I love my chickens.
I wanted chickens, so six weeks ago they arrived. Twenty hens in 3 crates; scrawny, badly pecked tail feathers and very flighty. Len and I staked out their pen and I supervised while Len and Alison’s son put their hut together. The kids were ecstatic when they rolled off the school bus that evening. There was much chasing of chickens that night to try and catch them and put them in their hut. The excitement has faded somewhat but I love my wee chooks more and more everyday.
I wanted chickens. I wanted them very much in fact, but to date I have yet to ‘handle’ one. The children can now pick them up with out having to chase them; they can stroke them, let them eat from their hands, and I have even heard them singing to them but I am happy to stand in amongst them, letting them peck at my wellies. When I walk out the kitchen door you can see them all running to their little fence, lined up like little puppies, heads tilting back and forth… waiting. If you walk by the pen, they follow you. Watching. Quitely bwack-bwack-bwacking from somewhere deep within their breast. It sounds like the the chicky version of a purr. In six weeks, they have plumped up, their tail feathers have grown back out and their combs have started to turn red. We have only had one egg so far, but the poulets are still young.
I wanted chickens. Fresh, free-range eggs will be nice, but for me, my chickens signify so much more than fresh eggs and a bird in the pot at the end of their laying life. My (yes, I know they are actually daddy’s) chickens give me a wholesome feeling. A feeling somehow that I’ve taken a step in the right direction. It’s not dissimilar to the feeling I get when I dig in the dirt or compost my veg cuttings. It’s a sense of healthy living. Tending the wee flock, sucking in fresh air and finding a connection from the earth to me. A feeling that I’m not just taking from the world but I’m giving back to it somehow.
I wanted chickens. I think they are good for the kids. There’s new kind of dicipline is being instilled in them. They are up ‘up with the chickens’ every morning, rain or shine, feeding, mucking them out, and caring for them. This new responsiblity can’t wait. They have to do it. This isn’t something they can put off until later… there are 22 living beings counting on them.
Yesterday, Len doubled the size of the pen. Their run now encompasses some 60 square meters of land near the stream. You can see them perched in low branches or scritching under a fallen log eating worms and bugs. We have had 2 roosters donated to the cause (which is quite and education for the kids!!) and I don’t think it would be wrong to claim that MY chickens are amongst the happiest chickens in the world!
Getting up before the crack of dawn
Cousins already awake, giggling in bed
The smell of fresh, chopped onions and celery sizzling in butter with a healthy sprinkling of sage
Coffee brewing to clear the head
Lists checked and double checked
A mountain of potatoes peeled
Tears over cut finger
Corn cooking in butter, cream cheese and chives
Cleaning defrosted Turkey, butter stuffed between her skin and breast, fresh ground salt and pepper rub before she’s placed in the roasting tin
Giblets and veg simmering for hours for the stock for gravy
Mammy arriving with pie shells then leaving for the airport to fetch more cousins
Three tables and 17 chairs squeezed into the kitchen
6 little cousins, showered, scrubbed, and shining snuggled on the couch watching a movie
Bowl like wine glasses, readied for the tables
The aroma of cinnamon & cloves beat into pumpkin
Pies baking in the oven
Crackers, cheeses and deep-red, spiced-plum chutney
More cousins arrive with a flurry of hyper-excitement
Heads of hair arranged
The smell of new clothes
With a foil-wrapped beast the turkey goes in the oven
9 children herded through the makeshift photography studio set up in the master bedroom
Three hours of portrait making
Papa arrives with Ziploc bags of American sweeties
The pleasant murmur and babble of adult-speak underlying the magnificent roar of child fun
Howling wind and rain beating against the windows, but no one cares - we’re all together inside, safe and warm
Tables set and beautifully decorated with gold cloths, candles, leaves, gourds, and Indian corn and sugared cranberries
Turkey carved, potatoes mashed
Stuffing tested for the 15th time
Pies on the pie table with a bowl of fresh-whipped-cinnamon-sprinkled cream
Cranberry sauce ladled into a pretty bowl
Sweet potatoes, pistachio pudding, broccoli salad
Gravy made from stock (and a little Jack Daniels)
Chairs scraping the floor as a family, more than tripled in 12 years, sits down to give thanks
Joining hands, we all know we are blessed…
It would seem that I have a good ol’ fashioned dose of plantar fasciitis. It has taken me a full day and a half to learn how to pronounce, but thanks to the kind instruction of Kal, I can now say “PLAN-tar fashee-EYE-tiss”. It is an inflammation of the plantar fascia. “Plantar” means the bottom of the foot, “fascia” is a type of connective tissue, and “itis” means “inflammation”. Kal came over Wednesday evening to babysit while I was at college and by the time I got home and out of the car I could hardly hobble around the house. My heels have been sore since Len and I went into Glasgow a few weeks ago and we stood, me in my silly city boots, for 4+ hours in the photography equipment store and then we hoofed it from the top end of Glasgow City Centre to the bottom end and back to the top end again in record time… me in my silly city boots. (See hon? I told you my feet were sore!!)
Kal, being of the medical persuasion, insisted I make an appointment for my GP and I am now dosed up with 600mg of Ibuprofen 3 times a day to fight the inflammation and I have been instructed to stay off my feet (Bwaahahahahahaha!!) and it could take up to 6 weeks to heal properly. Kal stayed over and then spent his day off Thursday pampering me with cups of coffee and jammy toast and then helped with the kids when they got home from school.
To add insult to injury… I got a nasty cold Wednesday night too. I am fighting a fever today and I really just want someone to stroke me, and love me and make me chicken soup...Good think Len got back today. eh? Only, I was 2 hours late picking him up at the airport because I ran out of diesel in a poky little town, in the howling rain; I discovered I had left my mobile phone on the kitchen counter; had to walk into a local business and ask to borrow their phone while I snuffled and sniffed and tried to stifle my coughs and limit the number of germs I spread around the office… Luckily, I have AA breakdown cover, and luckily, they really are the very, very nice men that they claim to be.
So, I have returned home safely, dried out, had a nap and Len is now dropping the children off at my sisters so we can go out for dinner. Only, I don’t think I feel up to it…
Roget’s New Millennium Thesaurus
Main Entry: excited
Part of Speech: adjective
Definition: emotional
Synonyms: aflame, agitated, animated,annoyed,aroused, awakened, beside oneself*, charged, delighted, discomposed, disconcerted, disturbed, eager, enthusiastic, feverish, fired up*, frantic, high*, hopped up,horny, hot*(we’ll just leave that one in ‘cause I like the looks of it in print!), hyper, hysterical, inflamed, inspired, juiced up (????)*, jumpy*, keyed up*, moved, nervous, on edge*, on fire*, overwrought, passionate, piqued, provoked, roused, ruffled, steamed up (possibly would discribe it) *, stimulated, stirred, thrilled, tumultuous, upset, weird (always), wild, worked up
Antonyms: bored(nope), comatose(nope), composed(NOPE), easygoing(nope), laid-back(nope), sedate(na), tranquil(bwahahahahhahaha - um, no), unexcited(NOT ME!!)
Source: Roget’s New Millennium Thesaurus, First Edition (v 1.3.1)Copyright 2006 by Lexico Publishing Group, LLC. All rights reserved. (yeah, yeah, yeah...)
* = informal or slang
So, I’m a leeeettle excited tonight! I wasn’t going to blog about this yet, not that it’s a secret or anything, but when I told myself to start blogging again I came up with a little mental list of things to blog about on the days I couldn’t find anything else to blog about and I still have to blog about the chickens, plum chutney, school, Daniel’s first lost tooth etc, etc… before I blog about this but *take a breath* This is HUGE!!
Len’s in Brussels. Since we’ve moved back to Scotland, he is normally home 10 nights then away for 4 nights (5 days). The schedule works quite well, and just about the time we really start to miss him, he’s pretty much on his way home again. However, his last two trips away, he has been gone for 2 weeks on the trot and we are all finding it pretty hard going. He has been gone for one week already and he won’t be back again until Friday. Rosie’s cries for Daddy are heart breaking, Heidi’s behaviour becomes more challenging (I am sure she is acting out her frustration), Hannah feels the change, but being older she actually seems to step up to the plate and becomes more responsible and helpful. Daniel… well, he pretty much just keeps smiling, always smiling, that boy is. Me? I miss him… alot. I get tired, I fall asleep on the couch after the end of a long day (as I do even when he’s here) but there is no one to wake me up and coax me to bed… and no one to warm me up when I finally drag myself there… *sigh* Only ‘5 more sleeps’ and Daddy will be home…
I had my godson, Mark, staying with us this weekend. There’s nothing’ll make you feel older than sitting on the couch with your 6’4”, strapping-lad-of-19-year-old- godson and you think to yourself that you were a year younger than he is now when he was born!!! Gah! Anyway, we had a lovely time. I had friends over for a curry Friday night and my mom kept Daniel and Rosie overnight. Then mom swapped them for Hannah and Heidi last night. I think it was a nice diversion for the kids this weekend and helped split up the time that Len’s away. We all met up at church this morning, had Sunday lunch at Mom’s (with my sister and her family) then we headed out to Ikea and then dropped Mark home. LONG.DAY.... The kids all fell asleep in the car on the way home and I had to carry/guide them all in through the howling rain… My new dresser is still in the back of the car. It’s far too heavy to lift in myself… *another sigh* ...I guess I’ll have to find a man to help me tomorrow.
I’m tired, and I don’t want to go to bed…
Len provided me with another Lenism tonight. The story behind it all has to do with power tools and how I manage to get men to do things for me (like hang curtain rods and put up shelves) by asking to borrow their power tools. Len suggested I ask Peter (our friend and neighbour) to borrow his power drill to build my new dresser… then when he offered to do it for me (Because all men instictivly know I shouldn’t be trusted with power tools) I could ask him to hang the rod in my closest and put my cabinet on the wall in the bedroom at the same time - When I showed my approval at his line of thought he quipped:
Yeah, if I had T&A I’d be a better woman than you!!
...anyone seen my USB cable for my camera???
I have been trying to find out what the kids want for Christmas. Yes, I have started my Christmas shopping (Go Me!!) but I have only had one Santa letter pinned to the fidge so far. Daniel sat down with is dad last week and made his list. He wants:
He had his dad write:
Paint ball gun
or
Lego StarWars II (for the x box)
or
A mini guitar
or
A Power Rangers gun (fake)He wrote:
Daniel Northfield
Merry Christmas Santa!!
So last night I was tapping away on the computer, like you do, and he ran up to me. His eyes were huge and I thought he was near-to-burst, hopping up and down.
“Moma, MOM!!!” I know what I want for Christmas instead of all that stuff!!!! I want it more than anything!! I want Zero Gravity!!!
I have redeemed myself! We had Apple & Cinnamon Upside Down Cake - with candles, singing, and hip-hip- hooraying!! My mom came over for dinner and helped with the kids and homework while I made home made meatballs and Rosie’s “birthday” cake. Maybe I should call this “Redemption Cake” - It is possibly good enough to save your soul… but we’ll not get into that debate here!
I took my old trusty “Dead Easy Apple Cake” recipe and turned it into an upside down cake… For a VERY easy apple cake just use the second half of this recipe… But to be honest, it’s just as easy to add the upside down bit… and DAYHEM it’s tasty!!
1/2 cup butter
1 cup light brown sugar
2 tablespoons cream
1 tsp cinnamon
Cream together and spread along the bottom of a 9 x13 inch baking pan with enough peeled & sliced apples to cover bottom of the pan.
In a large mixing bowl - combine:
2 cups flour
2 lg eggs
2 tablespoons baking powder
1.5 cups sugar
6 apples peeled and diced
cinnamon to taste (I use at least 2 heaped teaspoons… or more)
2 tsp vanilla
pinch of salt
Mix together (the batter/dough will seem dry but the apples moisten it while baking) and dump on top of the apples and butter mixture.
Bake at 170 degrees C (about 350 d F) for 45 to an hour.
Best served hot from oven with a scoop of vanilla ice cream!!
Rosie had a Dr’s appointment this morning for her eyes and she was very pleased to get to miss an hour and a half from school. On the drive back to school she asked me if I would promise to make her a cake and sing to her on her 6th birthday (next July). I said ‘I promise’… and, ‘don’t I always make you a cake and sing to you?’ And she said ‘no, you didn’t when I turned 5’. I tried to argue the fact with her, but although she wasn’t upset, she was adamant that I had NOT made her a cake on her last birthday.
I have been racking my brains, but I think she is right. I remember it was our first morning in this house (we hadn’t actually moved in yet) and we had bagels and cinnamon & sugar for breakfast… My mom came over, we opened presents, and *pause* yes, she’s right! I didn’t bake her a cake!! My sister made her a lovely cake the next day when we went to my Mom’s for our 4th of July celebration, but I guess when you’re 5 years old, you need your Moma to make you a cake and it needs to be delivered to you on your actual birthday!!
Just before taking her into her class room, I promised Rosie I woud make her a cake today… I’m thinking Apple and Cinnamon cake… I might even light some candles and sing to her too!
Before now, I have only dabbled in wellie awareness, but honestly, I could have taken them or left them. Historically, I would make stabs at providing the odd pair of wellies for the kids, but rarely did I have a pair for all the children at the same time… and rarely would the pairs actually be pairs… The rubber boots we did have were either too big, too small or sparkly pink (when they needed be worn by Daniel). The forlorn wellies would sit at the back door collecting rain water, grit and the odd crisp autumn leaf, hugely ignored by the whole family.
I’ve come to learn over the last few months that our sloppy approach to the ‘wellie culture’ was surely due to our city slickin’ lifestyle. We would get up, get dressed, throw on our fancy, fashionable leather boots, button up our jackets and head out the door to brave the elements… all the way to the car. The only time our sad little collection of wellies ever got noticed was if it snowed, then we would have scenes reminicent of the ugly step sisters fighting over the scabby boots. Children, with feet almost folded in half to fit into that wellie, would rejoice “THEY FIT ME!! THEY FIT ME!!” While the unlucky sibling would sulk and pout, and return from igloo building early as their feet were soaked and numb… But the intense interest in the inadequate wellie pile would last only as long as the slush on the ground and then we would return to our street shoes.
Now at the farm, we know our stuff when it comes to wellies. We all have a pair. Daniel’s are bright red (we wouldn’t want to lose him, now would we?) Rosie’s have roses on them, of course. Hannah’s are a lovely pink patterned with flowers and go all the way up to her knees (and more often than not the water from the stream still passes over the top, filling them with water and still soaking her feet. Heidi’s are a very fashionable pastel tartan and and although they only reach to mid-shin area, you can be assured they are bone dry on the inside. Len has opted for the more austere look… a simple hunting-green (but I can assure you, his were the most expensive!) And me? Yes even I have learned to appreciate a sturdy pair of wellies. Mine had to be comfortable and pretty - I went for a pink and brown, hounds-tooth checked pair of Muck Boots… and yes, they deserve their name now.
On any given day now in Bamberboo Land, you can see our feet snuggle bundled into our wellies. Whether we are mucking out the chickens (or just chasing them around the pen)… playing in the stream… building a fort… talking to the sheep or cows… going for a walk… or pretending you don’t hear your mother when she calls you in for chores… our feet will be wellied. We are stlll working on leaving them at the door when we come inside… but we do know now that we should turn them upside down and lean them against the wall so they are dry for our next adventure!
I guess Billy Connolly best explains why we should always wear our wellies… a tune you will often hear us singing:
If it wasn’t for your wellies where would you be
You’d be in the hospital or infirmary
‘Cause you would have a dose of the flu or even pleurisy
If you didn’t have your feet in your welliesOh wellies they are wonderful, oh wellies they are swell
‘Cause they keep out the water and they keep in the smell
And when you’re sitting in a room you can always tell
When some bugger takes off his welliesIf it wasn’t for your wellies where would you be
You’d be in the hospital or infirmary
‘Cause you would have a dose of the flu or even pleurisy
If you didn’t have your feet in your welliesOh and when you’re out walking in the country with a bird
And you’re strolling over fields just like a farmer’s herd
And somebody shouts, “Keep off the grass” and you think how absurd
and SQUELCH you find why farmers all wear welliesIf it wasn’t for your wellies where would you be
You’d be in the hospital or infirmary
‘Cause you would have a dose of the flu or even pleurisy
If you didn’t have your feet in your welliesThere’s fishermen and firemen, there’s farmers and all
Men out digging ditches and working in the snow
This country it would grind to a halt and not a thing would grow
If it wasn’t for the workers in their welliesIf it wasn’t for your wellies where would you be
You’d be in the hospital or infirmary
‘Cause you would have a dose of the flu or even pleurisy
If you didn’t have you’re feet in your welliesOh Edward, Heath and Wilson they haven’t made a hit
So you’d better get your feet in your welliesIf it wasn’t for your wellies where would you be
You’d be in the hospital or infirmary
‘Cause you would have a dose of the flu or even pleurisy
If you didn’t have you’re feet in your wellies
