Chicken Delivery

Lissa brought the new babies. She couldn't resist a couple more than I ordered. We wanted a rooster to look after the hens, so got a straight run Buff Orphington. Also arriving in a little box were two Barred Rocks, two Rhode Island Red and one Americana pullets.

We had a fun time taming them down. They were only hatched two days ago and needed mothering. It was such fun to have them fall asleep in our hands. The day was plenty warm for them to be out on the deck. They will stay in the cardboard box in the workshop or outside, with a cat-proof old fan screen on top, until they are big enough to move into the coop. Now, they could walk right through the chain link fence.

If a person is the type to get all giggly cuddling chicks, they just have to admit it.                                                                                                                                                              
They seemed to grow before our eyes, especially their little wing feathers. They knew how to scratch for food right away, getting right down to business.

These little peeps seem so tiny and fragile that I spend lots of time checking the warmth in their box. After sunset, they have a heat lamp on a chain so I can adjust the height every hour. They only need a 100-watt bulb on these warm late summer nights.

I called Lis to report that they survived the first night in my care. She requested I take their pics daily so she can watch their amazing progress.

Here's the day two photo of adorable Lucy, the redhead, in a pensive mood.

The Bees Will Be Sad

Yesterday, I made a startling discovery on my way to the river. Part of  the huge basswood tree was down, almost blocking the path.  Beau sensed that something was amiss. The tree's massive horizontal branch must have reached a critical weight and broken off. I couldn't get close on account of the poison ivy, but a glimpse through the fallen branches revealed the spot where it used to be. I could be mistaken, but it looked like the tree was hollow there.

If it is hollow, my concern is the bees may decide to move in because it's so close to food shopping. I can only hope that my springtime sugar syrup will induce them to stay where they are. Pay no attention to that ideal bee tree, I say.

There will be lots of basswood firewood for me to cut next winter, but that will be small recompense for losing some of my special honey crop and the inevitable decline of the tree. Oh well, these things happen. The bees are very clever. Probably they know of other basswood trees in the many miles of choice locations along the Grand River. That surely can't be the only one.

At the hive this morning, the bees had gathered on the landing board and the hive front. I tiptoed away, not wishing to disturb a memorial service for the fallen tree limb.

Giant Ragweed Harvest

Every year at this time, I cut down the huge ragweed plants that have gotten past me. Most are over six feet tall.

These giants can be pulled up easily when they are small, but now it's another story. An elephant could do it. I use the long-handled pruner and yell, "Timber!"

Supposedly these herbs can be used as compost activators. I'll have to cut some up and add them to the compost, as soon as I get a machete. Meanwhile, it's easier to just haul them down to the brush pile.

Along the river bank, by the bridge,  thousands of these monster weeds have assembled to enjoy the riparian life. It's a closed community.

Even though there are more waiting for me to fell, this load is nothing to sneeze at.

The Fate of the Late Veggies

The beets should have been harvested weeks ago, if not more. In the past, I've grown Long Season Beets, but this year Harris Seeds sent an apology instead of seeds. It turned out that there was  a complete crop failure. Hmmm.

Consequently, I kept waiting for the Detroit beets to get bigger.  Some finally did. Taking a chance on them being tough and woody, I cooked them. They were tender and delicious, so now I have some to freeze.

The carrots were another story. Failing to harvest them in a timely manner hurt their feelings, leaving them embittered. After I'd planted, weeded, watered and otherwise spent lots of time on them, I couldn't just pull the puny things and put them directly into the compost. They fell into the category of not good enough to eat and too good to throw out.

The fridge was crammed full of other late veggies that I hadn't the heart or the appetite to eat. From a mere four broccoli plants, I froze 31 me-sized packages of  broccoli. I  ate quantities of them until I couldn't  face another bite. Even during the heat, they put on side shoots, which I dutifully picked. They were in the fridge, waiting to turn to compost. I finally stopped picking them. No doubt I shall be charged with veggie neglect.

Some late, somewhat rubbery green beans were sharing the same fate. I'd frozen plenty and even made some dilled green beans. God knows I've tried. Sob.

Since I knew I'd never eat any of them, I ran them all through the food processor and worked them into the soil where I'd pulled up some strapping big foxtails. Guilt eliminated.

Dog Days End Today, Supposedly

The extreme heat looked like it was breaking, at last. There had been adequate rain, usually after I watered from the cistern. For weeks, it was a bad idea to do much outside in the oppressive heat and humidity.

As predicted, the weeds pulled ahead and now needed to be dealt with.  The weeds didn't look too scary from up on the deck, but an apple tree and some hibiscus were in danger of disappearing  from the landscape entirely if I didn't get in there.

The first step was to yank out the cow guard fence and pull up the fence posts so I could use the weed-eater. The lawn mower would just push the weeds down. The fence, however, was secured with lots of grasses and weeds and it wasn't the work of an instant to pull it out.

The fence made it hard to mow around the tree. However, I was glad to have the protection for  that young tree when several enormous cows stopped by recently. Cows are like the weeds, much more terrifying up close. They brought their largish calves. I helped the guy who owns the herd, who was foolishly trying to herd them by himself. I carried an old broom, held aloft to give me a more imposing stature.  He said they had pushed down a fence and gotten out, so I lucked out to not have more over here than I did.

Another apple tree that I planted years ago didn't survive a cow using it as a scratching post. So, this tree has been perhaps over-protected since when it was a young whip that didn't even have limbs. It now has two apples. It's a Golden Delicious.

Step two of the land reclamation was to use the weed-eater. But the grass wound around the spinning trimmer head, making it more work to stop and untangle it than it was worth. I was able to use the hedge shears, which was a big bother, too.

The hillside by the garden has great soil. In springtime, after huge rains, I pulled up lots of chicory, those pretty but pesky weeds with foot-long roots. A few days ago, I yanked out a few more after a six inch rain. As far as weeds go,though, chicory was only a drop in the bucket. The others either have three foot long roots or the roots are somehow anchored in place forever.

In spring, I envisioned the entire slope covered with lovely perennial flowers. I didn't get around to planting any, possibly because the row of lovely perennial iris I planted there a few years ago got choked out by those invasive grasses and bindweed.

When I say that I actually love weeding, let me make it clear that what I like is weeding in cultivated ground, where the weeds can be pulled up out of the friable soil. What has gone on in the hibiscus patch is nothing less than a return to grassland. These are weeds that can only be dislodged with explosives. There will be no weeding as such in the area. What may work is smothering with cardboard topped with anvils. I don't have any anvils, so maybe some loose bricks and quantities of mulchie stuff.

The chicken coop needs to be cleaned out, which will be a start. A few weeks ago, the three old hens vanished. I'd like to think that they just wandered off and are scratching for bugs in a nearby field. However, knowing how they always loved the comfort and security of Fort Flocks at night, I have to admit that something got them. There weren't even any telltale feathers left behind. I miss them.

At first, I vowed to not have more chickens. The problem was the eggs that I bought didn't really taste like eggs. One would think that free range brown eggs would be just as good. Instead, they were pale replicas of delicious breakfasts of yesteryear.

Thus, I'll be bringing home some chicks when the local farm store next offers them, at the end of the month.

These Surprise Lilies add lots of cheer to the landscape. They make beautiful bouquets that smell a lot like mothballs.

Meanwhile, a return to heat advisory days has put the hill clearing project on hold. I would be less than honest if I said I was disappointed. Perhaps tomorrow will be better, but today's heat index of 108 degrees at least had some benefit.

I trust the cows, now in the pasture across the road, will not get out before I get the fence back up around the apple tree.

A Surprise in the Watermelon Patch

Note to self: when trying new watermelon varieties, pay attention to the pictures.

The fact is, I really didn't notice the leaves while they were growing. They didn't have watermelon  leaves, which should have been a tip-off. What I saw was lots of cute round Minnesota Midget watermelons coming on. Imagine my surprise when yesterday I found some of them had turned pale yellow. Cutting one open, I discovered cantaloupe seeds and even more surprising, orange solid flesh. Definitely not a watermelon.

This was my first year to try new early varieties of melons. In the R.H. Shumway's catalog, MN Midget Melons are described as an early heirloom variety with golden flesh, developed by the University of Minnesota in 1948. It was about time I tried them. I failed to notice that the picture was of a cantaloupe, a muskmelon, not a watermelon.

Also from Shumway's, on the page with watermelons,  were New Queen Hybrids, featuring bright orange flesh. They haven't done as well due to a crowded corner planting, next to a lot of strapping weeds and bindweed. There's only one and it isn't ready yet.

          Sweet! Minnesota Midget Melons of the Musk, not Water, variety.

These little guys are not only tasty, but quite prolific When ripe, they slip off the vine easily.

The best part of these cantaloupes  is they are not hybrid. I'm saving some seeds for next year, when they will not surprise me one bit.

More Honey

It just gets better and better.

I extracted another super, which gave me another twenty-five pounds of honey. The jars posed for this group photo. The basswood is on the right. The wildflower honey, though not quite as light, is also delicious. So far, forty-five pounds of sweetness.

The extracted frames go back to the bees to fill. Hopefully, there will be more honey to extract in the fall.

This year, they must have been working on another nectar source when the catnip was in bloom. The bees didn't say. They never tell me what they're up to. I guess it's none of my beeswax.

More Basswood Honey

The hardest thing about beekeeping, other than wearing the bee suit in the heat, is picking up the honey supers. While I was delighted that the third super was full of capped honey, my main fear was that it would be so heavy I would stagger and drop it.

Still being a short person, lifting the top super is the biggest challenge. It's about neck height. After that, the lower ones are easier. I only had to go a few steps to the cart on the ride-on mower. It wasn't like I had to carry it all the way back to the house. A few bees remained on the frames of capped honey. I brushed them out.

Of course, I always love the advice to have a separate honey house to do the extracting. That would be lovely. When I can afford to have one built, I'll get a swimming pool, too.

Coming inside, there was another moment of uncertainty. My bee hat and veil had slipped down over my eyes as I carried the full super across the living room carpet, headed for the kitchen. Peeping through the vents in the top of the plastic pith helmet, I saw one dog and one cat snoozing serenely directly in my path. For a moment, the picture of all of us lying in a tangled heap, covered with honey, flashed before my eyes. It's so hard to get honey off carpet and furry animals. My yells caused them to scurry away.

Here is the super, full of light honey. That refers to the color, not the weight of the full frames and the box itself.

After a good night's sleep, I extracted the honey. Twenty pounds of fabulous basswood honey were mine.

I knew it was basswood because I put that last super on right before the huge basswood tree was in bloom. The other frames below were full of capped wildflower honey.

Here is my pride and joy, viewed in the sunlight. Beautiful!

Rainmaker

June has been terribly dry. On Sunday, Lissa came up and installed the new submersible pump in the cistern.

Working in the sun on the hot cement cistern in the 97 degree heat can't have been fun for her. I watched from the nearby shade. I fitted the plug with a swim cap made from a balloon. All I have to do is plug in an extension cord to get the water flowing.

That night, it was delightful to be able to water the garden without worrying about running up the water bill. I gave every veggie and flower in the fenced garden a long drink of the cold water. The pump gave even better water pressure than the outside faucet.

Back in May, when the rains were adequate, I emptied both 55-gallon barrels into the cistern  many times. That sounds like I hefted them on my shoulder and poured them carefully into the stand pipe on the cistern. The procedure was much easier and actually possible. Having installed faucets in the bottom of the barrels, I merely connected the garden hoses to them and poked the ends down the standpipe.

This story would be a triumph but for the rain which arrived the following day. Not just a little rain, either. The National Weather Service was right, we did get one-tenth to one-quarter inch. There was a bit more to it. It was one of those strange thunderstorms, full of crashing lightning, torrential rain and loud thunder that seems to park in one location, unzip the cloud contents and be loathe to move on.

That went on all day and night. I emptied the gauge at bedtime, four inches of rain. This morning, there were another five and a half inches.

Parts of the garden were in standing water. The corn had swooned.

These seed pods of the Toy Choy were being left to ripen.

The daylilies appeared glad to get watered, at last.

These sunflowers didn't appreciate nine and a half inches of water. It was a good thing they didn't have their big seed heads yet.

Ever the conserver of water, I began at once to empty the barrels into the cistern. Except for the scary cloud to ground lightning, I could have emptied them many times over.

More rain is suddenly in the week's forecast. There doesn't seem to be a shutoff.

If You Can't Stand the Heat

We are having a big heat wave. At least, I hope it is a wave and not what the rest of the summer will be like. It seemed a good time to catch up on my baking. Just today, I've turned out beets from the garden, followed by my honey wheat bread, then chicken, then Chicken Divan. The oven has been going non-stop.

Fortunately, it hasn't added a single degree of heat to the kitchen. I used the Sun Oven. The long days and outside temperatures well above ninety degrees have made this not the insane project it sounds like.

It is really too hot to do anything outside. I zip out to turn the oven occasionally to get the best fix on the sun and quickly dash back inside. In the relative cool of morning, I hung out laundry and harvested the beets, broccoli, carrots and the first zucchini for my elegant repast.

I've been inside, knitting on a wool Fair Isle vest in the air conditioning. It's a sampler project, some motifs being more pleasing to the eye than others. It's sort of a learning experience. Doing this knitting outside would guarantee a heat stroke.

The Chicken Divan was delicious. The only drawback to dinner from the Sun Oven is I can't have my usual late dinner, after sunset at nine p.m. Like hay, food must be made while the sun shines.