Here are a few fun shots from a day on the farm. We wish all of our friends and family the best of holidays, okay so I am a few holidays late. And we pray for a peace-filled and prosperous new year.

No Chicken Dinner for Us

We searched out new chicks to add to our flock this Fall. Our four "big grirls" as the G&F call them: Fondo, TaDa, Blanche, and Mildred, were all about a year and a half old. We really knew nothing of chickens before we got them, just that we loved to visit friends' chickens, and the idea of knowing exactly where our eggs came from was irresistible. Our first "coop" was created under the deck of our Seattle home, and our four girls quickly learned the routine of rooting around the backyard and perching by the kitchen window during the day, and snuggling into their coop at night. We brought these four hens with us to Vashon, after converting a stall of one of the outbuildings into the Uber-coop.

Shortly after moving into their new digs, Mildred began to molt. And when we learned that chickens, in general, do not lay as many eggs after molting, and witnessed the other girls starting to look a less bird-like and a little more lizard-like, we decided something had to be done. So, being the overachievers we are, we started researching new chicken breeds. After weeks of research and a few lengthy phone calls with "the chicken lady", we headed off-island way out in Carnation to track down some downy new chicks to increase our "pet" flock.

Home on the farm our chicks grew fast. We lost one chick right off the bat, we think to the neighbor cat, but that's to be expected right? It taught us to be more careful about protecting our little chicks, and we did until St. Barbara's Day. This is a day in early December when the tradition is to clip fruit tree branches and put them in water to bloom on Christmas Day. (it actually worked too, within a week of Christmas, but that is another blog entry) On this fated day, we lost three of the young girls, we are pretty sure, to a hawk or an eagle. Our first finding of the remaining girls was in the dark, in our dress clothes, because of course that night was our one and only night out of the holiday season, complete with babysitting from the grandparents overnight. Needless to say discovering that you lost some of your flock puts a damper on the night's "festive" mood. And our worst fears were confirmed the next day when Toby and Gus walked the property and found just hints of evidence in three places, while Freja and I were at yet another "party".

Now we accept that living on a farm truly means we are living closer to the Earth, both its beautiful and gruesome sides. And we recognize that the beautiful raptors that we see flying overhead need to eat as well. But, and here is the kicker, out of the six chicks we picked out this fall on our epic quest to find the next great chickens, only the ones we named were eaten/killed. So I dedicate this entry to Pollo, Cutie, Petutie, and Lilly, four of the cutest little chicks ever. We are grateful to still have our four original girls, and love them and hold them and pet them every day. And we are also glad to have the two remaining "little girls" and really enjoy watching them find there place in the pecking order, although we are still afraid to name them!

By the Light of the Moon?

The sweaters are now strewn about the house. Every time we leave the house we put on a hat. The teapot is set to boil several times a day. We are heading into the cold, wet, mostly grey days of winter, which around here can last for more than its prescribed three month time slot.

Yesterday was a day of scrambling in anticipation for a bitterly cold night. We heard that the night-time temp might dip below freezing and began to worry about our crops. Now, when we lived in the big city, a weather report like that would have just motivated us to put an extra blanket on the kids, but not so now that we are farmers. We tune into the weather report. We notice where the fog settles around the island. We walk the property and feel where the air is warmer. We get whiplash driving around the island noticing how everyone else prepares their gardens for the winter.

Up until yesterday, we were slipping into what I would call "hobby" farming; putzing about the farm doing a little something here and a little something there. I had started to remove a ring of sod from around each tree in the orchard and then planting the uncovered dirt with bulbs that would hopefully emerge in the Spring. I started this project in October, and still was not finished. (keep in mind we have 72 trees in the orchard) We worried that if things got cold enough to freeze we could not dig in any more bulbs, so we headed down to the orchard to get to work.

I started planting bulbs around mid-day before I had to fetch kids from schools, and then we returned as a family after naps. By the time we got down to the orchard it was 4:00 and the sun was going down fast. I started heeling in bulbs as fast as I could while the kids played in the fading light. Toby got the tractor started and delivered several loads of fresh topsoil to blanket the bases of the trees. The headlights on the tractor lighted our way to planting the last 150 daffodil bulbs we had ready to go. The kids made great shadows to entertain Toby and I as we frantically worked to get everything tucked in and buttoned up. Gus performed a benediction declaring that we worked hard, but still may lose some of our crop. (I think he has been reading too many little house on the prairie lately) We all gave thanks for a job well done, no matter what the outcome, and headed home.

I marveled at the moon last night, it was a perfect crescent. Just a sliver of light, but enough for you to find your way. And I marveled at how we needed just that little bit of a kick in the pants to get us to remember that we are farmers. And sometimes that means you end up working your fields by the light of the tractor headlight, because you can't wait for a full moon.