9 and to bed by 11) I managed to to get some impressive gardening done, especially since I changed into old clothes before heading out. There was no more coyote activity, at least none that the hens told me about.
The other night the pack was running down in the streambed and were yipping and howling in communication. I think it was just past midnight, but I went out there just to make sure there were no visitors.
Sophie is a 14 year old rescued pit bull mix I’ve had since she was about a year old. I knew that she had run with coyotes as a youngster when her owner let her loose, and I never understood why she hadn’t been attacked. Her back legs don’t work well, and she’s feeling her age. She used to climb the chain link fence and roam the neighborhood. She used to kill cats, chase rabbits, keep the mice and rats out of the garage where they used to sleep. For the last few years it has been all peace and love with Sophie. She not only seems to be afraid of some of the cats in the house, but would walk past the ranging hens without putting any of her thoughts into action. I once went to wake her up when she was still sleeping outside, and a mouse ran out from under her. I’d disturbed its warm cozy sleep.
So this morning I let out the dogs when General woke me up and tried to go back to bed. It never works because when General is done he rakes the metal security door with his nails until I let him in again. Sure enough, in about five minutes he was demanding attention again so I put on my robe and went out to do the hens. I was just past the driveway when I caught sight of Sophie on one of the garden paths close to the house. She had a friend with her. A coyote. Sophie was just turning away from it to walk back to the house and the coyote was looking around at the bushes, hopeful for a rabbit breakfast until it saw me and scooted away. The fur was raised a little on Sophie’s back, but not all the way. I made sure he was clear of the property, and checked the hens who were still double locked in. Then I had a few words with Sophie about the choice of friends she asked over!
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What’s Happening in the July Garden
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Fowl Fortress
I wanted to protect my hens from rats, snakes, weasels, raccoons, hawks and possible nuclear destruction, so I had the Fowl Fortress built. I was going to try to do it myself (ever taunting the gods of construction with my ineptness in this field). I bought Redicrete, t-posts and aviary wire. Then I came to my senses. I’m having shoulder and back problems, I wanted the coop to be done by the time I left to pick up my daughter from Oregon last week, and I really didn’t want the coop to be an eyesore.
And I only wanted the best for my girls!
So I hired the contractor who put up my wooden fence a few years ago. He said he’d do it over the weekend. Of course, not only didn’t it get done until 7 pm the night before I left the state, but he’d run over a whole lot of plants with his trailer, broke an irrigation line and a small tree, was scooping buckets of pond water to use for the cement because he didn’t see the HOSE and HOSE BIB that was right there (I found two buckets left over the weekend, and they had live mosquito fish and a pond snail in them! Ummm… habitat area! No-kill zone! Gee!). Frustration mounted and didn’t make my tension headaches go away despite chiropractic adjustments. And the coop was far more expensive than I had imagined. Survey question: how many of you who have had a construction project, have been given a no-show excuse of “a broken water heater in San Diego (substitute a city that is close but not too close) ? For me, it has been two contractors who have used that excuse. I’m catching on.
Still, I ended up with a nice-looking, sturdy coop. It has a wire roof, and the wire goes down a little ways into the soil, but on one side the rats can still scoot under, so I need to secure it with rocks and more dirt. The girls love the coop because they can range around during the day safely, and they have plenty of good dirt bath places as well. I had a 4-foot door installed so that I could get large things in and out. Aviary wire is small-gauge wire, smaller than poultry wire. It should keep most vermin out. It is doubled at the bottom which will help keep small snakes from getting in or getting caught in it. I can also subdivide the coop on the inside if I wanted to put other birds in there (frizzles? ducks?) and keep them from being pecked by the ladies.
The two coops are inside and the girls mix it up when it comes to egg laying. I want to get the quail run inside, too, but it will take a little more lifting power than just my daughter and me. I’ve moved it myself, out of the truck and down the property, by leverage, ramps, and tilting it over onto my garden cart so that it is balanced on part of the roof. I tried that again the day before I left, but the ground was sloped and I lost control of the whole thing. I managed to get it back down for the quail and only did minor damage to myself. Wonder Woman I am no longer!
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I Went to a Garden Party….
Saturday was the AAUW Garden Tour. What a glorious day. I expected about a hundred visitors, and made 120 handouts. Sometime in the early afternoon I guess they ran out, and I didn’t know about it for awhile. I made 25 more for the last two hours, and have five left. One of the docents said that some had been turned back in during the morning. Every couple probably took just one… wow, that’s a lot of people.
I’d been talking to the garden all week, asking the blooming plants to hold that thought for a few more days, and encouraging the nonblooming ones to get a move on. The plants did what I asked! There were so many flowers out Saturday, it was amazing. Heirloom roses, Gideon’s Trumpet, ranunculus, herbs, wildflowers, and waterlilies. The garden, apparently, also was also all for proof in advertising, as in standing behind the NWF Habitat sign on the front gate. So many kinds of butterflies and dragonflies were out for the first time this year that people remarked on it. In the afternoon, there were sightings of a king snake all over the property; I think it had to have been three kingsnakes. One was moved from the refreshment area, but he came back, and then as I was standing by the pond talking to some ladies one came past us. Another was sighted up in the driveway. Roger sighted a gopher snake. No one shrieked or complained; either these were hardy people, or the idea that this was a habitat yard made them keep calm. It also backed up my claims of letting snakes deal with gophers and rodents! One man spotted a baby bunny under the Withy Hide bench. By one o’clock, it was funny. It was as if a button had been pressed to turn the garden on, and all the features were working! What a glorious day.
Jacob (Aquascape Associates) and Roger (landscape architect) and I answered questions for most of the day; the last four visitors left at four. So many people asked questions about permaculture, soil, beekeeping, cob ovens and rain catchment that I know that I couldn’t answer everyone’s questions. Of course there were some who like a tidy, orderly garden, and that is fine. If everyone came away with some idea how to work with nature rather against it, to use chemicals less, to grow organic food, to repurpose, to compost their kitchen waste and weeds, then what a lot of small ripples of good will come of it.
Thank you to my dear friends who helped prepare the garden so that it looked stunning. And thank you to the snakes, butterflies, bees, dragonflies, birds, bunnies and who-knows-what-else that came out to perform for the visitors! And thank you to everyone who visited! No casualities; all good.
Here are some photos, although my camera doesn’t do the colors justice:
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Fifty Ways To Leave Your Compost
I have no idea how many years I’ve composted kitchen scraps. So many that when I see anyone dump veggie bits, egg yolk and shells, plate scrapings, old leftovers and even floor sweepings into the regular garbage it sets off all of my alarms. How can anyone waste all that good stuff? That is like throwing gold away! Its not dead stuff… its all living and ready to transform in to perfect soil, which shoots health into your plants! Most people say that they don’t have the time to compost, or they don’t want to turn a heap.
Well.
Here may not be fifty ways to compost easily, but certainly enough for ANYONE to keep their compostables out of the mainstream trash. And apologies to Paul Simon.
1. You Just slip out the back, Jack, with that little pail you have in or under your sink, into which you scrape everything compostable. They warn you about bones and meat because of animals digging through your heap to get to them, but if you bury your compost deeply, you won’t have that problem. I use a little bucket that they gave me for heaven-knows-what-reason at the hospital when I had my gall bladder out. It isn’t pretty, but it does the job. When I had both my children at home there was a lot more veggie peels to deal with, so in my kitchen I had a woven laundry basket, and inside I had two plastic liners, one for recycling and one for compost.
I only emptied it once a week. I didn’t like using so much plastic, but I’d put the plastic bag in the recycling. They sell all kinds of really nifty compost buckets now. Get one with a lid to keep those annoying little fruit flies from developing. Or if you have an open bucket like mine, just fill it partly with water so that the compost is submerged. It is easier to dump out that way and keeps cleaner, too. Especially if you’re going to…
Make a new plan, Stan, and instead of making a compost heap, you put all those scraps (barring big pits and nut shells) with water into a blender and whip it up. Then march outside and pour that brew around your plants! You can always kick a little dirt over it if its thick. This gives your plants a fantastic compost boost. Since it is undecayed pureed plant matter, you don’t want to bind up the nitrogen around seedlings or young plants, so pour it outside the drip line (how far the roots come out), or in an area you are preparing to plant in the future. This compost will decompose with days, depending on how warm the ground is (cold weather kills off or slows down microbes and wormies). If it is snowy winter where you are, then you might just freeze the stuff, in ice cube form or in paper cups. When the soil warms, plant those cubes! (Be sure to label them when in the freezer so no one thinks they are smoothie-pops!)
You don’t need to be coy, Roy, but depending on your neighbors you may not want them to see you burying your compost. That’s right, you don’t have to make a heap, or blend it up. Just march outside with your bucket and a shovel or trowel, dig some small holes and bury it! The wormies will turn it into soil for you in weeks. Sometimes you’ll get surprises, like when a potato sprouts…. free veg! Here again for those who have frozen winters, you can pop the compost as is in a bag in the freezer. The only problem is freezer space. Just think, though, every bit you can save helps your garden!
Just get yourself free from all your hangups about compost heaps and go buy a compost bin. I’ve a Rubbermaid bin for about twelve years. When my compost container is full I march it down, open the top, toss in the contents and away I go. When I pull weeds or thin the garden, I throw that in there too. Do I turn it? Heck, no! But if I wanted to I could very easily. The sides and two halves of the top fit together like enormous puzzle pieces, so I just need to take them all off, reassemble them right next to the heap, then pitchfork the compost back into it. The stuff that was on the top would now be on the bottom. Fresh compost can be shoveled out of a hole in the side on the bottom. Compost that is turned is not only matured faster, but is of a better quality and more broken down than that which isn’t turned. But as the bumperstickers say, compost happens! Stuff breaks down. Throw stuff into the top of the bin, and rake it out the bottom. Free your mind from compost regulations! Just go for it!
Hop on the bus, Gus, and become a real composter. You can build compost bins very cheaply. If you can nail things together so that they actually stay together (I can’t), you can build a three-section compost bin out of old pallets. There are lots of YouTube videos showing how. The best kind have removable slats in the front so that you can start low and gradually add to the front as the heap grows. Then when you want to turn it into the next bin, you may easily remove the slats for quick access. You can also just take a section of wire and make a cylinder out of it, then pitchfork in the weeds, grass, and throw in the kitchen trimmings. When its time to turn it, just undo the wire or slip it off, and set it up next to the pile again. Or have a line of wire cages. I have three, plus my bin. Do I turn them either? No. I keep throwing on excess weeds, and it keeps sinking down. Remember: compost happens!
You don’t need to discuss much with wormies because they can’t answer you: their little mouths are so full of your kitchen waste that they can’t talk! Make yourself a worm bin. Or buy one. You’ll need two dark plastic bins (one fits inside the other). Drill holes all through the lid for ventilation, and in just one of the bins drill some holes along the top of the sides, then drill tiny holes in the bottom for drainage. Fit the drilled bin inside the non-drilled bin. Put wads of newspaper, or paper from your paper shredder (unless you are saving it all to pack your mail-out Christmas gifts with instead of those nasty Styrofoam things) in the bin up to about half way. Lightly sprinkle with water. Throw a little soil in there, but not much for these kinds of worms. Find someone who has worms, or buy some red wigglers. You don’t want earthworms. Put these little guys gently into the bin. Take your compost and put it into one corner. Cover with a dampened sheet of newspaper and put the ventilated lid on the top. Keep the wormies from extreme temperatures. Some people keep a bin under their kitchen sink. Many school kids keep wormies as projects and for fun (baby wormies are white and wiggly!). As the wormies devour your compost they’ll leave behind castings, which look like sticky dirt. This is gold. If they had worm castings in Fort Knox instead of all that gold bullion our dollar would never fluctuate. What collects in the bottom bin is ‘worm tea’, which is just as valuable. Pour this stuff into your houseplants or directly on your plants. Commercial worm bins have several sections to hold more compost, are a little easier to manage and have a spigot for the worm tea. A perfect Mother’s Day gift! That or a compost bucket or bin!
Just drop off the key, Lee, with your housesitter when you go on vacation, and don’t forget to let her know to throw those kitchen scraps in with your chickens! Or goat! Or miniature pig! You don’t even need a heap when you have beaks! All those scraps are pure vitamins and minerals and chickens will not only devour them, but give you the best eggs you have ever tasted. Don’t forget to crush eggshells and give them right back to the chickens! They need that calcium to keep their eggs nice and hard. Chickens turn your compost into great eggs for you and great poo for the ground. Chicken manure can be used right away in your garden. Goaties will eat just about anything, as will piggies, so kitchen waste is perfect (slops).
And get yourself free from all that guilt that you shoulder when you throw food into the trash. Oh, and separate your recycling, too!
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They Followed Me Home, I Swear
How many times do you go to the store for a couple of items and come back with a bag full? Too often for me. Yet, I persist in shopping. I went to the feed store for chicken scratch, and came back with new friends.
These are two Rhode Island Red hens, about a year old, who had been victimized to the point of injury by sister hens. Too many birds in a small holding pen will do that, plus the whole pecking order thing. Most of us are familiar with that from living through middle school.
The larger bird is blind in the right eye. Her name is Madge (she looks like a Madge!). The smaller girl has a limpy leg, and her name is Viola (Twelfth Night). (Have you ever really looked at the word twelfth? I spelled it phonetically as twelph, and knew it was wrong but then had a hard time figuring the real spelling out after seeing it. Sorry… digression). Both are missing a lot of feathers in various places. These two were in a cage by themselves, and get along famously. The poor dears each laid an egg in the cardboard box in which they were transported.
I’ve put them in Emerson’s old run (oh, and his price has gone down to $15 and the warning sign is off his pen) until I can build the Hen House of my Dreams.
My other three girls, Lark, Chickpea and Miss Amelia are a happy trio and I don’t want to upset the apple cart, nor have the newbies subjected to pecking order again.
I bought this fantastic chicken house some months ago, thinking it would be a warm spot for my three hens (wasn’t that a TV show? It should be one!) but they rejected it wholeheartedly. My girls are used to more space. I figured this pen would be good for some smaller breed. I’ve been looking for frizzle hens, but no one seems to have them. If I order from a hatchery it is straight run, which means unsexed chicks, and I don’t want to do the rooster thing again.
I’d like to establish California quail on the property, but since they are the state bird it is illegal to farm them here. Hatcheries in other states will send eggs, but at this moment I don’t have the time to care for eggs (and I’m too heavy to sit on them, although I do get broody a lot). I contacted Project Wildlife for rehabilitated quail for release, but they release within three miles of where the animals were found, which is an excellent policy. I’ve posted on Craigslist for both frizzle hens and Ca. quail, but no responses yet.
The quail that is commonly sold is the coturnix. These are Japanese quail. Because of their looks they are also called Egyptian quail, Pharaoh quail, and other names. They are less nervous than Bobwhite or button quail, they don’t fly up a lot so they don’t bang their heads on the top of the cage. They lay delightful brown speckled eggs. The feed store had a new shipment in, and they weren’t just selling pairs, so I bought three beautiful little girls, about six months old.
My daughter did a quick and imaginative search for names and came up with a lot of really good ones. With a nod to the breed’s origin and alternative names, the dark brown one is called Saki, short for sakura which is Japanese cherry, rice wine, or also short for the Sakkara, which is an Egyptian city of temples. Covers all bases there. The mostly white one is called Benu, which is an Egyptian bird god you can read about here: http://www.thewhitegoddess.co.uk/articles/ancient_egypt/the_benu_bird.asp . The light brown one, incongruously, is named after Agatha Christie’s character Miss Felicity Lemon, most notably played by Pauline Moran in the Poirot television series. It was too good a name not to use, although rather long for such a handful of a bird.
The quail don’t have much personality as yet. Of course, they had been raised crammed in cages with many other birds, shipped through the mail service, then moved to another cage with many other birds. They had arrived at the store on Sunday. These three are settling in slowly, enjoying the personal space and the tall weeds that have grown inside the coop (it is bottomless). After all the strange sounds and smells become commonplace, they’re personalities will emerge. They don’t scare or fly when approached, but hunker down in a fatalistic “this is my last moment on earth” kind of way. Already they are showing more hope in small ways as they react to my voice. I put them upstairs in the coop last night, but they were down again this morning. Their cage has handles so it can be moved when they’ve thoroughly manured that area. (There, I’ve said the ‘m’ word again!).
So more beaks to feed. At least I’m staying away from the Fallbrook Animal Sanctuary, at least for awhile. General Mischief and Sophie are too old for a new dog, and I certainly don’t need any more cats.
Of course, the llamas at the feeds store, and those really cute guinea pigs, could really use a home….
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Emerson and the Frizzle
Do you remember Emerson, the hen that turned into a rooster? (Read about it here: http://www.vegetariat.com/2011/07/segregating-rooster-building-bachelors-quarters-pvc/ ). To review, last year we chose several breeds of chicks, all of which were supposed to have been pullets (females, rather than cockerels). My daughter chose the smallest Rhode Island Red chick, knowing that she would grow to be one of the larger hens and not wanting her to be a bully. That adorable chick turned into Emerson, a huge, handsome rooster. And vicious. After growing up as a pet, as soon as his hormones kicked in he became a nasty attack rooster, flying up to try for our faces, hitting us with his wings (they really are strong and it hurts!), and practicing with his feet for when his spurs grew in. Since we didn’t want fertile eggs, Emerson lived a life of frustrated celibacy next to the girls. I’d asked around at feed stores if they wanted him, but no one did and they said they’d eat him or just kill him. Until a month ago when on a visit to the Vista Country Feed Store I asked again, and they wanted him! They had about thirty one-year-old Rhode Island Red hens they were going to throw him in with. Sorry ladies!
Getting Emerson out of his pen and into a dog carrier was hazardous and scary. My daughter used strawberry on a string as a lure, but darn him, he just wouldn’t step into the box. We tried for almost an hour. Then Jacob came to work on the ponds, and volunteered his services. He said he thought it would be fun! Using his jacket and sheer determination, he captured Emerson without injury to anyone. Amazing!
At the feed store a pen in a line of pens was made available for Emerson. He was temporarily in Rooster Alley. There was a Polish rooster, with the funny head feathers, and a couple of others, all of whom Emerson tried to challenge through the wire. Testosterone Central.
And then there was the frizzle rooster.
I saw the frizzle rooster there last year, after someone had dumped him there. He strutted around crowing and posturing, with his curly feathers and diminutive size. I fell in love. He was funny all over.
Everything he did was funny, although it was all rooster behaviour. Well this year he was still there, and apparently had been turned out of his pen for Emerson.
That didn’t make him back down, though! That little guy challenged Emerson through the pen.
What was truly hilarious was that after he’d crow, he’d breathe in air while still making sound, like a wheeze or a deflated bagpipes. Listen carefully on his last crow; you can see him (with Emerson) here: http://youtu.be/ivtpeHfOSDM . Thanks to my daughter for the video. Happy Days, Emerson! And much love Mr. Frizzle!