Category Archives: Photos

Viola the House Chicken

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Viola melting in the sun.

Viola snoozing in the sun.

When I tell people that I have a house chicken they look at me funny.  Then I launch into the explanation and sometimes afterwards they say, “I want a house chicken!”  Or sometimes they just smile gently and pretend they recognize someone else with whom they’d like to speak.

Right now I not only have a house chicken, but I have a bathtub full of chickens.  These are the chicks at the six-week stage, and are just about ready to put out in the Fowl Fortress.  They are exercising their wings, especially Esther one of the buff orpingtons, which comes to kamikazi-ish flights into the other chicks and scattering them like bowling pins.  I can be excused bathtub chickens because, after all, they are temporary.  And so, I thought, was my house chicken.

Chicks at six weeks. The only one not looking at the camera is Belle, who has a crossbill and who is eating.

Chicks at six weeks. The only one not looking at the camera is Belle, who has a crossbill and who is eating.

The way Viola became a house chicken though will make much sense to you and warm the cockles of your heart.

Viola and Madge were two one-year-old Rhode Island Reds who were raised en masse at a feed store.  Although the hens had had their beaks trimmed (poor dears) these two had been severely pecked.  Madge is blind in one eye and Viola had a gimpy leg (and, I have come to believe, some psychological damage from the bullying).  These two hens have been the sweetest girls, unlike the other hens who were coddled from day #2 and act like complete spoiled brats.

One day last Fall I went to put the chickens away and noticed that Viola was holding one leg up high and not able to put any pressure onto it.  Uh-oh, I thought.  I felt it all over but couldn’t tell if anything was broken. I set up a cage by the kitchen table with a heat lamp and heating pad, and hoped for the best.  I spoke with the vet and researched online and everyone (all poultry-eaters, I’m sure!) said that she’d have to be put down.  The leg was probably broken.  She was probably in pain and showing a brave face… or beak. Well, I considered having her put down, but she didn’t appear to me to be in tremendous pain.  She acted as if she’d pulled a muscle.  She ate well, and after a night on the heating pad laid a very nice egg.  So I kept her in.  After a few days she began to use the leg a little.  She certainly ate well.  I took her outside into the front fenced area, formerly home to Homer the Desert Tortoise who had escaped the year before.  This area has a small pond and all the bird feeders where we watch and count birds for Cornell’s Project Feederwatch.  Pretty much a chicken heaven, except for the loneliness.  Having been hen-pecked, she didn’t seem to mind so much.

She sees us watching her as she roams Chicken Heaven.

She sees us watching her as she roams Chicken Heaven.

Viola improved and we developed a routine.  In the morning I’d let her out and sprinkle some food for her outside.  She’d wander and sun herself and roll in the dirt and eat bird seed, and lay an egg in Homer’s old house.

"This doghouse smells like a tortoise."

“This doghouse smells like a tortoise.”

At dusk she either would tap incessantly at the sliding door to come in, or I’d go out and call, “Vi – o- laaaa,” and she’d run around the corner of the house, up the stairs and inside, making a brief stop to check out Sophie-the-dog’s dinner, then she very nicely cage herself.  I’d cover her with a blanket so she could sleep while the light was on.  The cats ignored her and Sophie “peace and love in her old age” -the-dog was actually a little intimidated by her.  Perhaps she thought Viola was the ghost of chickens past.

The only animal I have who comes when she's called.

The only animal I have who comes when she’s called.

Did I say run?  Yes, her leg improved greatly, from a painful hop to a piratey roll.  Then I made the mistake of speaking on the phone about her within her hearing.  I gave a progress report on how well she was doing, and said that I’d try to reintroduce her to the flock again the next day or so.  By the next day, however, Viola suddenly had a very sore leg again.  She hobbled painfully around.  I couldn’t reintroduce her because the other girls wouldn’t be very nice to her.  So I nursed her again.  She improved.  During the Christmas holidays once more I spoke about reintroducing her, and by the next day she was limping badly again.  Guess what?  Viola got to stay inside for Christmas.

Staying warm by the heater last winter.

Staying warm by the heater last winter.

This healing/reinjury happened yet a third time, and yes I had mentioned bringing her to the coop, so by then I was pretty sure she was either a very good chicken actress, or she was injuring herself to maintain her improved way of life.

The best part of having a chicken in the house I find is at night.  While I’m up writing or paying bills and she’s caged, suddenly I’ll hear a sound as if a bomb is falling from a great height just outside the house.  It is a high pitched whistle that descends in pitch gradually, but instead of hearing an explosion at the end there is a little soft “brrrup.” The first time I heard it the sliding doors were open and I thought that Camp Pendleton (whose artillery practice shakes the house) had dropped a missle overhead.

When I sneeze or make a loud noise I always hear a comment from the cage.  She’ll often croon to herself, too.  Viola enjoys music and will sit contentedly both when I’m playing CDs or even when I’m practicing my beginning piano chords on the keyboard.  I’m sure she considers herself a songbird because she makes horrible noises of protest when she wants attention.

Viola taking a tour of the library.

Viola taking a tour of the library.

At first I had placed a metal food dish and a flat water dish into her cage.  She soon learned that if she stepped on the edge of the metal dish it would clank.  She became very good at clanking over and over and over again with her big foot when she wanted out.  She’d also manage to spill her water so I’d have to let her out to clean.  She’d take the opportunity to run into the other room and check out the cat’s food dishes.  Now I just put some feed right on her newspaper, and my daughter cleverly tied open the side door just enough so that Viola can get her head out to drink from a water dish placed outside the cage.

A caged Viola with the waterdish doorway.

A caged Viola with the waterdish doorway.

A friend who knows birds suggested that Viola had bumblefoot, a painful swelling of the pad of her foot.  She kindly gave me a week’s worth of antibiotic for Viola in pill form, and I learned a new skill.  Or not.  By the end of the week Viola and I had developed a whole new relationship which had us eyeing each other warily.  There was no change in her condition other than she wouldn’t let me anywhere near her beak without a tussle.  Yet again she’s walking very well.

Dog food is high in protein, and fun to steal.

Dog food is high in protein, and fun to steal.

I’m not the only one with a house chicken.  Social media is a wonderful method of exposing slightly affected people.  There are photos of perfectly respectable people – grandparents even – Skyping with a chicken on their laps.  There are even businesses who sell products for chickens such as chicken diapers.  Yep.  Chickendiaper.com, in fact.   I didn’t enjoy the diapering part of raising my children so much that I want to reenact it with a chicken, thank you.

Viola giving her opinion on what video to watch.

Viola giving her opinion on what video to watch.

So here it is the middle of Spring, and Viola’s leg is doing wonderfully.  She barely limps.  Perhaps I can reintroduce her to the flock at the same time I introduce the chicks.  I’m writing this while Viola is rustling about in her covered cage, facing the back of my laptop and unable to read what I’m writing.  I just wonder if tomorrow she’ll be limping badly again.

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It Might As Well Be Spring: an Indulgence in Prose

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First daffodil

First daffodil, face to the dawn.

Mornings find me waking before sunrise, throwing cats off my bed, rousing my elderly dog for her morning ablutions, and scampering down to the hen house in my robe and slippers (and some mornings warm hat and scarf) to feed the hens and the wild ducks, and the tortoise.

Viola seeing what new seed is available since the night before.

Viola seeing what new seed is available since the night before.

 Last night when I let Sophie out for her final walk of the night the Santa Ana winds were like a warm caress, riffling through the palm fronds in the dark.  Orion sparkled overhead, moving into the position it was in for the birth of both my March babies half a lifetime ago.

Mourning doves in a morning sky.

Mourning doves in a morning sky.

This morning the air was expectant.  The garden seemed to emit a trembling energy; an excitement roiling to the surface, but afraid to burst out in full in case of another frost.

Vanilla-scented heliotrope.

Vanilla-scented heliotrope.

Indeed another cold front will be moving in with much-needed rainfall later this week.  For now, the bold grasses are up and reckless early stonefruit have blossomed out, much to the joy of the hungry bees.

White peach.

White peach.

I could almost hear Browning’s Pippa chanting in my head.  But not too much.

The ornamental pear trees all around town are in full glorious bloom.  Yesterday while driving from the Community Center to the bookstore there were enough petals strewn in the road as to cause a whirlwind of white as I drove through.  An eddy of petals around my car.  Joy.

Almond just breaking bud.

Almond just breaking bud.

This weekend is the Great Backyard Bird Count, as well as my two regular bird count days for Project Feederwatch.  Before breakfasting I filled seed feeders and enjoyed the show while eating my fresh egg, asparagus, toast and cinnamon tea.  Twitterpating is definitely in the air as birds pair up and rival mallards chase each other over the big pond.

A white crowned sparrow splashing his friend.

A white crowned sparrow splashing his friend.

A Northern mockingbird sips from the bird bath dripper sizing up his territory and listening for new sounds to add to his repertoire.  A buzzy rufous hummingbird guards the nectar feeder from the larger and flashier Anna’s.  A long-mated pair of crows hang out preening each other on the telephone wire.

A green-white pond calla.

A green-white pond calla.

Frogs are croaking amorously in the damp rushes. To my complete joy, far earlier than the bulbs strewn across the property which are just peeking green out of the earth, just outside my window are early daffodils and sweet violets, two of my favorite flowers.

Daffodils, Earlicheer narcissus and a little blue squill.

Daffodils, Earlicheer narcissus and a little blue squill.

It is still February, and I’m not that great a fan of such a beastly month as February , but for today the paperwork will lie ignored, the cold weather clothes will stay in the laundry basket, and after I take my cat to the vet I will spend the day in the garden (although that isn’t so unusual for me, is it?) listening to the Nuttall’s woodpecker try to drum holes into the telephone pole and smell the scent of Gideon’s trumpet flowers.

Sweet violets.

Sweet violets.

I look forward to tomorrow when I’ll be making two new friends, and to casting seed which will add new life to the garden.

Easter will be early this year.

Easter will be early this year.

It is all about possibilities, and possibility is definitely in the air today. I will believe Punxsutawney Phil that although it is technically winter, for today it might as well be spring.

A meeting of the minds.

A meeting of the minds.

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Frost on the Pathways

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It doesn’t often frost here in Fallbrook, which is located about an hour from both the mountains and the Pacific in northern San Diego county.  When it does, the fruit growers have to take drastic steps to keep their citrus, avocados and other tender plants from dying.  The last frost happened after a long steady rain, just after a thick mulch was applied to all the trails here at Finch Frolic Gardens (thank you, Lori!).  I awoke to a magical result: just the pathways had turned white with frost.  Beautiful! (You can click on the photos to enlarge).

 

 

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What’s Happening in the July Garden

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The Vine that is Eating the Chair

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The flowers dangle in the breeze, always watching….

A curiosity plant in my garden is Dutchman’s Pipe (Aristolochia trilobata), also unpoetically called birthwort.  The flowers aren’t actually pretty.  The politest description of them is that they resemble a large pipe.  The flowers dangle in the breeze from the vine, which is evergreen with glossy leaves.  It doesn’t produce a fruit. 

Kind of like a pipe; kind of like a nose.

 Dutchman’s Pipe is an ornamental, fast-growing vine that can grow 20 -30 feet in all directions.  Including up.  Up and up.  Onto the second floor balcony.  And around everything in its path. 

Climbing two stories and beyond.

In other words, the vine is eating my balcony and my patio furniture.

I’m glad I wasn’t asleep in it!

Dutchman’s Pipe emits weak unpleasant odor when disturbed; otherwise the flowers don’t have a scent.  It grows so quickly that the idea of pruning it down is daunting but must be done (… what is that tapping sound I hear on the sliding glass door right now?).  It twists and winds around and up the posts to the roof (… hmm… are the cats in the attic again?  I’ve never heard them make thatnoise).  Soon it will probably be over the roof, and I’ll have an unmanagable amount of vines to clip and haul to the compost heap (… excuse me, someone is at the door.  “Hello?  Who’s  there?  Hello?”).  I’ve been putting the job off, but today seems like a good day to….. (“What the heck is…. nooo!!…

NOMNOM

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I Went to a Garden Potty (adventures with a composting toilet)

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A very pretty outhouse!

I asked Roger Boddaert to have his men build a simple composting toilet out of the scraps of wood left over from my sheds.  This is what he came up with!  It is a gorgeous little building painted to match the sheds.  Wood features stand out decoratively, and two cloud-shaped windows covered with trellis adorn the sides.  Good for ventilation and for watching birds on the pond!

Inside there is a $5 toilet seat on a bench that conceals a bucket.

Inside is a raised seat that conceals a bucket underneath.  The least expensive toilet seat I could find is attached to smoothed wood.  Above the seat Roger attached a shelf with flower pots.  I stashed the organic cleaner bottle and extra toilet paper behind some cut status flowers.

In the back you can see the bucket placed high enough to prevent accidents.

Underneath is a Home Depot bucket, with the lid close at hand.  I had to make it stand taller by shoving boards underneath so that there weren’t any room for mistakes.

The way a composting toilet works, is that you do your business, including the toilet paper, and then add a scoop of organic material to the bucket equal to what you had put in there.  That’s it.  The organic material can be sawdust, wood shavings for pet bedding, compost, etc.  As long as it is easily scoopable.

When the bucket is full, you put the lid on and store it for a year.  Or you can dig a deep hole, dump the bucket in, cover it up and mark it, and in a year plant on it or use it otherwise.  I don’t have the exact science for this, but within a year all those microbes will consume the humanure and neutralize all the stuff that is in there that could be harmful, such as medicines.  Very simple, very clean, very useful.

Composting toilets – the ones that look like real toilets – are tremendously expensive and not that efficient.  What a waste of money!  The bucket system is amazingly efficient.  I have visited several, one a private one and the others at Audubon preserves.  There are no flies, no smells.  My outhouse was used a lot during the Garden Tour last Saturday, and I peeked in there today to check.  Smells great!  No flies.

The outhouses at the Audubon centers have the same system, but on a larger scale for more visitors.  Instead of a bucket there is a wheeled compost bin underneath.  One in rainy Oregon was a solar composting toilet, where part of the bin was under the toilet seat, and the rest under clear corrugated plastic roofing that amplified the ambient light and helped ‘cook’ the compost.  The waste in the bin was stirred around frequently with the compost so that it could cook better.  Still no smell, no mess.

Simple solutions are there for everything, and through studying permaculture and seeing what works for other people is very enlightening.  The answer rarely has to be expensive.  And, as is my new outhouse, it can be fun, too.

 

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I Went to a Garden Party….

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AAUW Garden Tour

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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Harry Mud Has a New Look

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Harry Mud with his bald pate

This morning a Meetup was held at my property (Finch Frolic) for the San Diego Permaculture group (http://www.meetup.com/SanDiegoPermaculture/ ).  The agenda was to tour the garden and build the second layer – the insulation layer -  on Harry Mud, the cob (earthen) oven begun at a similar Meetup last July. There are three installments posted on my blog; you can search for cob oven, or read about the third installment here: http://www.vegetariat.com/2011/07/cob-oven-3/ ) (sorry, I can’t seem to get the hyperlink to work).

During all this time Harry has patiently sat under his tarp awaiting a second layer.  Today was his day.

One of the reasons I wanted to work on Harry is that my garden will be on the Association of University Women’s garden tour on May 12th (OMG!  Only four weeks away!!!).  I’m hoping to inspire a lot of people to research permaculture for their own properties, and to show off earthen building.  Harry will be a star.

With 29 people signed up to come today and projected rainshowers, I scrambled a bit to make sure there would be cobbing opportunities for all.  However about 15 people toured, the weather although windy was dry and beautiful, and all goals were accomplished.  Hopefully everyone came away with what they wanted to hear about, and not so much dog poo on their shoes.

A dirt and straw pedicure.

Although I enjoy speaking with groups of people, the drawback is that I don’t have the chance to speak with individuals and find out their stories or learn from them.  Everyone has wells of experience and tidbits of knowledge (or buckets full!), and you never know how your life can change with just a passing  comment or chance encounter.

Anyway, many of us had mud manicures and pedicures, the group dwindled, and Harry became even more handsome, if that is even possible.  Three intrepid souls stayed for Harry’ First Fire, and we lunched and chatted about all kinds of interesting topics, such as communication between plants.  It was a good day.  Now that I’ve soaked the mud off of myself in a hot bath with epsom salts, I’ll show you what went on.

Sifted soil in wheelbarrow being resifted through smaller mesh.

To create the insulation layer, we sifted dirt through two progressively smaller screens.

Screening dirt.

That was mixed with water and a lot of straw, which took a lot of time but was fun.

Fancy cob footwork. Cob is a community event.

That cob mixture was formed in a four-inch layer around Harry.

Harry looks as if he's going bald, but he's actually getting a straw afro!

Just in case all 29 people showed up, I had prepared an extra cob project.  I thought a work table next to the oven would be a good idea, so stacked two old tires, topped by a tire with the wheel still in there.  These had been part of the fill on my property when I moved in 13 years ago.  Two intrepid permaculturalists then filled the inside with rubble (small bits of urbanite left over from walls) and sand left over from Harry Mud.  A piece of wood was propped in the center to hold the top in place.  At some point the entire thing will be cobbed.

Filling stacked tires with cement rubble and sand for future cob table.

Harry’s First Fire was set.  Handsome, isn’t he?

Harry Mud, all fired up!

He is a little thicker towards the bottom (I know how he feels!) because the mixture slumps a little, but he’s thick enough all over to insulate well.  Harry will eventually receive a slip coating on the outside, which will help protect the insulation layer and be decorative.  The urbanite base will be covered as well.  I’d like a shade structure over the area, built out of the shed leftovers of which I have plenty.  Harry will have to be protected from rain by a tarp as usual.

Thank you everyone who helped out!

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Valentine Flowers

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Freesia, one of my favorite flower scents.

Although I don’t really like Valentine’s Day, I do like the fact that spring starts here in San Diego County in February.  So to celebrate the day and the season, I thought I’d post photos of some new blooms that I took after our brief… and all too rare… rainstorm today.

 

Cyclamen and freesia.

This cyclamen had been a gift from my good friend Eileen several years ago, and every year it never fails to glow.

Strawflowers.

These bright gold beauties are left overs from seed mixtures I planted at the end of last summer.  Borage is the big-leafed plant behind, also in bloom.

Queen Anne's Double Jonquil bud (heirloom).

Over my thirteen years at this house I’ve collected heirloom bulbs and heirloom roses, even during the years when I really couldn’t afford to spend twenty dollars on something frivolous.  Heirloom plants make me happy, and make me feel as if I’m contributing to the conservation of forgotten plants.

Ice Follies heirloom daffodil

I buy all my heirloom bulbs from Old House Gardens (www.oldhousegardens.com).  Visit them online, order a print catalog and indulge in the humor, the history and the sheer beauty of what this small company offers.

Saint Keverne heirloom daffodil.

I have, as you might have guessed, a great fondness for daffodils.  That includes jonquils and narcissus, of course.  They are such happy, homely flowers; beautiful in their unusual form, and such a bright harbinger of spring!  I’ve planted cheaper, non-heirloom daffs all around trees throughout my gardens and along my driveway.  The heirloom ones I have separated in my front yard.

Louise de Coligny heirloom daffodil.

We don’t have many native bulbs in Southern California.  That is logical, since we don’t have severe winters and plants never had to store their resources underground, protected from snow and ice.  Many of our flower seeds, such as those of California poppies, need light to germinate and are best sown right on the ground.  So bulbs such as my lovely daffodils don’t quite fit into a native garden, but instead remind me of colder climates.  Also, gophers won’t eat the poisonous daffodil bulbs!

California redbud tree

Several trees are breaking out in bloom; the crabapples around the pond, several apple trees, a plum, and this California redbud.  I’m not thrilled about redbuds, but they do offer spring flower color, nice summer foliage, and fall color.  What I like best about them is that they are nitrogen fixers, and improve the soil all around their roots.

Calla lily

Far too early for Easter, this Calla Lily appeared this week and made me remember my mother, who always bought them for spring.  Mom’s favorite color was white, and although not her favorite flower (which was the orchid), the Calla lily seems the most like her: clean lines, unique shape and the glowing whiteness of sophistication.

Single heirloom freesia.

Freesia is one of my favorite flower scents.  It is fresh and not cloying or heavy.  My other very favorite scents are yellow primrose (only the yellow ones have a fragrance!) and sweet violets (my favorite flower).  And, of course, roses.  The form that the freesia flower stalk takes, almost serpentile, adds so much to a garden’s shape.  I like the yellow freesia the best, and they are also the most fragrant.

Ivy Geranium

Growing up, I used to hate geraniums.  Martha Washington and ivy geraniums covered the embankment of the backyard of the tract house we lived in in Carlsbad, CA.  Every time a ball was lost in it, or one of our Shelties ran through them, the obnoxious smell of the geranium leaves was overwhelming to me.  As I matured, however, I found out what a reliable friend geraniums can be.  They take so much abuse and yet bloom all year ’round.  The bright and dark reds are stunning and add just the right touch to other color combinations.  I still prefer the less smelly vining ivy geraniums over the big-leaved Martha Washington varieties, and I let them clamber over my chain link fence, turning an eyesore into a trellis for beauty.

I hope my bouquet of flowers makes you happy.  Happy Valentine’s Day!

 

 

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