PeepSqueaks.

As mentioned yesterday, DS Melanie hatched one lone home chick from the LLF.  Seeing as she is a warm-hearted woman, she (and her DD Madison) bequeathed me another chick so that homechick won't be lonesome.

The slightly larger chick to the left is Homie - gender unknown.  S/he is an Ameracauna/Blue Laced Red Wyandotte cross, the mother being, most likely, Screaming Meemie.  Figures.  She is a lovely blue-grey bird with full beard.  Every time, however, I happen to enter the (large) coop when she is in a nesting box (far away from me), she screams bloody murder and rockets out.  Let's hope this is not a genetic trait.

Homie's sidekick (who looks - shudder - like a chipmunk) is a Brown Leghorn (or, Legern as we say).  They are settling in, with Homie making some extremely loud peeps.  Sigh.

As an added benefit, I got to see DS Melanie's spring crop of Shetland lambies.  OMG.  I will have to say that Shetland lambs are the cutest things EVER.  She had to check my pockets before I could leave.

Happy Summer!

I'm sitting on my deck after a long - loooooong - day, enjoying the heck out of WiFi.  The dogs are gnawing on non-rawhide chews, chickens are luxuriating in a final dust bath, there's an adult libation next to me.  This buccolic revelry will not last, however, because there are flying insects and Scrappy is already complaining.

It's a jungle out there!  Two loads of
laundry on the line.

High class livin'!

The pussy willow threatens to take
over the deck.

Along with my vinho verde, I am enjoying a snack of salted peanuts and jelly beans.  Hey - don't knock it unless you've tried it!  Dinner is a mystery, but I have a sneaking suspicion it will involve salad.  I've taken care of the parental duties, run a few errands, and worked like a slave in the garden.  There were 10 eggs in the nesting boxes - not bad, considering the geratric average age of the hens here at LLF.  Speaking of which, I also visited little Lonesome George/tte - the only chick to hatch out of Roquefort's last contribution.  I have a feeling the fellow was a little light in the fertilization department.  My DS Melanie, who incubated the eggs, had mercy on us and chipped in one of her own chicks so LG won't have to grow up as an orphan.  Pictures will follow tomorrow.

I harvested my first real quantity of strawberries this morning - a little over a pint.  This was made possible by the fact that I swadled the bed in netting.  While it seems this works as far as keeping the chipmunks out, it makes harvesting a real pain.  I am still trying to come up with a diabolical method of dealing with the scourge.  I do have some ideas....

The sheep are grazing and happy.  It isn't noisy for a change. Birds are chipping, the breezes are blowing, the sun is shining.

Summer.

(Peace is shattered - the large crow population has trickled back in - giant babies carrying on, parents cawing.  What a hubbub!)

Constructing an Edible Art Form.

(Can you tell I'm getting desperate for subject matter....?)

First, one must go shopping for just the right ingredients - which are those ingredients one has at hand.

Chive blossoms for 'bite'

Variety of lettuces for color

"A" radish

Any strawberries the chipmunks left for me.

Then there is the washing, rewashing, spinning, snipping, slicing, dicing - all done with a bracing cup of Stash's double spice chai tea with honey and a dash of half-n-half.  

Buttercrunch in my new, BIG, salad
spinner!

Red leaf lettuce of some forgotten type.

My morning beverage of choice.

Then there is the pause (or three) where one tosses crunchy snacks at the dogs so one won't trip over them in one's kitchen.  Where they are always lurking.

I cannot resist them....

Then there is the rummaging in the over-crowded refrigerator for just the right accoutrement.  This would be anything that is just this side of still-good:  olives, bits of cheese, the odd radish (I had one, which is an odd number), nuts, seeds, hard boiled eggs, anything edible.  Other than, say, peanut butter or cat food. 

The GD chipmunks left me three strawberries.

Cut everything into bite-sized pieces.  I know that 'chopped' salads are now all the rage, but mine is chopped so that I don't festoon my office clothing (such as it is) with blobs of dressing and sticky pieces of lettuce. 

Select an attractive serving/carrying container.  Mine is the haute couture of salad "dressing" (sorry, couldn't help myself) - aka Used Ice Cream Tub.  Layer your ingredients so that the entire creation is awash in bright colors, interesting textures, all evenly dispersed.  Or, chuck it all in there, snap the lid on and give it a good shake.

Just like 007 - shaken, not stirred...

Carry your dressing separately.  I came across this darling little gadget when I was dragging myself through the clothes-shopping slog.  It holds just enough dressing to coat your creation, without making it all soggy.  This is my present favorite dressing - homemade ranch, seasoned with LOTS of dill (surprise, surprise).

I LOVE my little dressing squeezy thingy!

I guarantee that you will find your salad experience has just been ratcheted up a notch or two.  Not only will it be a thing of beauty, but it will be one of the most tasty lunches you've ever had.  This will come in handy when faced with a season's worth of salad greens - when you will be eating salad every.stinking.day.

***

I have been listening to the most delightful collection of Bertie & Jeeves stories during my commute and all I want to do is say, "What, ho? That's a bit of a wheeze. I say, that's a bit rummy!  It's a bit thick for a chappie."  I've been chortling for days. 

Eye Candy - Food for the Soul.

While I have to admit that my photography skills are for the birds (though not birdlike like this), I love, love, love my peonies.  I can't wait until they bloom - hovering over the plants waiting for the right moment to cut some to bring inside.

I put them in vases, glasses and pitchers.  I put them all over the house.  Did I mention how much I love them?  They make me think of exotic birds.

In my favorite pitcher - bought in Madrid.

After a visit to the new-to-me nursery, I also got a few annuals - something different from my usual pansies and johnny jump-ups.  This is a Cardinal Climber - I loved the leaves and vine and it blooms in the most beautiful scarlet, tiny trumpet flowers.  The color in the photograph doesn't do it justice.

Click to biggify.

I am still behind on my planting, but hope to get the two other annuals in the ground by the weekend.  I have been working on my flower bed, or, rather, flower/weed/grass bed.  The garden always takes precedence but I had better get cracking!

We've got ourselves a humdilly of a situation here.

When, two years ago, my neighbor fulfilled my request by giving me a (as in one single) dill plant because I felt my life was not complete without this herb, he also gave me a warning.  "They will take over your garden."  Ha, said I.  It was only one plant, after all.

Believe it or not, there are beets in there.  Six rows of them.  It started innocently enough - cute, ferny little seedlings that I could snip off here and there.  Then I turned my back on them and WHAM!  A virtual forest of dill.  And the kicker is, I just cannot make myself pull them out.  I have a weakness for plants - any plants - and it seems like such a waste.  So far, I have potted up a few dozen and palmed them off on friends (ahem).  I have three big bunches drying.  I have used them in salad dressings and on salads.  With fish, chicken, egg salad.   I am open to any and all ideas as to what I can use this much dill for.  I will continue to dry it - I do use a lot of dill, but....I mean....really.  If you're in the neighborhood, feel free to come by for a wagon load...

Score! And Pitties.

I have been looking for a way to place my plants in front of the sliding glass door during their winter hibernation for a couple of years.  Right now, I have a dandy little chest with 'flaps' that seems to be handmade (picked up for a song at my favorite estate sale place three years ago) that has been standing in.  However, it has limited flat space and blocks most of the light on one side of the door.  Yesterday morning I happened to open one of my weekly Freecycle emails and VOILA!  There it was.  Of course, I didn't hold out much hope, as I figured it had been posted for a while.  I replied to the post, he sent a pic, I got dibs on it and off I went to fetch it.  It is perfect!

I'll sand and restain it to make sure it lasts, but it is a sturdy thing.  It's now showcasing my Mosquito Geranium.  Aren't those dahlias in the back to die for?!?  I was walking into HomeAwayFromHome Depot a couple of days ago and saw a woman with three in her cart - I demanded asked her nicely where she had found them and then made a beeline for the perennials.  Just in time, too, as I passed four more people with cartfuls!

*****

Now, on the subject of Pitties.  A week ago, a favorite egg customer of mine came down to get eggs.  This person and his wife are also friends, and I am very fond of both of them.  They are also truly animal lovers.  He came in the door and, of course, was awash in a wave of wagging tails and lots of wiggling.  He gushed all over Scrappy but seemed to keep his distance from Lovey.

"She looks like a Pit Bull," he said.

No shit, Sherlock, I thought.  (Pardon the language but I am still a bit hot about it).

He was very cool towards her - no matter how hard she wiggled and wagged.  I did point out that Scrappy, himself, is part Pittie.  I wanted to also point out that their own dog is of a breed that is notoriously aggressive.  Of course, she is a giant cream puff.

I know that Pitties have a bad rep.  And some of them deserve it - although, is it any wonder when they have known nothing but cruelty and meanness, and are awarded only for aggression?  I place the blame squarely on the human element.  Lovey and her brother (they think they are Pittie/American Bull Dog mixes - given her adorable wrinkly muzzle) were, apparently, abused and neglected - dropped in the woods as puppies with horrible cases of mange, infections, you name it.  Yet, after such cruel treatment at the hands of the humans they had known, they show only love and forgiveness.  In my limited experience with Pitties, I find them funny, quirky, intelligent, and very, very loving.  I think it's a bad practice to use the same brush to paint an entire breed.  Or an entire race of people, for that matter.

So, the next time some idjut tries to paint my Pitties with the mean brush, I will just hug them tighter.

 

Creating an Outdoor Room.

This is the first year that I have shifted some of my (limited) focus to creating beauty for beauty's sake.  I have been striving to make everything count for something - all things planted must produce an edible product, for example.  This year I realized that my soul needs nourishment as well as my body.  It may even need it more.

Last year I sat on my deck once.  One single time.  I was either too busy, it was too hot, it was raining, I was hiding from the goats.  This year I have been enjoying it immensely because I have remedied three of those problems - goats gone, canopy in place.  And I have surrounded it with flowers.  And tomatoes - old habits die hard.

Pansies, dahlias, hanging verbena,
tomatoes, lemongrass, rosemary

Mosquito geranium and two plants to
be put in the ground.  Giant, scary hops vine
lurks in the background...

Mustard greens are new to the garden
this year - with the first kale!

******
All these "Great Aunt" memories conjured up one of my own.  My Great Aunt Edie, she of knitting fame, lived next door to us for a period in my teenage years.  My paternal grandmother had moved in with us and that strained our limited bedroom space.  So my sister and I moved next door and lived with my aunt.  She was a stickler for neatness - those German genes - and my sister and I had to dust and vacuum our bedrooms on a regular basis.  After one such cleaning frenzy, I was walking downstairs with the vacuum cleaner, when I got my foot tangled in the cord and went ass over teacups down the stairs, landing in a heap at the foot of the stairs - vacuum cleaner held upright.  My aunt and her group of knitting ladies were in the living room.  As I gazed up, I beheld five faces - mouths open, needles frozen in mid-stitch.  I untangled myself, rewrapped the cord, said hello (we minded our manners back then), and trotted to the closet and put the vacuum away.  I don't think they started breathing again until I walked out the door.  I wouldn't care to repeat that trick today.  I may save the vacuum cleaner, but I doubt if I would be trotting anywhere.