Homesteading ain't for sissies. And neither is getting old. So, if you're an old homesteader does that mean you are some kind of hondo-woman? Hmmm. Mehbe. My mornings have been in a rut. Get up at 4ish (can't help it, honest); let dogs out and (quietly) yell a Bernie to NOT rip down my fence to get at the rat trap. Iron, knit, wash dishes, or whatever until 6. Feed dogs/cats. Walk dogs. Check rat trap (always full - they are either stupid or in a rut, too). Feed me. Let out Chickens One and then Chickens Two (the Fricassees). Feed and water same. Feed goaties. Feed sheepies. Do a little bonding (iffy) with Camel-girl. Water things. Pack lunch. Shower. Dress for work. Put loaded rat trap in car and deliver to neighbor for part two of catching rats (don't ask and I won't tell). Drive to work. Where, I bet, NO ONE ELSE had to deal with rats before breakfast.
At least some of my chores will be lighter after Saturday.
Because of the fate of my friend, M's, Red Rangers, I did not put mine out 'on pasture'. Too many varmints out there with blood in their eye. So they have been living (cozily) in the smaller coop with a nice, safe fenced-in area. This worked out well in the beginning but, as these meat-specific birds go, they are now lumbering around like small, feathered Godzilla characters. I have been trying to train them to go into the coop at night by turning on the interior light to make it look all homey and welcoming. I must be out of my mind. Some do stagger up the ramp and go in. Some go partially in, then think it's just a swell place to turn around and plop down in the doorway to see the sights. Which completely blocks access for the rest of the ignoramuses. So, every night for the past 6 weeks, I have been chasing the Stubborn 5 (as I call them) who refuse to go in, and
heaving placing them gently in the coop. Which results in much hoopla and banging around. Then I turn off the light and all is blissfully quiet. Well, Saturday is F-Day (as in Fricassee) and all but three are heading off to Kamp Kenmore. I am keeping a breeding group because I will never EVER raise 15 again. And, get this, I am participating the processing. With my neighbor, the Lithuanian Lawnguy, and Kay. They both have experience in this type of thing. I do not. But, not being one to back down from a new experience - no matter how gruesome it may be - I am taking responsibility for what I eat. I get to do the plucking. Oooooh. Gritty details will be forthcoming. But no pictures. I may be a sissy, after all.
