The Itty Bitty Farm in the City

Reflecting on the Past Year and Heading into the New

2012-01-25T22:08:00.000-08:00

2011 was a year of ups and downs on the farm. We received recognition for our accomplishments, some positive and some outright slanderous; we educated folks about urban farming; we welcomed new friends and said goodbye to others; we continued to build and expand in some areas, yet wreaked destruction in others.

Now it's time to look back at last year's goals and see what we have really accomplished around here. A little check in the rearview mirror before forging ahead, I like to see it as. Did I do what I had set out to do? Or did I get distracted by sparkly, shiny things and not complete one cotton pickin' thing from last year's list? Knowing myself, the latter is likely. Well, let's look at that post from last January and see.

1. Improve Organization. Um... er.... well... yeah, I guess that kind of happened. But my iPhone apps didn't save me in the way I thought they would. I started out the year strong, entering dates on my calendar, setting alarms, and making chore charts. However, this is a serious weak spot for me. I have good intentions, but in the long haul I tend to fall short. I guess I will just have to get back up on the horse with this one. Wish me luck.

2. Keep Production Records. I was so very proud of myself. I kept detailed records of every last thing I harvested on this property last year, from veggies to meat to honey. And then somehow in the New Year, in a blink of an eye, the app that I was using to record my stats disappeared off my iPhone without a trace. And, of course, I wasn't backing it up on my computer. Aaaarrrrrgh!!!!! Hence my current New Year's resolution: letting go. I may just forgo tallying up the harvest totals this year, as I seem to have lost my motivation after this debacle.

3. Offer Urban Farm Classes. Check. I also had four interns over the course of the year and gave tons of tours and talks in the area.

4. Build Attractive Fences. This goal was partially accomplished. I put up some new fencing that looks fine for now, but this next year I'm hoping to get something more permanent in.

5. Get Bees. Check! I was even able to harvest 15 pounds of honey, even though my hive split mid-summer.

6. Learn to Be a Better Gardener. I am ever improving in this area. I had a lot of success with cucumbers, tomatoes, peas, carrots, and greens. And I even grew a melon. One tiny, itty bitty melon.

7. Annihilate Rats. Check. There was much rat killing in the beginning of 2010 and ever since, things have been fairly quiet on that front. The new enemy? Mice and lice. 2012 is their year to die.

8. Install Drip Irrigation, Gray Water and Rain Water System. Check on the drip irrigation, but still haven't gotten around to gray water and rain water.

9. Build a Deck Cover. Check. I never posted about this. One of the interns got an awesome picture of me hanging over a beam with my drill gun about 10 feet in the air. I'll try to dig that up. I felt super badass that day.

10. Install an Herb Garden. Check. Too bad the goats escaped their enclosure and ate three quarters of the contents and knocked over the brick walls. Letting go. I am letting go.

Wow, I accomplished the majority of my goals! I shall now pat myself on the back.

What I Want To Do in 2012

1. Maintain. The beginning of the year has brought about a huge transition in my life of a personal nature. I'm not going to go into it here on the blog, but suffice it to say that activities on the farm will continue as is with little growth. I will be focusing on maintaining and improving upon what I've already got going on. I have a tendency to become scattered in the excitement of acquiring new and interesting things, often biting off much more than I can chew. Not this year. I've got bigger fish to fry.

2. Scale Back. Sounds counter intuitive, eh? Well when you push the envelope, it's gonna push back. Recently, there have been complaints about my bees so I had to get rid of one of the hives. I'm also feeling weird about having taken over my neighbor's yard. I know they don't use it and all, but I feel kind of like a colonialist. They're renters and not native to this country, as are most of my neighbors. I think they might be letting me boss them around. I could well be reading too much into the situation. The goats and chickens DO keep the lawn mowed, which I will probably continue to let them do, but I would like to get all of our construction materials and my hoop house off their property. The Itty Bitty Farm is an experiment in using what you have available to you to provide for your food needs, not an attempt to usurp someone else's space like plundering 18th century British sea captain. My goal is to be a good, generous neighbor by tending to the previously neglected space without dumping all of my shit onto it. Maybe I'll sprinkle some flowers over there so that it looks pretty.

3. Get a Job. I know that doesn't really sound like it has anything to do with the homestead, but you all have to remember that I live in one of the most expensive cities in the country, own a house that is deeply under water due to the worst housing crisis our country has ever faced, and cannot keep what I have built if I don't continue to pay my mortgage. So it's back to the grind for me. Anyone need a professional goat wrangler?

4. Run Some Farm Camps. There is one area in which I am hoping to branch out and that is in the way of education. A friend of mine down in Santa Cruz, Pam of Peaceful Valley Farm who owns my goat Lucy's daughter (Ginger), has successfully run farm camps for young kids on her property. As a parent of an elementary schooler, I am always privy to the struggles of working moms whom struggle to find care for their kids over the holidays, spring break, furlough days, and the summer. I was thinking that an urban farm camp might be a neat option for folks who would like their children to be outdoors in nature, but who also can't make the drive to an out of town destination before their work day starts. In the next couple weeks, I will be creating a flyer to advertise for a trial run of this idea over SFUSD's spring break, the last week of March, and posting the details here on the blog. If anyone out there has any interest, please contact me.

5. Get Rid of Shit. A Lot of Shit. I have way too much crap. In fact, that is a HUGE understatement. I'm a person with many hobbies and interests whom has developed a tendency to acquire all of the accouterments that go along with said hobbies and interests. I also have a love of thrift stores and estate sales. In a word, I am a clutterbug. But no more, people! I am swearing off stuff and getting rid of all the unwanted and unneeded things that are clogging up my mental and physical space. I want to be free! Free to find the things I am looking for! Free to move about my home and backyard with ease! Free to not be worried about the pile of crap in the corner that I have been looking at for as long as I have lived in this home! I might even post about my exorcism of possessions as I know there are probably many of you out there that are in the same boat.

Well that's the sum total of the list I want to make for this year. I'm going for minimalism. That way I won't disappoint myself. I'm sailing some rough seas this year and it will probably take all that I've got to keep my head above water. But I shall forge ahead, take the challenges as they come, and let the homestead I have created be a refuge from the storm.

Christmas Cheese

2011-12-26T12:37:00.000-08:00

Happy Holidays my lovelies! Again, I must apologize for the lack of posts. I have a slew of happenings that I have been meaning to relate to you, but when it rains, it freakin' pours. For the past month, my nephew has been in the hospital. Last week, he was airlifted from Dallas to Cincinnati, where he is now at the children's hospital receiving excellent care. My daughter and I are flying out there tomorrow to help out and help drive my sister and her three boys back home to Dallas. The stress and uncertainty has been unbelievable, but I have to say, the Ronald McDonald House has been an amazing beacon of light in this mess. For all the crap I have talked about the fast food chain, the foundation has done excellent work for families with sick children in times of crisis by setting them up with a free place to stay, food, activities for kids, and an incredible amount of generosity, kindness, and unconditional love. As an advocate for healthy food, the irony is not lost on me. However, I thought people should know about some of the good work that the RM Foundation does.

I didn't want to let the season pass without sharing something with you all so I thought I would post about my Christmas cheese. Everyone knows how tasty goat chèvre is, but something that you might not be aware of is that the breed of goat can determine the flavor of the milk and cheese. Nigerian Dwarf goats, the breed we keep here, have a milk that is sweeter than the cow's and lacks that twang that we are used to in a good chèvre. In the past, my cheese has come out tasting like a creamy ricotta, lacking that depth of flavor that one looks for in a chèvre. Fortunately, my chef friend Tabitha of Friend in Cheeses Jam Co. gave me a tip of adding a touch of lemon zest. It doesn't replicate the flavor of the classic chèvre, but it increases the zing on the palate. This is also a great way to make chèvre with cow's milk, as the flavor of the milk is similar to the Nigerian Dwarf's. Here's how to do it.

Nigerian Dwarf (or cow) Chèvre

chèvre culture - available from cheese supply stores. I got mine from Hoegger Goat Supply. I prefer a culture that you can use direct set, rather than creating a mother (like a sourdough culture requires). We don't make enough cheese around here to warrant a mother.
rennet
1 gallon of fresh milk
lemon zest, I prefer that of the Meyer lemon
soft cheese molds or cheese cloth

Pour milk into a non-reactive pot and get it to 72 degrees. Add 1/8 tsp. of chèvre culture (or as directed on culture packet) and stir until dissolved and combined. Add 2/5 of a drop of rennet by adding 5 Tbsp. of water to a jar with a drop of rennet and then extracting 2 Tbsp. of the watered down rennet mixture and adding it to the milk. Stir. Now add lemon zest. I only use the zest of half a lemon. This is really a personally taste thing, so feel free to improvise. Let sit covered in a warm place, ideally 72 degrees, for 18-24 hours. At the end of the resting period, you will see that the cheese solids have coagulated into a firm, creamy mass in the center of the pot. You can check for set by pressing gently against the cheese near the edge of the pot with the back of your fingers. The cheese will yield to the pressure and you will see the whey having clearly separated. Pull out your molds and spoon the solids with a slotted spoon, preferably one of those flat ones used for this type of thing, into each mold. This recipe fills up three of these small basket molds. Pace the molds on a deep tray and cover. Allow them to drain for two days. Pouring off whey as needed. I usually let them sit in the refrigerator. You can also use a cheese cloth and hang it to drain. Some people salt their cheese after it has fully drained. I usually add the salt as I am spooning the solids into the molds. This way, I can alternate solids and salt to make sure that it is seasoned throughout. Once you have finished draining and salting the cheese, wrap it up in saran wrap or put in a glass container in the fridge. Serve with your best preserves. For a holiday party, I usually serve the cheese with my tomato jam, pepper jelly, green tomato chutney, and chipotle plum sauce. Delish!

I hope all of you out there are having a wonderful and stress free holiday season. A merry merry and happy happy to each and everyone of you.

Marek's Revisited

2011-12-14T23:21:00.001-08:00

What better time than Mercury retrograde to revisit old problems (as Californians, we have the obligation of referencing astrological happenings with every possible opportunity) and as long time readers of this blog well know, one of our biggest problems on the farm has been Marek's. What an appropriate time for one of our hens to fall ill.

The other morning when I opened the coop door for the ladies, Ruby, our Black Australorp, hopped to the ground and just kind of stayed there, crouched and unable to fully stand. Crap! No need to consult the experts on this one. I knew. But just to confirm, I picked her up and pressed a finger into the center pad of a foot. Nothing. Paralysis was setting in. This was definitely Marek's. But all our birds had been vaccinated, which is 95-98% effective! Pretty much sums up my luck with chickens.

I should have known that she might not have been right since she hadn't been on the roosting bar for a couple months and had stopped laying. However, it's winter so I figured that she had stopped laying due to dwindling daylight. The roosting thing I chalked up to her being low on the pecking order. But I guess in retrospect that didn't make much sense since she had been one big ass bird back in September.

As always , it was my little Googlebear to the rescue. But this time it had nothing to do with a cure and everything to do with a practical solution: compost pile or dinner table. Don't cringe, my dears. We've lost so many birds to this disease that it seemed like such a waste to bury another.

Well kiddos, it seems that it is perfectly fine to eat a bird with Marek's. In fact, you probably already have at some point as almost all birds have been exposed to it. An infected bird most often develops lesions or tumors on the nervous system in the legs and neck. Like cancer in animals, the disease doesn't transfer to humans.

I culled Ruby within a few hours of determining that she was ill. The poor thing had become very thin, her skin so loose that only the sharpest of knives would do the deed. There was barely any food in her crop, save for a few greens, and almost nothing in her intestines. I cradled her in my arms before I sent her to the big sleep. She was a good, sweet bird who laid a few giant eggs in her short strut upon this stage. I was sad to have her go.

I know a lot of you out there are thinking "Gross!". Yeah, that's what I thought last year. This time around I'm thinking stew pot and tamales. Waste not, want not.

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How Embarrassing!

2011-12-05T21:07:00.001-08:00

Awhile back, I was interviewed by *fair companies, a website with a ton of awesome videos and resources on sustainable culture. To tell you the truth, I had forgotten all about it until I received an email from the videographer, Kirsten Dirkson. I think we spent less than an hour shooting, which amazes me that they could turn out such a lengthy video with so little footage. What I love most about it is that it has a much more natural feel to it, in contrast to our more highly produced video for the Whole Food's Grow program. But OMG, I am so embarrassed by the state of my disheveled backyard and messy, cluttered refrigerator. And check out those "There's Something about Mary" bangs! I thought I was being so clever with that kerchief, hiding away the bad hair day. Total fail.

I read through some of the comments on YouTube and a common perception amongst viewers is that we keep our goats in a little prison like cell, which makes me so sad. *sigh* I swear to you, our goats have a good life. Yes, sometimes they get cooped up in the pen for too long, but they get access to the rest of the yard and the neighbor's. I have seen pens in the country with just as small of a space as we use for our girls. Don't forget, aside from terrorizing the backyard weeds and rose bushes, they also go for strolls around the neighborhood and canters through beautiful McLaren park.

Blood Thirsty Hens and Killer Pumpkins

2011-11-28T14:02:00.001-08:00

I'm so sorry for the lag in posts, dear readers. The past couple months have been rough. I never fully recovered from that virus and then got another one on top of that. Basically, I've been feeling like crap for the past eight weeks and haven't felt motivated to write as the farm has gone to pot while I've been struggling to just get by. It happens.

This has been a shit time to get taken out of commission too, since it is the start of the rainy season, or what I like to refer to as "vermin season". In search of a dry place to nest, our most tenacious nemesis this year has been not the rat, but the mouse. Those little fuckers have infested our basement and backyard, leaving droppings and shredding any scrap of paper or fabric in their path. But the great thing about mice is that they are stupid, unlike rats who tend to outwit every evil plan I have come up with for their demise.

So far, these jaw traps have been the shiznit. They practically have a no-fail rate compared to the standard snap traps. Unfortunately, the mice seem to be reproducing faster than I can trap them. It's time to bring out the big guns.

One of the best methods that I have used for killing vermin is this pumpkin trap thing that I came up with. I take a leftover from Halloween, cut open the top like a jack-o-lantern lid, fill the bottom with a mixture of animal feed and plaster of Paris, cut a small hole a little larger than a quarter in the side, and replace the top. The rodents come in through the hole, as they are attracted to squash seeds and eat the feed and plaster mixture. Then the next time they drink water, the plaster hardens in their stomachs and kills them. Not the nicest way to go, but a vast improvement over poison as it is of no danger to rodent predators. The brilliance of this method is that no other animal can unwittingly access the plaster-laden feed.

Inadvertently, I found that chickens can be a big help in pest control. The other day I was out de-lousing the goats (another issue during the rainy season) when I heard something that sounded like a dog playing with his favorite squeaky toy. I thought to myself "I've never heard a chicken make THAT noise before." Then I saw what Cleo, the Ameraucana, had in her beak. She was pummeling that poor thing to the ground, a wheezy squeak emanating from the tiny creature with each voracious peck. The mousey didn't stand a chance. Those chickens will literally eat anything. If I ever faint in the animal pen, I can guarantee that I'll be a goner. The girls peck at me every time I'm in there like I'm something real tasty. Don't they know that I'm the one who feeds them?

Cleo paraded that mouse around like it was the biggest, juiciest worm she had ever found. The other ladies were so jealous, chasing her around the yard in a futile attempt to snatch the critter. What a cluckin' kerfuffle! Remember kids, chickens aren't benign, docile creatures. They are killers. Possessive, blood-lusty killers. Approach with caution.

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I Am Thankful for Modern Appliances Because Sometimes Doing Everything by Hand Sucks

2011-11-24T23:08:00.001-08:00

I finally caved. After five years of hand washing dishes, I couldn't take it anymore. I've always found dishes to be a most unpleasant task and my recent bout with that nasty virus really sealed the deal since even the most basic of activities became virtually impossible due to crippling viral fatigue. Also the mountain of dirty pots and pans on the counter that never seemed to shrink had become a serious point of contention between me and the hubby. It was either a dishwasher or a divorce. The dishwasher seemed like the least complicated option.

Isn't it beautiful? There's a part of me that feels like a failure for not being able to do my washing up the old school way, but then after I thought about it for a while I realized that I would never consider washing all of my clothes by hand. So why shouldn't I feel the same about my plates and glassware? There's something about the dishwasher that seems so bourgeois, just another First World energy and resource suck. Hopefully, the fact that the solar panels will offset the energy use will assuage my guilt on some level.

Because honestly, who wants to spend an hour at the sink with this pile

when your robot can do it so much better?

Happy Thanksgiving!

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It's Nog Season

2011-11-15T18:19:00.001-08:00

I feel strange talking about the most glorious seasonal drink in a post directly following one on harvesting a melon, but such is life here in our temperate coastal town. The holidays are upon us and that can mean only one thing to me: eggnog. Fuck the turkey, the pies, the carb laden meals, the gifts, the holiday spirit... whatevs. I love me some frothy, creamy, rich eggnog. Without alcohol. Hey, when you're consuming a quart of this stuff every one to three days, the last thing you need is to be a drunk in addition to clogging the arteries.

And I'm not exaggerating about my consumption levels. But fortunately for my inner highways and byways, we're only getting about two eggs per day here on the farm. So that means I can only drink a quart every three days, at the most, with the recipe I use. Here it is for those looking to overindulge, but not be butt ass wasted this holiday season.

Eggnog (for your inner teetotaler)

6 eggs
3 cups full fat milk or half milk, half cream
8 Tbsp. sugar
1 Tbsp. good quality vanilla extract
1/4 tsp. nutmeg

First, whip the shit out of those eggs with an electric mixer. I don't make a cooked version of eggnog because... well... I'm lazy and I know that my eggs are fine raw. If you are buying yours from the supermarket, I'd go with cooking. Some recipes call for separating the eggs and beating the yolks and whites individually before combining again. Sounds like extra work to me so I don't do it. Next, beat the sugar into the fluffy eggs with the mixer. Add the milk. Since the milk I get from the goats is so high in butterfat, I don't bother with cream. The egg and dairy products here are plenty rich to make a thick enough beverage. Again, if you are shopping at the supermarket, you'll probably want to add some cream to get the right noggy consistency. Blend in the vanilla - don't skimp on quality here, we all know how nasty low grade vanilla extract can taste - and the nutmeg until fully combined.

Chill and enjoy! I add mine to coffee and the copious amounts of black tea that I drink. A small glass is also a lovely before bedtime treat. I usually let the daughter have a glass a day and lucky me, the husband will only have a taste now and again in his coffee. The rest is all mine. ALL mine.

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An Itty Bitty Melon

2011-11-04T12:59:00.000-07:00

Well it certainly wasn't big, but since it was starting to get a little soft on the vine, I thought I better harvest it. Actually, it may have been the smallest melon ever grown. It must have come from some random honeydew seed that I saved last summer from a melon that a farm sitter left at my house. It was sweet and delicious and we savored it like a devout Catholic would with the Sunday sacrament (I love religion solely for the awesome metaphors).

I don't know if I will attempt melons again next year. You never know. The first time I tried my hand at tomatoes, I came up empty handed and now I can grow them like weeds. Maybe, just maybe, that will happen with melons. Fingers crossed.

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Averting a Total Tomato Take-down

2011-10-31T11:04:00.000-07:00

You know those times when you just want to say "fuck it", throw in the towel, and call it a day? I'm in that space as we speak. After a grueling 10 days of battling one nasty virus in which I did not get out of my pajamas, brush my hair, do the dishes, or stay awake for longer than three hours at a time, I have emerged from the other side with a "to do" list that would make Martha Stewart cry. Aside from my home looking like what hurricane Rina had been predicted to do to the Mexican coastline, the farm is at an all-time low. The fall/winter garden hasn't been planted, the compost pile needs to be spread over the beds, the hives need to be harvested and put to bed for the winter, the animal pen needs to be mucked, the goats need their shots, Ethel needs to get pregnant but can't seem to get that done, the animal pen needs to be sprayed to control the urine odors, the rats and mice need to be evicted, the lice on the goats have to go, the plants in the hoop house should be disposed of and composted, loads of crap needs to go to the dump, every inch of everything needs to be cleaned.... Should I go on?

It's moments like these when I wonder "What the fuck am I doing?". What possessed me to think that spending all this time raising animals, growing food, mucking crap, and in general, adding about 101 additional chores to my list of things to do was even remotely a good idea when there is a grocery store right across the street from my home? Clearly, I am a little bit insane.

To add to my tale of woe, in the midst of my sickness something was eating my tomatoes. I'm thinking mice or rats. But then there was also a serious fruit fly infestation. Even the green tomatoes were being affected. And this is where the pity party had to end. There was no way that I was going to lose my crop of tomatoes that I had doted on for six months to insect or vermin. Fuck that! Virus or no virus, something had to be done.

Somewhere on the interwebz, I had seen a nifty trick that some folks do in Italy. They harvest the tomatoes green, but keep a good section of the vine to get them to ripen up off the plant. I harvested 17 pounds of greenies and set them out on the front porch to redden. They are doing fantastic. A few got mushy, but not many. The rest will be put into the crockpot for tomato jam, one of my favorite preserves.

I am slowly recovering, but am still not 100% and we are at day 17. This bug really likes to loiter. In the meantime, I am trying to prevent myself from relapsing by not overdoing it. So I am off to chug some elderberry juice and get ready for Halloween festivities.

Anyone out there overwhelmed by their decision to "do it all"? What do you do in these moments to push through and salvage your efforts?

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Green Eggs. Please Pass the Ham.

2011-10-03T22:40:00.000-07:00

Finally, a green egg! I am on my third Ameraucana, but this is my first ever green-shelled egg. Honestly, I never thought it would happen.

As many of you out there know, the Ameraucana is known for its green or blue eggshells. But did you know that Ameraucanas can lay all sorts of colors of eggs, including beige or pink? Yeah, I didn't either. Apparently, this is due to birds with the blue egg gene being crossed with standard breeds as the breed was being developed.

Ameraucanas are sometimes confused with Araucanas, which they are related to, or Easter Eggers, the breed by which the Ameraucana was developed in crossing them with Old World varieties. They are actually a distinct breed that must meet specific criteria laid out by the The American Poultry Association's American Standard of Perfection. Araucanas, originating in Chile where they were used by Quechua and Mapuche speaking tribes and coming to North America via the Falkland Islands where they had been traded by Argentinians, have large ear tufts and beards, virtually no comb, and no wattles whatsoever. The gene for the tufts is actually lethal in that if a pair who carry the tufted allele are bred together, one quarter of the offspring will die in the shell. Weird. The Ameraucana, on the other hand, does not carry the lethal gene. They do, however, have a muff (beard), which is much smaller then their Araucana cousins. Easter Eggers can have a variety of features and they carry the blue egg gene like their Ameraucana and Araucana relatives.

My first Ameraucana was a buff and never made it to laying, having died of Marek's at about 12 weeks. My second Ameraucana, Eggo, was white and she gave me pinkish eggs. I must admit, I was disappointed. At long last, my hen Cleopatra, whom I purchased at the feed store in late spring of this year, is laying little green eggs. I think we shall have to celebrate this blessed event with some ham. Isn't that what Dr. Seuss would do?

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I Did It! Where's My Prize?

2011-09-27T12:07:00.000-07:00

Holy cluckin' crap, I did it! I freakin' grew a melon! Sure, it's only one melon and it hasn't made it to harvest yet, but I'm sure as hell going to crow about it. For those of you who do not live in San Francisco, you may not fully comprehend the magnitude of this feat. Our summers are cold and foggy, creating abysmal conditions for the heat seeking melon.

How did I do it? With my ultra fabu hoop house, of course. That little tunnel of polypropylene genius has added enough heat factor to eke out what would otherwise only grow in more torrid environments. Like this delicata squash:

I only got one of these too, but could have grown more, I'm sure, if that damn powdery mildew hadn't been so prolific this year. Here is a glimpse of the aftermath on that blight.

The tomatoes are another matter. They are growing like weeds, having planted them in straight compost and given them a warm, windless area to thrive in. This plump beast is called Rose De Berne (I grew this as a shout out to my Swiss heritage), which I purchased from Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds. Never before have I grown a handful sized tomato. Cluckin' amazing!

And the tomato plants are still thriving. I can barely move around in the hoop house it is so thick with vines. The pungent scent of tomato foliage makes my heart swell every time I enter.

I was also able to get some summer squash, though it, too, was crippled by the mildew. Eh, next year.

Right now, I am babying my prized melon. Not sure what variety it is - in my exuberance I forgot to label things. I made a cheesecloth hammock in hopes that "my precious" will make it to the table.

One thing I realized about my hoop house was that once the plants began to reach maturity, overcrowding and damp conditions had become a serious problem. A few of the tomatoes have molded from being squished within the deep recesses of stalks and leaves. Sometimes less is more. I must remember that more often.

Any special growing techniques that you had to use this year to accommodate your unique climate?

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Itty Bitty at Eat Real

2011-09-21T20:28:00.000-07:00

This coming Saturday we will be at the Eat Real Festival with our goats, Lucy and Ethel. We will be there all day in the "Grow" section, so be sure to come over and say hello. I'll also be judging jams and preserves so be sure to enter your famous homemade goods. Categories include honey, homebrewing, infusions and liqueurs, pickles, and preserves. At 2:30 pm on Saturday, Ute and I will be giving a talk/demonstration on raising urban goats. That should be fun. But personally, I can't wait to gorge myself silly on all the scrumptious goodies from the food trucks and vendors. Here are the details:

Overview:
Part state fair, part block party, Eat Real Festival celebrates good freshdelicious food. With a focus on food craft, street food, handcrafted beers andlocal wines - all featuring sustainable local ingredients – Eat Real showcasesfood in all its different forms. But eating is only part of the fun - at EatReal, you learn how to make it and grow it! From cheese to kombucha, there aredozens of demonstrations that highlight a DIY food lifestyle. No cost forentry, all edible treats $5 or less.

Highlights:
• Food for $5 or less
• Cold craft beer
• 25 top food trucks
• 50 food vendors
• 30 craft food vendors
• Hands-on food making workshops including bread baking, cheese making, jammaking, pickling, backyard farming and more!
• Bands and DJs

When: Friday September 23^rd from 1:00 p.m. to 8 p.m.

Saturday September 24^th from 11:00 a.m. to 8 p.m.

Sunday September 25^th from 11:00 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Website: http://www.eatrealfest.com/event/Oakland/California/2011
Where: Jack London Square - Oakland, CA
Cost: Free entry!

An Open Letter to James McWilliams: On Hatching a Plan to Get the Real Inexpert Killers - Cats

2011-09-19T13:26:00.000-07:00

Dear James,

Boy was I surprised to see that little ol' me made it into one of your articles in the Atlantic. I wouldn't have even known about it if it weren't for someone leaving a comment on my blog. She was nice enough to post a link so I clicked over to see your article on backyard animal slaughter and I thought "Hot diggity damn, we must have taken down the hideous beast that is the industrial meat processing complex!" I mean why else would we be talking about a handful of "inexpert" urban farming enthusiasts, like myself, killing a few chickens and rabbits when professional chicken slaughtering facilities botch well over 1 billion kills per year. During the process of shipping poultry in cramped cages there are around 54 million per year that either die from being heated or frozen to death during transportation; then the poor cluckers are hung by chains where 900 million have their wings broken; the final phase includes dunking them in an electrocution bath, sending them assembly line to a rotary blade that slices their necks, and dipping them into scalding water to ease feather plucking during which time 180 million birds are either improperly electrocuted and/or sliced and then are essentially scalded alive. I'm the kind of gal that keeps up with what's going on in our food system so news as big as overthrowing this horrendous operation surely couldn't have escaped my notice. And after a Google search, I see that it hasn't happened. Well that's disappointing, thought not exactly surprising given Big Ag's strangle hold on government policy.

So why were you writing about me? I mean I'm flattered and all, but I've got exactly 990 well appreciated fans. Not much of a pulpit, I'd say.

Well I read on, but I didn't see my name anywhere. Damn dude, if you're going to give a girl press, you could at least give me my props. I got to a passage where the words sounded familiar and suddenly I was jolted back to that horrific day when I had to kill sweet Pearl, my incurably sick laying hen. Yeah, that was a bad day. Having never killed an animal before, a beginner so to speak, or "inexpert" as you like to put it, which I might say is a synonym for beginner, but then I'm no linguist - I didn't do such a graceful job. Thanks for the memories, buddy.

And then I thought, what the hell does fucking up ending a life that was already enduring "immense suffering" have to do with backyard slaughtering for food? 'Cause like Pearl was diseased and shit and looked really fucked up. No one was going to eat her. She was never intended for the proverbial chopping block either. She was just supposed to lay real nice eggs and have feathers on her feet which I thought was a really neat thing - to have feathers on your feet, that is. I mean I'd want to have feathers on my feet if I could grow them. Wouldn't you? It's not like I'm proud of the fact that I suffocated a chicken. I really thought this was evident and that the brutally detailed writing of the incident was like a warning to others to not do what I had so ineptly done. But since she had been slowly suffocating for days and days, gasping for air at 3-5 second intervals, I'm not sure that hastening her demise in the same vein was anymore of a tragic end.

Anyways, I made my way through the entire article and still I couldn't figure out what Pearl had to do with your argument. Actually, if you don't mind me asking, what was your point exactly? From what I could make out, you're saying that beginning farmers shouldn't be allowed to kill their animals because as beginners we would make a "bloody mess" so we should just leave it to the Big Ag pros to do the deed, no matter how ugly since it would be done at a "graceful distance". For reals? That's your argument? Like, did you get that off a crackhead on the street? I say this only because I can't think of anyone else who could look at the industrial slaughterhouse numbers and rationalize this. Even if we had every single man, woman, and child in the U.S. bungle one slaughter each this year, we would still have more than three times as many inhumane poultry deaths leaving it up to the pros. But unlike machines, humans have the capacity to learn from their mistakes. So wouldn't it be better if people took killing their meat into their own hands since over time there would be a lot less suffering involved?

I was even more boggled about your purpose with the incomplete Emerson quote about "graceful distance", which in full says "You have just dined, and however scrupulously the slaughterhouse is concealed in the graceful distance of miles, there is complicity." At this point, I had no idea what the fuck you were talking about anymore. Should we remain complicit? Or did you purposely leave off the rest of that quote so that the logical conclusion would be drawn: all meat eating is culpable in the kill? How does that serve the overall point of leaving the slaughtering up to the pros? Or are we also not supposed to go with the big guy 'cause we'd still be guilty? Are we subtly being told not to eat meat lest we commit that mortal sin against your personal ethics, veganisim, a position that you are never forthright about in your writings, but seem to consistently hint at? God, I love Wikipedia.

Aside from the fact that your argument has more holes in it than a block of Emmentaler (how are you able to keep a job at a major university espousing crap like this?), I was still stuck on the incident with Pearl and why it made it into the article. And I also wanted to know why the Atlantic used that bizarre picture of a four legged, wet hen being held inappropriately by the wings to talk about backyard animal slaughter (shit, you guys should have asked me; I've got a bunch of pics you could have purchased for like a bazillion dollars or something). So I contacted the Atlantic's research department to see if, indeed, your piece had actually been checked for accuracy:

Attention Fact Check Department and Editors of the Atlantic:

In your recent article, "The Locavore's Mistake: Deregulating Animal Slaughter" by James McWilliams, I see there is a quote from my blog and I'm curious as to why a mercy killing made it into the piece as it has nothing to do with the author's overall argument about backyard farmers killing animals for food. This should have been more than evident to any staff member who bothered to read the entire blog post. I know it's a tedious chore, but I would assume that a longstanding, illustrious magazine such as yours would go that extra mile in an effort to preserve good journalism.

I am also confused by two other issues in the article. 1. Why is Emerson only quoted in part? The entirety reads, "You have just dined, and however scrupulously the slaughterhouse is concealed in the graceful distance of miles, there is complicity." As far as I can tell, this would make no logical sense given the author's overall intent of arguing FOR a graceful distance. And 2. Why was a picture of a mutant, four-legged chicken used in association with backyard slaughter? How does this even remotely have anything to do with topic at hand? I expect this kind of journalistic sensationalism from trashy rags such as the National Enquirer, not a well reputed media outlet.

Thank you for addressing my questions. I look forward to your response.

Heidi Kooy, a.k.a. The Sadistic Chicken Suffocater

While we wait for the Atlantic to get back to me on that one, I think we, you and me James, should consider who the real menaces are when it comes to inhumane deaths: Cats. Those little bastards are some cold-hearted motherfuckers, willfully shredding birds without a care as to how they get the job done. And they are fucking wasteful. Look at what they did to my poor bird, Lilyana:

I know. Totally fucked up. There's still a lot of meat left on her. That slimy long thing below her body is actually her trachea. At first I thought the cat had decapitated her, but in fact, it had just mangled the head beyond recognition.

We could end this immeasurable cruelty, James. I'm telling you, these cats have to go. There are too many of them and they are killing hundreds of millions of songbirds and other avian species each year, according to our government. If we could round them all up, we could send them off to the industrial poultry slaughtering facilities. I know a few of those crazy cat ladies would be totally pissed off, and I'm sure my mom wouldn't take it all that well since she loves cats, but it wouldn't really be that big of a deal 'cause it would all be done at a "graceful distance". We could rename the slaughtering facilities "Causchwitz". Catchy, isn't it? Though I would like to change the method of killing for the kitties and go with something a little less bloody, like gas chambers. Once all these blasted cats are gone, then we won't have to worry about all the gruesome deaths of the poor, defenseless birds. Well, I guess there would still be raccoons and opossums... while we're at it, we could take out those guys too!

Holy shit, James! Did you see how easy that was? We went from taking an unpleasant incident to Here Kitty Kitty Goebbels in only a few sentences. You see, that's what happens when we extrapolate a Final Solution from a small number of anecdotes. One minute you're trying to end suffering and the next you're creating mini gas chambers for felines. Just goes to show you how quickly things can get out of hand.

So the next time you find yourself writing an article, think about the larger picture first. Am I trying to end cruel practices or am I promoting a Causchwitz? Our theories can have unintended consequences, results that could be more gruesome than what we had imagined.

And I promise you that I won't go ahead with my cat gas chamber idea, though I will probably threaten my own cat, Luna, with Causchwitz since she has a horrible propensity to shit in the bathtub when she gets pissed off and I think that is nothing but rude and deserving of terrorizing, idle threats.

But I AM going to go ahead and kill my rooster. He's been crowing at midnight and that's unacceptable behavior on this farm. Don't worry, his death will be swift. I've learned much since my first time. You are more than welcome to come and help out if you are at all concerned that I might fuck up again.

Warmest Regards,
Heidi Kooy

P.S. By the way, the next time you put me in one of your articles, I would really appreciate it if you actually used my name, because when people Google "sadistic chicken suffocater", you can bet your sweet ass that I want to come up top of the list on that one. There's a resume I can build with that title. I'm just sure of it.

Our 15 Minutes... Er, Four and a Half

2011-09-14T09:53:00.000-07:00

No, we did not grow those peppers. Sheesh, I wish!

Not Your Typical American Neighborhood

2011-09-12T21:26:00.000-07:00

That's Sir Crows A Lot in the foreground. I've been meaning to "do him" as I've been afraid of annoying the neighbors. But then a funny thing happened on the way to the chopping block. I asked my Guatemalan neighbor, Isela, if my rooster had been bothering her. Without a second of hesitation she replied, "Of course not!" When I told her not to worry - that I was planning on taking him out soon, she cried "Nooooooooooooooh! I loooohve it. The sound is so peaceful." I don't believe I've ever heard of a rooster crow being described as such, but then what a relief to know that one of my most uptight neighbors was actually enjoying his cock-a-doodle-doos.

My plans hadn't changed though. Sir Crows A Lot, a.k.a. Fried, still had a date with the reaper. That was until I bumped into another neighbor, Vak, from the Philippines. He asked me if I still had my rooster and I assured him that that wouldn't be the case for much longer. When he queried what I meant by that, I made a slicing motion across the throat, which evidently translates in all cultures. With a far away, misty look in his eyes he replied, "Oh no! I love that sound. It reminds me of home."

In any other big city neighborhood, a rooster would be an irritation at best, if not an outrage. But not in my barrio, mixed with a third Asians from China, the Philippines, and Vietnam; a third Latinos from Central and South America; and a final third from a potpourri of places, most likely foreign. Here my rooster stands for something that American urban areas lack: a pastoral, homey feeling that one usually only finds in more remote places. His croons soothe the frazzled nerves of congestion weary souls longing for a bit of the country in their fast-paced, traffic-jammed, mass transit cramped, hectic lives. He brings a bit of tranquility and beauty in his sharp cries. Ironic, for sure, but no less invaluable or charming.

As far as rooster machismo goes, he's a pretty good guy. He doesn't mount the ladies with extreme force and no hen is missing back feathers, a serious issue with a lot of cocks. However, he could stand to be more vigilant as far as predators are concerned (there was an incident with a stray cat last week, which I will relate in a future post) and he doesn't serve much purpose for us since we aren't trying to breed our ladies. Still, I'm thinking I might keep him around until someone complains.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Inspirations from the Big and Little Screens: Grow

2011-09-06T20:25:00.000-07:00

Whole Foods has been doing a series called "Grow" on their Facebook "Thrive" page about urban farmers. Today my friends Tom and Rachel of Dog Island Farm were featured on their Year without Groceries. Check it out:

A few weeks ago they premiered an episode featuring another one of my awesome urban farmer friends, Esperanza Pallana of Pluck and Feather.

Guess who will be featured next? Stay tuned...

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

2011-09-01T13:32:00.000-07:00

Finally, an answer to the age old question.

Aunt Ella's Cucumber Chip Pickles

2011-08-22T21:59:00.000-07:00

I'm pleased to say that I have been able to squeeze out a few jars of pickles from my hoop house cucumbers. Having never successfully grown cukes in San Francisco, I am beside myself with glee that I have put up a whole four jars of pickles. There should be plenty more to come if the powdery mildew stays at bay.

Every year, my great aunt Ella would make thickly sliced sweet pickles for her husband Walter, brother to my grandfather and fellow dairy farming Swiss immigrant. Apparently, uncle Walter couldn't live without them. My mother would occasionally spend a week with Ella and Walter during the summer. On one of her visits, she learned to make these relish tray delights.

Aunt Ella's Cucumber Chip Pickles

Put 12-15 large, whole cucumbers in a crock. Pour boiling water over them every day for three days. Drain each day before adding new batch of boiling water.

On the fourth day, slice cucumbers into 1/2" thick slices and pour over them a boiling syrup made of

8 cups sugar
4 cups cider vinegar
5 tsp. salt
2 Tbsp. pickling spices

Let stand two days. Drain syrup and bring to a boil. Pack jars with cucumber slices and pour boiling syrup over cukes. Process in water bath for 15 minutes.

I know the five day thing sounds like a chore, but these pickles are really very simple to make. Don't let the lengthy soaking time dissuade you from trying to whip up a batch. What I love most about these pickles is that they remain crunchy due to the thick slices. They are super tasty too, but then I've always been a sucker for a sweet pickle.

A few years back, my mother made a book for me and my siblings with all of my grandmother's favorite recipes. The cucumber chip pickle was among them. Not only does the recipe book catalog the things my grammy liked to cook, it also contains little remembrances and thoughts that my mother included. I especially like what my mother had to say after Aunt Ella's pickle recipe.

There is really nothing that compares to a homemade pickle. I think it is a lost art. Most of us are too busy to garden, much less can or preserve the produce. I stopped in 1978 or 1979 - just got too busy with the activities of kids. I have started to make the lime sweets again - out of desperation to make good potato salad, egg salad, etc.

I love you mom. Thank you for all that you've passed on to me, particularly the ability to make a decent pickle.

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Shaping Up the Ship: Household Chores

2011-08-18T21:44:00.000-07:00

Sorry about the absence of postings. I was on vacation exploring my great state and when I returned I needed to re-domestify myself and get my daughter ready for school. So I guess what I'm saying is that I wanted to write, but have been busy.

Since my return, I've been trying to find ways to get the house and farm in order. I've heard a lot of fellow homesteaders comment recently that their homes go to pot, while their gardens look gorgeous and well maintained. My husband was raised in a military family so there is no way for me to run too sloppy of a ship. Not that I don't at times. Those who know me know that I am a clutter bug of the highest order - not quite on par with Hoarders, but definitely attached to my many possessions that often find themselves scattered and piled in every free corner. Let's just say that when things get that out of hand, marital relations become strained.

In order to keep my marriage harmonious, I am focusing on getting the things that need the most maintenance and organization on track: the house, the farm, and the finances. My first project is developing a system of chores for the living areas of the home. When the house is tidy, folks around here seem to be in calmer moods. I like that.

Unfortunately, I'm not the type of gal that looks around and says "Wow, that's messy/dirty. I better clean it up." No, I'm more like a 10 year old who needs the chores listed on a giant wall chart big enough to smack you in the face when you walk by. I also work well with pretty things. We all have our shortcomings in this world. I suppose I'm lucky enough to know what mine are.

So that's what I did. I made an enormous, colorful, felt wall hanging for the kitchen door. There's no way I can NOT see this thing.

I started by listing all of the tasks that need to get done around the house and dividing them into two lists, things that need to get done everyday and things that need to get done once a week. I then assigned chores to specific days based on what my weekly schedule is like. All of the tasks were written out in various decorative fonts, printed on colored paper - each day having a different color, and then laminated. I cut the tasks out, attached velcro to the backs of the laminated cut outs, and the other half of the velcro to the felt wall hanging. I made a "done" pocket that is safety pinned to the bottom of the chart so that when a chore is completed for the day or week, you can put it in the pocket. I figured this would be something that maybe my daughter might even like doing. There's nothing more satisfying than physically removing something from your to do list and making it disappear. Even if it is only temporary.

I kind of feel like Martha Stewart on speed with this project. It's a bit over the top. But in case any of you are interested in making your own chore chart like this and joining me in being a cracked out housewife, I'll share my task list and a few tips that I've learned through the process.

Tips

Don't try to do too many things in one day. You'll never do it and feel like a failure when you see half your tasks still hanging on the wall.
Be flexible. If your chart isn't working out with your schedule, rearrange the tasks so that you can fit them into your day.
Perfectionism is for the birds. Sometimes you won't get stuff done. Do it tomorrow or next week. No one will know anyway, as your house is probably pretty tidy now that you're cleaning on a regular basis.
Spend only 5-10 minutes on a task. Taking 30 minutes to mop your floor will only mean that you won't do it again for a very, very long time.
When gluing velcro to felt, don't use a glue gun. I know it sounds like a good idea, but that stuff peels off both the velcro and the lamination. I found this out the hard way. Then I switched to GemTac, a flexible glue with a strong bond. So far it is working. You could also sew the velcro on, which would probably be the most sturdy.

My Master Chore List

Everyday:

1 load of laundry
make beds
wipe toilet and bathroom sink
wash dishes and kitchen sink
wipe stove and dining table
sweep floors
pick up before bed

Monday:

change sheets
clean bedside tables
clean tops of dressers
mop bedroom floor
bills
grocery shop

Tuesday:

put videos away
dust living room
mop living room and hall
clean car
sweep front steps

Wednesday:

scrub toilet
clean mirrors in bathroom
clean bathroom sink and tub
scrub bathroom floor
post office

Thursday:

clean and sort desk area
clean dining chairs
declutter and clean dining table
clean purse
pick up meat and vegetable CSA

Friday:

clean stove
wipe down all kitchen counters
mop kitchen and dining floor
library

Saturday:

A chore-free day!!!!

Sunday:

take out trash/compost/recycling
clean out refrigerator
empty bathroom trash
clean cat box area
toss old fruit and veggies in bowls on buffet and wipe down

So far, this program is keeping our living spaces fairly neat and tidy. I'm far from being a freak about it. And of course, I don't do all of the chores everyday. Whatever. No one's perfect, right? Sometimes other members of the family pitch in. Sometimes things just don't get done. I'm hoping the chart will inspire more participation from everyone if they see tasks need doing. Any of you out there have tips for staying on top of the household duties? Stay tuned for parts two and three where I will discuss organizing farm duties and finances.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Holy Swarms!

2011-07-29T23:23:00.000-07:00

Or maybe a more appropriate title would be "Why You Should Maintain Your Hives So That You Don't Scare the Crap Out of Your Neighbors".

It was a morning like any other morning. I was milking the goat while the hustle and bustle on Mission street droned in the background. I had forgotten my strip cup inside the house and ran upstairs to retrieve it. When I returned to my milking duties, there was something off. The air felt different. Crowded. Almost electric.

I looked out across the yard and noticed a lot of winged creatures zipping madly about. They seemed to be multiplying with my every breath until I suddenly realized that the sky above me was buzzing. Loudly. Great balls of bees, this was a swarm!

It looked like a goddamned plague. I noticed my neighbors were gazing out their windows in horror. Or awe. It was difficult to tell. Why no one was at work this morning can only be a testament to my shit luck around these sorts of things.

I whipped my phone out of my pocket like a gun from a holster and dialed my friend Esperanza. I held the phone up into the cloud of bees. The buzzing roar was so loud that she could hear it on the other end. "Don't worry," she assured me, "they'll land somewhere in a big clump in less than an hour. Hopefully on your property so you can capture them."

Meanwhile, my neighbors continued with their faces pressed to the glass in bewilderment. I sidled up to the window to perform some damage control. In atrocious broken Spanish I explained, "No preoccupada. En un hora, calma. Las abejas necesitan una nueva casa. Pero mira, no pica." I ran to the center of the swarm to demonstrate that the bees wouldn't attack. The muchachos at the window were either impressed or concerned that I was insane.

Gradually, the bees found a spot on the loquat tree to regroup. I watched as the ball grew and grew, and breathed a sigh of relief that the airborne chaos was subsiding. To stand amidst a swarm, the air vibrating with activity, is as exhilarating as it is unsettling. I welcomed the temporary calm.

Esperanza warned me that time was of the essence. The bees might hang on the tree for a couple hours or a couple days. This was a bee emergency. I didn't want to lose half my hive, but of course I didn't have any extra housing on hand. I needed a bee house stat. But where was I going to get a new deep and frames? Immediately?

One of my interns, Niki, had just told me the day before that Her Majesty's Secret Beekeeper had reopened in the Mission, a mere two miles from my house. I jumped in the car and tore off to shop. They were just opening when I arrived. I met the shopkeepr, Brian, a calm and relaxed fellow who looked as though he didn't quite know what to do with a woman who had worked herself up into such a dither about a routine bee swarm . But how incredibly helpful was he? He advised me to capture the swarm in a cardboard box and then move them to their more permanent location. He also apprised me of many other beekeeping bits and bobs that I should keep in mind while maintaining hives in a city. I left the shop promising that I would join the local beekeepers association, since clearly I needed to get a grip on some of the basics.

I raced home, fearing that my ladies may have abandoned my property for greener pastures. But they were still there, in the same spot where I left them.

Now came the tricky part: getting the swarm in the box. I called my friend Kitty. She had been capturing swarms all summer. She'd have some good advice as to how to maneuver this delicate operation. The instructions were simple: bang the branch really hard so that the entire clump falls into the box in one go. Let them settle. Then move them to their new hive by turning the box upside down and whacking the bottom of it forcefully with a stick.

The seemingly simple somehow always turns into a major something when I'm around. I suited up with my veil, gloves, and long sleeves and set up a ladder under the branch. I grabbed a sturdy stick and held my breath as I swung. Plop. Shit, only a quarter of the bees hit the box. I whacked again. OK, I got another quarter of the ball, but now the bees were agitated. I struck the branch again, this time cracking it. Finally, I just ripped the branch off and shook it really hard until most of the bees appeared to be safely ensconced in the cardboard. With the flurry of activity, I had unwittingly created a mini swarm. A really pissed off one at that. I escaped with only a couple shrieks from a sting and a couple stragglers finding their way inside my veil.

But I wasn't done yet. The husband who had heard my yelps stood by the back door to brush me off with a rainbow colored duster. The angry bees trying to sting me through my veil and gloves needed to join the rest of their cadre. It felt good to have someone on my side in this precarious situation.

The next step was to assemble the deep and allow the bees to re-coalesce. I needed a break too. But only a short one as I was anxious to finish this job.

I returned to the humming box after I had set up the hive in it's permanent spot. This part should go smoothly, right? I brought the box over to the deep, turned it upside down, and gave it a good thumping. I was told that I didn't necessarily need to have the bottom board in place to do this. Bad idea. After the whacking, the bees dropped straight through the hive, landed on the ground, and then swirled back up into the air. Great. Another swarm. This time I wasn't as lucky, getting a sting on the inside of my upper thigh. Not quite THERE, but a little too close for comfort.

Half of the bees eventually settled on the frames inside the hive, while the other half clung to the cinder block holding up the deep. I feared that the queen was in the clump on the cinder block. But the ladies were livid at this point so I decided to leave them alone for a day before installing the bottom board. Messing with angry bees is about as smart as picking up a hissing cat. A cooling off period seemed in order.

The next day I returned with bottom board in hand to complete the job. But how was I going to do that without crushing all those bees on the cinder block? What ensued was a chaotic operation in my amateur hands. Smashing occurred. Bees died.Clumps of bees who refused to leave their cinder block for the nice new frames in the hive were prodded with the rainbow duster creating yet more swarming. I felt like a clumsy, inept oaf wearing a ridiculous hat.

In the end, everything turned out fine. All of the bees found the entrance to the hive and settled in nicely. Though I wish that I would have gotten some video footage of it. Because damn, I was one bad ass motherfucker wrangling those bees.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

I Grew This

2011-07-27T21:52:00.000-07:00

In San Francisco. In one of the windiest neighborhoods in the city. Cucumbers are notorious for despising the wind. This is nothing short of miraculous.

My secret? That kick ass hoop house I built. San Franciscans and all you other folks enduring cold, windy summers, you gotta get one.

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Stone Fruit Hotchpotch

2011-07-27T16:30:00.000-07:00

What did I do with all of those plums? A lot. There were a lot of plums.

I raw packed a few of the good ones.

And then whipped up a double batch of just plain plum jam using a 2 pounds of fruit to 3 cups of sugar ratio. It turned out pretty good, but I overcooked it a bit and now have a very firm jam. This is clearly a problem for me.

I moved on to some plum sauces. I did an Asian plum sauce based on this recipe from Oregon State University. I swapped the canned chiles for a fresh jalapeno and pasilla chile. The result was a standard plum sauce flavor that I am pleased with and am sure will go nicely with some pork or chicken.

I also decided to test out this chipotle plum sauce recipe. Oh good god is it good! I didn't use the chipotle seasoning that was called for, but instead substituted a freshly grated dried chipotle as that's what I had lying around. I also used regular garlic powder rather than roasted. The overall product is divine with just enough kick to make it interesting. I'm not a huge fan of super spicy so this suited me perfectly. I think I will be enjoying it on a cracker with some cream cheese.

Even after all that, I still had plums leftover. I also had some other stone fruits that were quickly becoming borderline edible. So I whipped up a jam with the mishmash of leftover fruits.

I cut up several apricots, peaches, and nectarines that had seen better days.

I then added a bunch of plum sauce. I don't pit my plums individually, but rather cook them down first, pull out the pits, and run them through a food mill to get rid of the skins. Works for me.

I know this picture looks ugly. The plum puree had oxidized a bit, but the brown color wouldn't affect the finished product with so many fruits.

Next came the cherries. That looks somewhat better.

I weighed out my fruit and then added 3/4 of that weight in sugar. Though many recipes recommend a 1 to 1 ratio, I find that really sweet fruit doesn't need that much sugar.

Next I cooked it down until it reached the jelling point. Again, I carmelized the sugars a bit and the jam turned out more firm than I would care for, but the taste is wonderful. Much like the mixed fruit jams you can buy at the store, but like way way better 'cause I made it myself with more flavorful fruits.

Winging it in jam making can be intimidating when you are first starting out. The key is getting the right ratio of fruit to sugar. So far with my one pound of fruit to 3/4 pound of sugar has served me well. Keep this in mind the next time you want to go out on a limb and experiment with a wacky fruit combo.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Eating Meat and Harvesting Hens

2011-07-20T18:43:00.000-07:00

During my 10 year stint as a vegetarian, I believed that one shouldn't eat meat unless they could kill it themselves. Being a sensitive kind of gal, I thought that by avoiding flesh I had neatly solved the "eating sentient creatures" dilemma. That is until I found out what happens to unwanted male offspring of dairy animals and hens that don't lay eggs anymore. Without even meaning to and even as a non-meat eater, I was participating in the death of our feathered and furry friends.

So why didn't I become a vegan? Well that would mean giving up cheese. Maybe when hell freezes over that would happen as I come from a long line of Swiss dairy farmers and Dutch cheese eaters. We are cheese people, having subsisted off the stuff for centuries. My body is genetically conditioned to thrive on dairy products.

But aside from my heritage, veganism never appealed to me. It seemed too extreme and more than a little unnatural (sorry vegan friends). Humans and our Australopithecus ancestors have been omnivores for at least a couple million years. Our place in the food chain, though it has evolved from prey to predator over millions of years, has secured who we are today in the order of things. Scientists all agree that Homo Sapiens evolved into the cranium gigantors that we are today because of meat eating.

As we have moved away from slaughtering our own food in the last century, we as a culture have removed ourselves from facing the inescapable fate of all living creatures. Everything dies. It's not evil or bad. It just is. Death, by its very nature, is final and can be very violent. We need to own this instead of chasing our tails trying to avoid the inevitable. In the bigger picture, we should all just be glad that we don't live in the world of microorganisms because that is some fucked up, war zone type shit that is going on there.

Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against veganism. In a society of endless choices, veganism is one of our many options as to how we can eat in this world. Yay for diversity, I say. My problem is with vegangelicals (I just heard this word today and had to use it); those who are intolerant of any other diet other than a vegan one. I'm sorry, but that's just nuts. Who made you, vegangelical, the decider? Why do you have to be like a power-inebriated George W. waving your "I know what's best for the world" guns in the air?

Seriously, what's wrong with conscious meat eating? I'm against factory farming as much as the next vegan. I'm just not against meat per se. Vegans like to claim that meat eating is environmentally unsound and I won't argue with part of that premiss. Americans eat waaaaaay too much factory farmed, plastic wrapped, monoculture-subsidized everything. But my pastured, locally raised beef where the entire animal is consumed is probably of less environmental consequence than your Creamy Sheese imported from Scotland. Just sayin'.

But I don't really want to enter into an argument about whose lifestyle is "better". I'd rather be an advocate for thoughtful meat consumption because I'm going to continue to choose to eat meat regardless of vegangelical proselytizing. My hope is that by raising our own animal products here at Itty Bitty that we can encourage other meat eaters to think more about where their meat comes from, how it was raised, what it was fed, how it was killed, etc. and come to make better choices based on this knowledge.

On that note, I'd like to share my experience from this past weekend of facing the realities of meat eating (WARNING: graphic photos to follow). The awesome folks over at Dog Island invited me to learn the ins and outs of chicken harvesting. Considering the botched job I did with my first kill, I felt the need to get a grip on how to do this with as little suffering as possible.

Folks have a lot of different ways to take out a chicken. Some take the hens by the head and whip them around like a lasso, breaking the neck. Others just twist and pull. Some sever the head, while others hang the bird upside down in a killing cone and cut the jugular. The French snip the vein under the tongue, which I hear makes the bird pass out immediately. We used two methods: the chopping block and the cone. I think I preferred the chopping block as it seemed more instantaneous. The cutting of the jugular left the animal a little too alert for a little too long for my taste. We used a noose around the neck with one person holding the string and the other person doing the deed. Here's a vague picture of the setup.

After the hen was dispatched, we dunked her into a pot of boiling water for 45 seconds. This helps with the removal of the feathers by loosening them. If you leave the bird in too long though, the skin will tear.

Next came the plucking. The bird was hung upside down over a trash bin to make the job clean and easy.

Even with the scalding, it's still hard to get all the feathers. Also chickens have hairs under their feathers. We took care of those with a blow torch.

Next we severed the feet from the rest of the leg at the joint.

Then it was time to deal with the insides. The tricky part is slicing the skin near the cloaca without cutting into the intestines. I highly recommend having a pro illustrate the proper way to do this as it is something difficult to convey in words and pictures.

After a large enough incision is made, you have to stick your hand up into the body cavity and pull everything out in one go. This can be difficult if you have a big hand. If you are one of the more well endowed in this area, you might want to consider finding a small handed friend. I have slender, but long hands for a lady and even I bruised my knuckles against the rib cage. That big thing in the upper right corner is the gizzard.

With the innards out, you still need to scrape out the lungs and get the heart. The lungs are a trippy fluorescent pink and difficult to pull out.

Once you get the back end cleared, you need to address the crop and trachea, which can only be taken out through the top of the bird. The crop is squishy and easy to puncture. Peeling it out rather than pulling gets the job done with less trouble. The trachea looks like a snorkel tube.

After the evisceration, we put the bodies in ice water where they would rest for a day before being stored in the freezer. This lets the body go through rigor mortis until it eventually relaxes within 24-48 hours.

This process certainly wasn't easy, but it has given me greater appreciation for the food I eat and has furthered me along my path of more conscientious meat consumption.

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A Friend in Cheese Is a Friend Indeed

2011-07-19T16:13:00.000-07:00

This is my husband's rockin' childhood friend, Tabitha.

She is a master chef. Chef friends are the best 'cause they have impeccable taste in food and they know how to cook it. I get all my best kitchen tips from them.

Tabitha runs a jam company, Friend in Cheeses. She also makes cheese. Her business tag line reads "Dare to pair 'cause it pays to play." Hell yeah, it does, baby! With ambrosial flavors like Forbidden Fruit Marmalade, Lavender Plum Jelly, and Patzo (a strawberry, balsamic, and black pepper preserve given the Italian name (pazzo) for "insane"), a heaping spoonful of any of her creations on top of a chevre smothered cracker is divine, indeed.

Deep in the heart of the Santa Cruz mountains, Tabitha lives on a small vineyard

where she raises veggies and a flock of hens with names like Aunt Sponge, Aunt Spiker, and Oprah.

The chickens live in a converted plastic playhouse.

Tabitha has loads of cool stuff laying around. I'm super jealous of this collection of pots for the succulents.

Gotta love the juxtaposition of these objets d'art.

Tabitha even has a dinner bell.

I want a dinner bell!

Last week, Tabitha invited me to go gleaning with her. That's how she gets most of the fruit for her jams. I love how her product is made from stuff that would otherwise be wasted and left to rot. What a great business plan: get free goods that no one wants and make something delish out of it.

Well last week we hit the mother load. A friend of a friend connected Tabitha to a woman whose golden plum tree had a major freak out this season. Honestly, I don't believe I've ever seen anything like it.

The limbs of the poor plumb were cracking under the immense weight. The fruit was gorgeous,

dripping like grapes.

Photo courtesy of Tabitha

Pure plum porn.

Photo courtesy of Tabitha

Between the two of us, we probably harvested around 100 pounds of fruit. And that was gathering only about a quarter to a third of the pickings.

This tree was so enorm that it had 9 foot suckers growing off of a tap root. I snagged one.

Photo courtesy of Tabitha

Then there was that figuring out how to get it home thing... in a convertible. This is when I found out Tabitha is as much of a MacGyver as I am. How could she not be? She scores free fruit! Tabitha suggested wrapping my baby in saran wrap. Voila!

We were ready to roll.

Then it was off to lunch at Tabitha's friends restaurant, Smoqe BBQ. If you find yourself in the area, you gotta go, if only for the beef brisket fries: sweet potato or regular fries coated in mac and cheese sauce and topped with barbecued beef brisket. Holy crap, that shit is good. We also had oysters.

And a bubbling tray of farm cheese. So good.

Told you. Chefs know where to find the best eats.

As a side note, I'm not sure if that sucker will survive. I don't think it is a grafted tree, which means the sucker will produce like the mother (on grafted trees, suckers don't taste like the host). In fact it was already bearing fruit when I ripped it from the ground. Right now it is marinating in a bucket of water seasoned with chicken crap and rooting hormone. Keeping my fingers crossed on this one 'cause them was some tasty plums.

Funky Skin Update

2011-07-12T15:52:00.000-07:00

One of the girls that comes every week to learn farm stuff, Erika, helped me a couple weeks ago wrangle Ethel so that I could take care of the funky skin thing. With a toothbrush, I massaged in a concoction of coconut oil with lavender and tee tree essential oils. All three have anti-fungal and anti-bacterial properties. Worked like a mother fuckin' charm, I tell ya. Her skin is back to normal. No crust of any sort hanging about now. Take that, goat cradle crap!

'Cause I'm convinced that's what it was. Looked exactly like the stuff that my daughter had from infancy well into early childhood. I loved to pick at it too, much to my daughter's chagrin. Usually I'd wait until she fell asleep so that I could have a pick-fest, though she usually roused and brushed away my hands. Sometimes she would talk in her sleep and tell me to "cut it out".

No such luck for dear Ethel. We had her hog tied and on her back for a good 30 minutes. Some of it was real stubborn and I had to get it off with my fingernails. So gross! I also took out the cheesy stuff under her tail, which I think is related to the crusties. Now that was REALLY gross as there were gobs of smegma up in there. Ew, ew, ew!

Well she is all cleaned up now so I'm back to fretting about whether or not she is pregnant. She's about 7 weeks away from her due date and not growing. By this time, she should be fat. And her chichis aren't getting any puffier. I will be devastated if I don't have goat babies by the beginning of September.

How to Salvage a Botched Batch of Bread

2011-07-11T14:25:00.000-07:00

I've been attempting to make no-knead sourdough bread with minimal to no success. For some reason, my dough is not rising properly. The mixture gets nice and bubbly, smells sour, but turns to soup by the end of the 18 hour rising time. After investing a couple pounds of flour and two days of oversight (it takes a day to get the sourdough starter active), I refused to let the whole batch go to waste. I turned that gloppy mess into a passable loaf and thought I would share my mad MacGyver skills with you all.

I started off with this recipe, which instructed me not to mess with any of the procedures. So I didn't, though that aided me in no tangible way. When I got to the part where you fold the dough over itself three times, I couldn't see the point as the gluten strands were obviously in liquid form now. How would I ever get the flubber back into the bowl for the second rise if all I had was a runny glue on my hands?

I could already tell that if I baked the dough as is, I would most assuredly produce the flattest ciabatta known to man. I quick grabbed whatever flour I had available, whole wheat bread flour, and started adding it along with about a teaspoon of commercial baker's yeast. I mixed in the flour until I had a soft smooth dough that wasn't sticky and yet wasn't too firm. The dough sat for a couple hours on top of the oven and developed somewhat of a rise. It didn't quite double, but definitely poofed up. I'll probably add more yeast if this happens again. I dumped the dough into a preheated Dutch oven according to the original instructions, baked it covered for 30 minutes, and then uncovered for another 15.

The final product was on the flat side, but had a great crispy crust and moist, holey crumb. Tasted great too, even if it was a tad heavy and dense. So never fear if you fuck up your bread. As I have found out, there is always a second chance for redemption.

Itty Bitty Beets

2011-07-08T12:50:00.000-07:00

I have had many gardening failures. Usually I can figure out what has gone wrong: poor placement, planted too early or too late, not enough water, too much water, soil issues, etc. I learn from my mistakes and go on to produce the crop successfully, adjusting whatever needs to be adjusted. Occasionally, I will give up on a particularly problematic crop, especially if it is not well suited to our cool Bay Area climate. However, I am stumped by my lack of success with beets.

For some reason, my beets do not want to produce nice large bulbs. The seedlings languish in the ground for months, producing a few leaves but no round root. Eventually, the roots will begin to bulb up, but by that time, they are woody and still small. Btw, woody beets are nasty.

I've read that beets like consistent watering. Check. I've got my drip system in place and this year produced an amazing spring crop of carrots, whom also love consistent water, grown right next to the the Goldens, Chioggas, and Ruby Queens.

Beets don't like the heat. Um, yeah... that's certainly not a problem around here.

Beets like acidic soil, around 6.5-7 pH. I'm not sure what the acidity of my soil is so this may be the culprit. However, beets are said to be "easy to grow" so I'm doubting that they are that picky.

I know I'm the one that is usually dispensing advice on this blog, but today I am putting the question out to you, dear readers. What do you think is going wrong with my beet crops? Do any of you have some fool-proof tips for the beetroot challenged? I'm trying to get a handle on this before I put in my fall crops this next week. (Thanks to Rachel over at Dog Island for reminding me that it's time. I don't know what I would do without you!)

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I'm Back

2011-07-07T14:36:00.000-07:00

You didn't even know I was gone, huh? Thought I was ignoring you?. No, mes amies, I was off on far flung adventures helping my sister move her brood of three children from Chicago to Dallas. I was hoping to catch you all up on some farm tours that I went on last month, but the road trip, which included my cousin's wedding in Austin, went by faster than a Texas highway patrol car in hot pursuit.

I wish I could tell of you about all the fabulous urban farms that I visited and the amazing local foods that I found on my journey through Illinois, Missouri, Tennessee, Arkansas, and Texas; but unfortunately, I didn't even have time to visit Graceland! I did, however, get to partake in a teensy weensy bit of Austin's hipster food scene. That town is like a giant trailer park of awesome food trucks! And an oasis in my otherwise food desert of a trip.

Oh, the crap that people eat in this country. It's unbelievable. My greatest disappointment was in Little Rock when I attempted to buy some locally produced jams only to notice right before purchasing that they contained high fructose corn syrup, dyes, and preservatives. I put those right back on the shelf, yes I did. Though I wish I could have seen the downtown farmers' market as it looked like it might be a happening spot on a Saturday morning.

But Austin, oh glorious Austin with your food trucks littering every corner of 1st and Congress. Finding a decent, cheap meal was as easy as catching fish in a stocked pond. My favorite spot was Torchy's Tacos, where I became acquainted with the fried avocado taco. De-fucking-licious, I tell you!

The rest of my trip was sprinkled with sub-par Mexican food joints and average sandwich shops like Schlotzky's, which I think gave me the schlitzkys, if you know what I'm saying. I can't tell you how grateful I was to arrive at SFO's Terminal 2 with its focus on sustainable foods and energy conservation, if only to remind myself why I adore living in the Bay Area food Garden of Eden. If you live in San Francisco or plan on visiting, try to fly out of or into Terminal 2 (Virgin and American use T2). It must be the only airport where entire restaurants and shops are dedicated to organic and locally produced food. God, it's good to be Home.

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Apricotastic

2011-06-27T23:44:00.000-07:00

By far, apricot preserves are my absolute favorite. As I dip my spoon into each luscious jar, it's like eating silky globs of sunshine. I think I've mentioned before that I'm not much of a fan of the apricot in its raw state. Too mealy. But boy, oh boy, when it's cooked up and smushed up with heaps and heaps of sugar, heaven awaits on the tip of every bite.

Some folks use pectin in their apricot jam and I can't quite figure out why, unless they're looking for something more akin to Jello. One of the greatest attributes of the apricot is that it gets to the perfect consistency without any other ingredients aside from sugar. And the fact that the apricot is a breeze to pit makes this fruit all the more appealing for putting up.

As I mentioned in my last post, I am branching out into adventurous tongue-tickling territories. To mess with my most beloved took some bravery on my part. But I pressed forth, exploring worlds yet unknown to my palate. I am more than ecstatic with the results as I believe I may have perfected perfection with this round of jamming.

Apricot Tangelo Jam

This jam turned out much like my standard apricot jam in which I usually use an orange. I substituted a tangelo, because it was what I had on hand, without out any significant alteration to the flavor.

2.5 lbs. apricots
3 cups sugar
Juice and zest of 1 tangelo

Apricot Grapefruit Jam

This was it. This was the ultimate taste accentuation I have been looking for in an apricot jam, even though I had no idea that I was ever looking for it in the first place. I had a couple grapefruits on the counter that were starting to pucker up like the mouth of an old man who had lost his teeth. Maybe they weren't that bad, but they were certainly acquiring a few wrinkles. The slight revision with a more bitter, yet still sweet, citrus took this already perfect preserve into another stratosphere. From now on, this will be my standard apricot jam that I make each year.

2.5 lbs. apricots
3 cups sugar
Juice and zest of 1 ruby grapefruit

Apricot Ginger Jam

I hate to say it, but I think this one might be as good as the apricot grapefruit. I had my doubts, fearing that the ginger would be overwhelming. How wrong was I? Even the husband thought it was fantastic and he doesn't care that much for ginger. I can't wait to slather it on some homemade scones.

2.5 lbs. apricots
3 cups sugar
freshly grated ginger to taste (I think I used about 1-1.5 tablespoons)

Anyone else out there adore apricot jam as much as I do?

Cherrypalooza

2011-06-26T14:37:00.000-07:00

I must be some kind of masochist to have taken on pitting 21 pounds of cherries. By hand. No pitters over here. No sirree, Bob. Just good old fashioned do-it-yourself lunacy. Honestly, it wasn't that bad. I sat in front of the boob tube ensconced in several layers of towels to prevent the deep red spray of these juicy suckers from staining the couch. Took me a few hours, but Jane Austen got me through the trials and tribulations. I should have thought to cover the computer as I'm having to look past the drips in order to type this post.

So what does one do with 21 pounds of cherries?

A lot. This year, I'm pushing past my tendencies to veer towards the safe, plain, tried and true preserves. New preserving territory will be explored. Flavors will be experimented with. I'm sure my cautious nature stems from the fact that jamming and preserving are a lot of work. Aside from the pitting, there is the several hours that you will spend hovering over a hot stove. Who wants to have put in all that time and effort producing something that might taste nasty?

So far, throwing caution to the wind has paid off. Four types of cherry preserves were put up and they all turned out scrumptious.

Here are the recipes and results.

Cherry Lisbon Lemon Jam

Lisbon lemons have a hint of lime flavor to them, which gave the jam a good citrus tang. The following is the list of ingredients I used. You can find general preserving instructions here.

7 cups cherries
5 1/4 cups sugar
zest and juice from 2 Lisbon lemons

Combine all ingredients and simmer until setting point. Be careful not to overcook. The above link tells you that you will need to use pectin in order to get cherries to set. I have not found that to be the case, however with berries and cherries that there is a fine line between jelling and carmelization. I have a tendency to cook these jams for too long and end up with a preserve that once refrigerated is so firm that moving a knife through it is harder than wading through setting cement. While cooking, put a dish in the freezer so that you can pull it out and test for jelling by pouring a glob on the frozen plate (turn off burner when testing so that you don't overcook). Once cooled, the jam should wrinkle when you push your finger into it. When jelled, process in water bath according to instructions in above link.

Cherry Kirsch Jam

Lucky me, I had a bottle of real kirsch sitting around. It was brought to me several years ago by a friend who was visiting from Germany. Since I don't drink, it has sat on my shelf unopened for at least three years. I could think of no finer way to use it (except maybe in fondue) than with cherries. The kirsch made a fine sweet jam with an added kick.

7 cups cherries
5 1/4 cups sugar
a shot or more of kirsch, depending on taste

Unlike the cherry lemon jam, you don't want to add the flavoring ingredient until the end of cooking. Once the jam has reached its set, add the kirsch.

Cherry Olives

I found this recipe in one of the old Ortho Books (ironically owned by Chevron Chemical Company) on pickling.

2 pounds sweet cherries (either pitted or left whole and pricked with a pin)
salt
sugar
vinegar

Wash cherries and put in hot, sterilized jars. If using pint jars, add 1 tsp. salt, 1 tsp. sugar, and 1/2 cup of vinegar (I used apple cider vinegar) to each jar (for have pints use half of the measurements). Fill the rest of the jar with water. Process in water canning bath for 5 minutes. Refrigerate and let jars stand about 1 month before using so that the flavor can develop.

Five Spice Cherry Pickles

I got this awesome recipe over at Leena Eats blog. If you love cherries, you should try this one. They are seriously addictive. I used apple cider vinegar rather than the called for white vinegar and really like the flavor.

Are you doing anything interesting with cherries this year?

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Summer Solstice Fruition

2011-06-22T13:34:00.000-07:00

Fruit picking. What a wonderful way to honor the solstice by reaping the bounty that comes from these long days. The three ladies that come by Itty Bitty once a week to learn homesteady stuff, Vanessa, Niki, and Erika, took a little jaunt with me over to Brentwood for some cherry and apricot picking. It was a beautiful day, though a touch on the warm side for this San Franciscan. Up on the ladders, I could feel a tickle behind my knees as the sweat dripped down my legs in the 100 degree heat. You know it's hot if I'm perspiring. I don't sweat unless it's really freakin' toasty.

The cherries were plump. juicy, and full of flavor. Here's Vanessa gathering a handful.

Vanessa brought her four-year-old nephew, Kai, who had a great time picking off the low branches. We went to Enos Family Farms, the only certified organic u-pick in Brentwood, where they keep the trees pruned so that the branches are low enough for hand-picking. Keeps it engaging for the little ones.

We also picked up some Blenheim apricots, which were in the transitional stage of becoming organic (it takes three years of no chemical inputs to become certified).

These little babies were oh-so-sweet with an excellent texture. I even ate them raw. Not my preferred way to enjoy an apricot as they tend to be mealy in their uncooked state.

Not these guys.

My plan was for the four of us to come back from the picking for a jam party, but that was too much to tackle in one day. Especially since I came back with 21 pounds of cherries and 10 pounds of apricots. When my daughter caught a glimpse of the booty I brought home she said, "Mommy are you going to take the pits out of all those cherries tonight? I don't think you should do that. You'll be up all night and you need your rest."

I took her advice and only pitted half the cherries yesterday. Today I am all day in the kitchen whipping up cherry pickles, cherry olives, two kinds of cherry jam, and putting up the rest in the freezer. I'll post recipes this week.

What about the apricots, you ask? I'll be trying out some apricot tangelo butter, apricot ginger and apricot brandy jam. But I'll save that for tomorrow. A girl can only do so much in a day.

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It's Getting Hot in Here

2011-06-21T00:23:00.000-07:00

Wow, today we had real summer weather in San Francisco. With temperatures in the high 70s, we could wear shorts and tank tops rather than our usual long sleeves, sweater, and, possibly, knitted hat uniforms. How glorious!

The bees were definitely feeling the heat today. During the warm months in other parts of the country, beekeepers usually take the bottom board (a board under the hive with a small hole cut in it to keep the bees warm, but allow some air to get in) out from under the hive, leaving just a mesh screen to keep the bees cool by increasing air flow. But with our San Francisco summer nights dipping below 50 degrees and daytime highs usually hovering around the upper 50s or low 60s, there's no reason for me to remove the board. Consequently on the sporadic hot days, the hive looks something like this:

Freaky, huh?

I felt a little heated myself today so I took a stroll down the alley next to our house to get a cool drink and found a swirling constellation of my bees whizzing down to the pavement to sip from the nasty pools of water at the base of the stairs. This alley is always filled with every vile specimen known to man: feces (animal and human), barf, rotten food, used motor oil, trash of all kinds, broken liquor bottles, old cat food, dead vermin, cigarette butts, and god knows what else. I couldn't bear the thought of my ladies ingesting such filth so I brought them a bowl with some clean, sopping wet rags. I'd heard that this is a welcomed gesture from the bees when the weather is blazing. (Yes, the high 70s is considered blazing for San Fran. Don't make fun or I'll curse you with months and months of dreary, cold fog. Instead of eating popsicles, you'll be crying for hot chocolate. Don't think I won't do it.)

So far, no bee has touched the lovely clean water. They're sticking with icky gross water. Yuck!

Congratulations Ginger!

2011-06-17T23:04:00.000-07:00

Remember Lucy's kid, Ginger?

Photo courtesy of Lori Eanes

She had babies! For a month now I have been fretting about her giving birth, being so young and all, and the fact that no question about it, they were her brother's babies. According to my calculations, 150 days from when she left our farm, Ginger should have kidded on May 21st. Well that date came and went and Ginger continued to be a walking giant belly, as per news via Pam, Ginger's new owner. As the days passed, I became more and more concerned, especially after she had gone over 160 days. No one has ever heard of a goat going past 160 days.

Poor Pam, I emailed her every couple of days demanding to know where the babies were, quizzing her on Ginger's health, and pawning off all my anxieties by asking a million questions about her preparations for the impending kidding. You would think that Ginger was still my goat! Obviously, I continue to struggle with letting go. Ginger and Fred were Itty Bitty's first kids and I will always have a very special place in my heart for those two.

Finally, at day 170, after being in labor for three days, Ginger gave birth to a boy and girl. Do you know what that means? The chastity chonies worked! Ginger must have gotten pregnant during her next heat cycle after she left Itty Bitty. 170 days is an impossibility. Lesson learned? Never underestimate the power of a good pair of underwear.

To read all about the birth and see pictures, go to Peaceful Valley Farm Blog. I am so happy for Pam and Ginger. The kids are terribly cute. One of the babies looks exactly like her grandma.

What about Fred? I hear tell that he is being housed with Pam's new pig. Apparently, Fred attempts to headbutt the pig and the pig just plows him over like a bulldozer. I think they are making great friends. They already like the same games.

June Happenings

2011-06-13T21:51:00.000-07:00

June has been a weird month as far as weather. We've had several days of rain and howling gales that are more common for early spring. The rain hasn't been too unwelcome as it has kept the greens producing without watering, but we are already seeing signs of powdery mildew on the peas and the apple trees have white fuzzy fungus growing on them. It's not a lot of damage. The wind, however, is driving me nuts. I've always had a strong aversion to wind. It makes me irritable. Highly irritable. And it's pulled my bean plants out by the roots, bent the chard plants that I am trying to save seed from, and nearly ripped off the corrugated roofing on the animal pen that had been glued on with Sikaflex. Damn, that's an angry wind. No wonder I feel like I'm being rubbed the wrong way.

Aside from annoying weather, the apple tree is bursting with fruit. The bees have certainly done their work and it looks as though we will be heavily laden with apple pies, applesauce, apple whatever, and hopefully cider and cider vinegar. The husband is planning to make an apple press, but I'm not sure if he will be able to get to it in time. We should be wading through barrels upon barrels in less than two weeks.

Ethel says I need to repair this fence as the chicks keep escaping through this hole.

Speaking of the chicks, they have graduated to the big girl coop though are not so happy to spend their days with the full grown ladies. Sweet Pea is showing her not-so-sweet side by giving each chick a bit of what for. So they have taken to wandering under the apple tree for some daytime peace and weed munching. Today five of the six made it back to the pen while one of the Dark Cornishes cowered behind a piece of plywood. I think her legs are too big for her to get airborne. Two of the chicks even made it into the coop. That's a first and a good sign that I will spend less time in the evenings chasing recalcitrant chooks around the yard trying to get them to bed.

I'm really proud of the hoop house I set up in my neighbor's yard. Using only rebar, 1/2 inch PVC pipe, 6 mil plastic sheeting, and rubber-tipped clamps, I built the thing for less than $100. The neighbors only use the space to dump trash so I struck a deal with them that if I could use it to grow vegetables, I would keep the area neat and tidy. Thus far it's been an ideal arrangement and I plan to give them a good portion of the harvest.

The plants are absolutely ecstatic to be out of the wind and in some heat. The temperature is usually at least 10 to 15 degrees warmer than anywhere else on our lots. I've even rigged up the drip irrigation in there.

Look at these tomatoes! I was concerned that I might have to buy transplants again this year as I had left the seedlings out in the wind a few too many times. But once I popped them in the poly tunnel, all changed their tune.

I'll keep you updated as to how it works out. I've got more than a dozen varieties of tomatoes, several types of squash, a few cucumbers, beans, and melons growing in there. To think, I might produce a melon in San Francisco! If I'm successful, I will have defied the bounds of growing in a cold, foggy summer micro-climate. Good luck to me, eh?

Baby Bird Update - I'm pretty sure he found his mother. He flew out the window and has not been heard from since. I wish him the best.

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Inspirations from the Big and Little Screens: The Cheese Nun

2011-06-10T21:50:00.000-07:00

If you know me, you know I love cheese. It is the food of my people, the Swiss. If I could eat only one thing for the rest of my life, I would hands down choose cheese. Food of the gods, I tell you. And it is for this reason that I love the French, for they have 350-400 distinct cheeses, more than any other people in the world. In my opinion, this makes up for any cultural quirks on their part.

But did you know that France is in danger of losing many of the distinct cheeses that set this country apart for its diversity of frommage? Have you ever wondered why the same type of cheese made a mere 10 miles apart can have such different flavor, making each curd unique? It's the microorganisms, baby. Every location, every cave, has its own variety of species, which imparts the flavor special to that area. Many of these caves are being abandoned or new ones are being built. Just ask Noella Marcellino, a.k.a. "The Cheese Nun", a microbiologist who has spent several years studying the variety of fungi that grow on the rinds of cheeses produced in the traditional caves of France. I'm not sure why I am so late to the Cheese Nun party, but now am a complete convert after watching the PBS documentary. The doc focuses on Noella's studies and her importance to the cheesemaking world. If you love cheese and/or are interested in the preservation of agricultural heritage and biodiversity, watch this film.

Guest Blog: Thank-You Nuts

2011-06-08T14:22:00.000-07:00

I had the distinct pleasure of meeting a lovely young chicken-owning neighbor, Reilly O'Neal. She came over for a tour a couple weeks ago and we found that we had a lot in common: one daughter, former anthropologists, worked/work in AIDS research, both interested in homesteading. As a gift, she brought with her the most amazing nuts I had ever tasted. I literally could not stop eating them. Right then and there, I demanded that she write a blog post divulging the secret recipe, arguing that the people of the world could not go one more second without tasting these treats. OK, it wasn't that dramatic, but I was persuasive. And seriously, you MUST try this recipe.

When I visited Itty Bitty Farm in the City for the first time, I brought some homemade candied walnuts to thank Heidi for letting a total stranger pet her goats and ask a bunch of invasive questions about keeping it together as an urban farmer, parent, and spouse.

Sure, walnuts are full of alpha-lino-whatever acid and are a superfood and all, but I wasn’t really thinking of Heidi’s omega-3 intake when I decided they’d make a good gift. I was thinking about where those nuts came from, the love and labor that went into shelling them, and my family’s traditions around that labor.

As a kid, living in Fresno with my mom and her parents—longtime farmers from Texas—I helped shell walnuts and pecans with a nut cracker my grandfather rigged up by hand. My grandmother turned 90 in January and that nut cracker is on the far side of thirty; both are going strong. Granny shelled two hundred pounds of walnuts last year—down from her usual three hundred, she says, because the grower’s son just took over the business and forgot to set aside her full share.

Every time my mom and I meet at Granny’s house, we all crack walnuts until our arms and fingers hurt, taking turns yanking the wooden lever and picking nut halves out of the busted hulls. My mother and I get pounds and pounds of hand-shelled walnuts for birthdays and Christmas and whenever Granny thinks we need more, like when I became a mom myself.

In the first days after our baby girl was born, my mother kept my dazed little family from starving. She fed me spinach salads chock full of “Granny walnuts” she’d jazzed up with spices and her homemade candied orange peel. Nothing before or since has tasted so incredibly delicious, like salty, orangey love. Was that my new-mama oxytocin talking, or just some pretty kick-ass candied walnuts? Recipe follows—you be the judge!

These are easy enough to make with a toddler pin-balling around your kitchen, and I’ve adapted the recipe for either candied peel or fresh zest—which, I now know, is not just a snooty word for orange peel! (It’s the orange part, minus the white pith.) I’ve tried this recipe with walnuts, pecans, and almonds, and the walnuts are my hands-down favorite.

Hope you enjoy!

Kick-Ass Orange-Spiced Walnuts

Makes 2 1/2 cups

Ingredients:

1 egg white

1/4 cup sugar, minus 1 teaspoon if using candied peel

1 1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon ground chipotle or other chili powder

1/4 teaspoon ground cumin

2 1/2 cups walnuts

Very finely grated zest from two medium oranges (about 2 teaspoons) OR 2 1/4 tablespoons finely chopped candied orange peel

Directions:

1. Preheat the oven to 300 degrees. Beat the egg white until soft and foamy, with no liquid left in the bottom of the bowl. Combine the sugar, salt, and spices; stir into the egg white, along with the orange zest or candied peel. Add the nuts and stir until well coated. Spread the nuts in a single layer on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Using a rubber spatula, scrape together all the zest-spice -egg goo left in the bowl, and drizzle it over the nuts.

2. Bake for 15 minutes, then remove from the oven. Separate the nuts and stir them around a bit, then spread in a single layer again. (It’s OK to skip this step if you’re pressed for time.) Turn the oven down to 250 degrees and immediately return nuts to bake until they are golden brown and not raw-tasting, about 10 to 20 minutes. (Don’t worry if they’re not crunchy at this point; they’ll crisp up as they cool down.) Set the pan on a wire rack to cool, and break up any nuts that are stuck together. Burn your fingers eating them straight off the pan, or let them cool completely and store in an airtight container.

Chickens at Sunset

2011-06-06T16:08:00.000-07:00

Holy cluckin' crap am I exhausted. This weekend kick ass urban farmer Esperanza Pallana of Pluck and Feather and I gave a presentation and fielded hundreds of questions on raising backyard chickens.

We asked for it and boy did those questions come. We were a very popular booth,

which may have had to do with the fact that I brought all of my chicks and hens for show and tell. The kids loved it.

And so did the adults. Most were smitten with the vintage camper inspired demonstration coop in our booth designed by John Wright. There were a lot of folks interested in the idea of chickens, but I was thoroughly shocked to meet so many Sunset readers who currently raise their own hens, some of whom have been doing it for years and years.My favorites may have been the friends of Dorothy trio living in Sacramento where one had been raising chickens on the sly for nearly 20 years. Apparently, it has been illegal in Sacramento since the 70s, but they are hoping to change the laws this upcoming month. I wish them the best of luck.

Another highlight from the event was this totally rad chicken coop called the Kippen House (Kippen means "chicken" in Dutch) that had a garden bed for a roof. It was absolutely gorgeous!

I didn't have much time to explore the rest of the festival with all the people wanting to chat chickens. I am so grateful that our friends over at FARMcurious and Dog Island happened to be there too, as they were indispensable in helping out with all the cluckin' questions. By the end of it all we were completely chickened out. I think Esperanza's face says it all.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Are You My Mother?

2011-06-05T00:21:00.001-07:00

This evening I found this little guy peeping frantically outside the chicks' run.

Poor bugger was beating himself against the chicken wire mesh until he finally broke through to get at the chicks. I couldn't quite figure out his intents until I saw him squat underneath the girls with his beak gaping up wide open. This fledgling apparently lost his mama and figured the chicks would due as surrogates. Yeah, not really. The girls stared into the baby's mouth and did what any chicken would do. Went for the tongue like it was a tasty worm. I tried to get him inside and give him a little food, but he flew off into the basement rafters. After an hour's chase, climbing on furniture to try and capture the flighty devil, I gave up as I had had a long day at the Sunset Magazine Celebration. Let's hope this little tale has a Dr. Suess ending. If only I were a Snort. Then maybe I could find his mother.

Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

An Open Letter to Mark Zuckerberg: On Your Decision to Kill What You Eat

2011-05-31T19:24:00.000-07:00

Dear Mark,

Kudos to you for attempting to take responsibility for your meat consumption, to face the face behind the body on your plate. I mean this with all sincerity. For reals. Killing your dinner is not easy in this age of neatly cling wrapped, sterilized-looking pieces of flesh lying in styrofoam cartons. In our modern day food system, we've lost all connection between the ingredient and end product. I hope that your decision, being that you are an ultra famous twenty-something billionaire, will have an impact on our culture and encourage more folks to explore the acts that bring a meal to plate.

But I'm really curious as to why you have decided to focus solely on being the henchman in that final moment of the animal's life, the proverbial "money-shot" of meat production. I'm sure you realize that there is so much more in getting that birria to the stew pot. There is, of course, the daily shoveling of shit, feeding, watering, and making sure the animals stay healthy. And what about a farmer's concerns of being profitable in an industry that one can barely make a living at, even if using subsidized GMO grains for feed? Or that the farmer or slaughterhouse has to rely on cheap, usually illegal, immigrant labor in order to survive in those businesses? Are those things that you will be educating yourself on in your endeavor to learn more about where your food comes from?

I don't mean to be overly critical because I do truly admire your resolve. You remind me of my twenty-year-old vegetarian self who had determined that one should only eat meat if they could kill it themselves. At the time, I knew I wasn't capable of the killing so I chose not to eat animals. But now that I am a middle-aged, carnivorous, not-even-close-to-being-a-billionaire-in-my-wildest-dreams urban farmer, I have killed and I have discovered exactly what it takes to produce the food we eat. It's a lot of work, Mark. A lot of rote, dirty, smelly, unglamorous, low-valued work. In essence, much more than just the killing.

Maybe you already know all this. Maybe these are things that you think about. But let's face it, you're a billionaire who rubs elbows with presidents, king and queens, and the richest of the rich. You can essentially do anything you want. Is your foray into grim reaper any different from the wealthy dude who hangs off the back of his Hummer on his Texas estate safari shooting at tigers for a prized trophy head to hang over the mantle? OK, OK, maybe that's a bad analogy. You're not shooting endangered, exotic animals from the back of a gas guzzling SUV for the sake of putting another notch on your belt. Make no mistake though, killing for your own meat is a trophy of sorts, just like learning Chinese or wearing a tie every day for a year.

This may be hyperbole on my part, but can't you see how this smacks of Hameau de la Reine, Marie Antoinette's play farm where she pranced around pretending to be a dairymaid? Isn't this a bit of masquerading on your part? I mean, come on, you're a billionaire! You don't have to process one morsel of your own food if you choose not to. With your kind of money, you don't even have to lift your fork to your mouth. You really could pay someone to do that. It would be weird, but you could do it. People with your kind of wealth have an all access pass to do anything they want to do, including sauntering on to someone's farm and slaughtering animals. Any farmer would be more than happy to show you the ropes, probably for free, because you are Mark Zuckerberg, the Facebook guy and the youngest self-made billionaire EVER. You must know that you walk this earth in possession of more privilege than the other 95% of us combined. Can you see how this could look a little like "Oh, now he wants to amuse himself as farmer!" to the masses?

Maybe you're wondering why I'm being so hard on you. It could even look like jealousy since I'm more than a decade older than you without anything even remotely like your achievements under my belt and I am clearly not a billionaire and I'm possibly a little jealous that you are because I keep mentioning your wealth in, like, every other sentence. I promise I'm not pressing you on this issue, Mark, due to envy (though the billionaire thing does give me a twinge when my mortgage comes due). I just think that you could push yourself further on the "understanding where your food comes from" thing. If you are reading this, I'm sure you just muttered something like, "Hey crazy lady, I'm killing animals over here. What else do you think I should do?" Well I'll tell you: participate in how food is produced not just in how it meets its maker.

Mark, I've got a great challenge for you. Instead of just executing your meals, why don't you raise a small flock of meat birds and laying hens? This way you can really get to know your animal before it makes it to the chopping block. Why poultry? Well they are pretty low maintenance where livestock is concerned and you can get meat as well as eggs. If you could spend an hour a day learning Mandarin, you could certainly spend 30 minutes a day feeding and mucking the coop of your little clutch of ladies.

Each year you engage in the classic conflict of man versus himself, but with the challenge you have set forth for yourself this time around, you have a golden opportunity to experience the entire process, to see how the rest of the world has to work in order to survive. On a micro scale, of course. If you keep track of your input versus output, you will quickly realize that it is almost impossible to be a profitable farm, even with economies of scale. Meat is not only a question of the ethics of "passing the buck" in the brutality of it all, but an issue of social justice. How many billionaires take the time to explore that?

I took the liberty of looking up your city's codes and all you need is a permit. I know your neighbors might get their feathers a bit ruffled, but I'm sure you've got enough space on your $7 million property to be relatively discreet. You could also use it as an educational opportunity to inform your neighbors on the benefits of raising their own food. Even famous folks like Martha Stewart and Olympic swimmer Natalie Coughlin are doing it. You wouldn't be alone. I'll even help you get started. For free! This weekend I'll be at the Sunset Magazine Celebration Weekend in Menlo Park, next to your home town as you know, with my friend Esperanza giving out free info on raising backyard poultry. There will be a booth near ours where you can purchase an attractive coop for your chooks and you can pick up some nice birds right in Menlo Park from Little Cluckers.

I tell you, Mark, this is going to be a great project for you and really only a slight expansion of your original endeavor. I assure you it will be more than rewarding growing and harvesting food that you have raised with your own two hands. And think of the street cred you'll gain with fellow farmers going through the entire process from start to finish.

With much sincerity, admiration for your responsible meat eating (you've certainly gone further than I have), and gratitude for connecting me with friends whom I never would have gotten in touch with if not for Facebook (I'm going to look past that privacy issue for now since this is meant to be a letter of encouragement and not a "bag on Mark" note),

Heidi Kooy

P.S. I think you should throw in a mini-garden too. Growing vegetables is often harder than it looks and involves way more killing than most vegans would like to acknowledge. I know this from experience.

Inspirations from the Big and Little Screen: The River Cottage Series

2011-05-27T12:17:00.000-07:00

This week's video pick is again from our friends across the pond. Having been a big fan of British programming since I was a wee one watching reruns of The Young Ones on MTV, I continue to turn to the mother island for my entertainment and/or informational needs. Let's face it, the BBC kicks the American media's ass in all ways, news and otherwise. Though today's video is not BBC produced rather a product of Channel 4, it still lives up to the higher standards of British television in my opinion. Maybe it's the Brit accent. I've always been a sucker for it.

In a recent post, I introduced you all to Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall and The River Cottage Meat Book. Aside from being an author of 19 books on food and food preparation, he is also a journalist, celebrity chef, and television personality having starred in several series on discovering what it takes to go back-to-the-land to provide for one's self. As a consequence of his television shows, Hugh has become a popular spokesman for self-reliance, free-range animal husbandry, and organics. When I first picked up his meat book, I imagined him to be a proper, reserved, maybe even uptight sort of Englishman. Nothing could be further from the truth. Hugh is an affable, slightly strange, food nerd hippy hybrid who pulls stunts in his River Cottage television series like inviting psychics to come help him with his mice problems or find the right kind of wood in the forest. There are scenes of him lying naked (no graphic images) in his tomato poly tunnel (hoop house) and taking a bubble bath with a rubber duckie. The man is a goofball, but a loveable one.

Aside from his awkward antics, he has much information to share for the person interested in homesteading topics. He raises his own animals, grows his own veg, enters jam and veg growing competitions at the local fair, sells homegrown food at the local farmers market, invites knowledgeable neighbors over to help with his various projects of culling, butchering, animal husbandry, preserving, sausage making, foraging, cider brewing - you name it, he does it. I have learned so much from his programs and have been inspired to try things that I would have formerly shied away from thinking they were too complicated, like hanging a pork leg for several months to make prosciutto. He doesn't make things look easy, except the cooking part which is a genius at, but does make it accessible as he bumbles his way through various adventures. I love witnessing the raw, authentic emotion in his enterprises, such as seeing him weep when his first lamb was being born, hearing the disappointment in his voice when he finds out his cow is not in calf after having been bred, and observing the matter of fact attitude he develops toward animal loss on his small holding.

There are many series of River Cottage goodness, each containing 4-6 episodes: Escape to River Cottage, Return to River Cottage, River Cottage Forever, Beyond River Cottage, The View from River Cottage, The River Cottage Road Trip, The River Cottage Treatment, River Cottage: Gone Fishing, River Cottage Spring, River Cottage Autumn, River Cottage - Winter's on the Way, and River Cottage Everyday. If you read my blog, I know you will love these videos. Well that should keep you plenty busy until the next installment of Itty Bitty's Inspirations from the Big and Little Screens.

(By the way, let me know if you are enjoying these video reviews or if you'd rather I skip this stuff and get back to urban farming haps. I'd appreciate the input.)

Name That Funky Skin Condition

2011-05-26T10:55:00.000-07:00

Alright kids, have at it. I have no idea what this is. It's not scabby and no hair falls off, which is why I don't think it's rain rot or staph. Like I mentioned before, it's exactly like cradle cap. And it's all over her belly. Lucy has a little bit of it on the top of her udder, but nothing like Ethel. It was hard to get a good picture of it, but do your best and tell me what you think. If you figure it out, let me know. Thanks!

Look how much her chichis are swelling. I'm pretty sure she's got a bun in the oven.

And good news about Lucy. She is NOT pregnant, thank god. She went into heat this last week, tongue waggling and back end dripping. Must have missed her last cycle.

Pop Tart (Coq) au Vin

2011-05-26T00:14:00.000-07:00

The time had come to honor the circle of life here at Itty Bitty. Pop Tart had been marinating in the freezer for six months and Monica, the Irish lass who found the poor divil lying dead at the foot of the coop, is off to her motherland for the summer. Clearly, a bon voyage party, with Pop Tart at the helm, was called for. But what to do with a stewing hen?

Ask around and you'll get a lot of naysayers to the eating of an aged egg layer. They'll tell you that the meat isn't fit for consumption; that it will be tough and stringy and disgusting. Well I'm here to tell you that they are wrong, wrong, wrongity wrong.

The folks that think a stewing hen is inedible are the ones who are attempting to prepare it like a broiler. That doesn't work. Broiler chickens, the kind that you buy at the store tidily wrapped in clinging plastic and styrofoam, are harvested at around eight weeks. Eight weeks, people! The incredible rate of growth is mind-boggling, unless you see it firsthand. Think about it. That creature hatches at only a few ounces and then puts on nearly a pound of weight a week. Those muscles that end up on your dinner plate probably haven't even been properly stretched. Talk about fresh, young meat. But of course a hen or rooster that has been running around the yard for a couple years will be a tad more rough and tumble in taste and texture, the tenderness and succulence of adolescence long gone. The secret to preparing one of these old cluckers is the same as with any tough cut of meat: cook the shit out of it for a really really long time under low heat.

I knew that I would have to find a tried and true recipe to prepare Pop Tart's thin frame so I turned to Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, British author of the award winning The River Cottage Meat Book, my crockpot, and the French. Coq au vin, as the name suggests, obviously descends from the French. Long considered a peasant dish, an old rooster who was losing his abilities between the legs would be cast into the stewing pot along with some wine, onions, mushrooms, salt pork and a bouquet garni. The lengthy cooking period broke down the tough connective tissues that tend to build up in older, active birds, creating a tasty and inexpensive meal. My modern version utilizes my crockpot for the slow, low temp cooking. Today, coq au vin is most often prepared with broilers and cooked for shorter periods of time. What a waste, I say. Let's create a stewing hen revival. I know Hugh is on board. He has several videos (look for more info in my next post) on his experience as a small holder, of which the American translation would probably be "hobby farmer", where he advocates for using all of one's resources in a sensible, holistic manner. He would never let an old rooster or hen go to naught.

Hugh's recipes have never steered me wrong so I went with a variation on his coq au vin.

Ingredients:

old laying hen
onions
a couple bulbs of green garlic
1/2 pound button mushrooms
1/2 pound bacon
half a glass of brandy
2 cups red wine (I used Bogle's Merlot)
2 cups water
a bouquet garni of celery, parsley, thyme, and bay leaf
pepper to taste

First I quartered the hen. Her meat looked fantastic, though there wasn't a lot of it. And did you know that chickens have hair? Like really long hair, almost four inches! I guess it's tucked in between the feathers. How that stuff gets plucked out is a mystery to me. Pop Tart still had most of hers. I figured they would cook off, which happened to be the case. Next I chopped up the bacon into small pieces and fried it. While the bacon drained, I sauteed the onions and green garlic in the bacon grease. Then I placed both the bacon and onions in the crockpot. I dredged the quartered chicken in flour and browned it in the same pan that I had cooked the bacon and onions in. After the skin got a nice crisp coating, I poured the brandy over the chicken while tipping the pan so that it would light on fire. When the flames died down, I transferred the pieces to the crockpot and added the wine to the pan to deglaze all the goodness. As soon as the wine bubbled, I poured it into the crockpot and added a little pepper. I set the crockpot to low for six hours. After about four, I added the bouquet garni. Then one hour before the chicken was done, I sauteed the mushrooms (sliced) in a little butter and moved them into the crock as soon as they developed a good sweat.

Little Pop Tart strutted across the stage of existence one last time in a serving vessel fit for a queen (one of my finest thrift store finds).

We served her with a lovely spread of homegrown artichoke hearts, homegrown pickled carrots, pickled beets, and grilled asparagus. Her flesh, atop heaps and heaps of mash, transformed into a toothsome meal good enough for any king.

And we, the court, made merry one last time before our summer apart.

What will I do without my farm sitter?

Maker Faire Fun

2011-05-24T19:34:00.000-07:00

What an incredible and exhausting weekend! The last time I was at the Maker Faire it was about a quarter of the size that it is today. Holy macaroni, I had no idea the event had gotten so big and crazy. It was something like a cross between Burning Man and a Professional Engineers conference: high on geek factor, low on e-bombed ravers. Since I'm a tee-totaler, it was the perfect blend.

On Saturday, I gave a workshop on urban goats and did a little cheese making demonstration. The talk went well, but I found it difficult to make cheese while milking the goat and talking. As a consequence, the milk burned a little giving the cheese a charcoalish flavor. How embarrassing! Whatevs, the goats were a hit.

Photo courtesy of Rachel Brinkerhoff at Dog Island Farm

After the talk, we had a great time parading the goats around, though we could never get very far as everyone wanted to get a pet in. Like I said, the goats stole the show. Thank goodness for Vanessa and my brother, Jan. They came along to help and I don't know what I would have done without them. Thanks guys!

If I had to pick the highlight of the day, this would have been it:

Photo courtesy of Rachel Brinkerhoff at Dog Island Farm

Lucy was so jealous that we got to drive that cupcake. It was pretty awesome. I'm trying to convince Esteban to build us one.

We even made the recap videos of the Faire. Watch Lucy destroy expensive sound equipment.

Um... sorry dude, but I did warn you.

Reviewing the Reads: The Wisdom of the Radish

2011-05-23T22:30:00.000-07:00

Another book that was sent my way to have a look at is the memoir by greenhorn farmer Lynda Hopkins, The Wisdom of the Radish: And Other Lessons Learned on a Small Farm. If you've ever wondered what it might be like to drop out of the rat race and try your hand at growing food, raising chickens, and milking goats for a living, this is a not to be missed book.But even if you are only remotely curious about what it takes to become a farmer in this day and age, you'll still want to have a gander. Lynda brings the reader on her hilarious and trying journey from her San Diego suburbanite, M.A. in journalism, which-end-of-the-potato-is-up background to full fledged, honest to god, selling-at-a-Northern-California-farmers-market farmer. The bumps and mishaps this twenty-something year old and her partner in crime boyfriend experience along the way feel like the universal, wet behind the ears beginnings to any new adventure. Her ability to discuss some of the more political and technical aspects of farming with humor and an engaging writing style keep the reader informed as well as entertained. Lynda is a young, funny, beautiful (there's a picture of her on the front cover), intelligent, and talented writer. I would hate her if she wasn't so gosh darn charming and sweet (you know how you can just tell someone is a truly nice person and not faking it just because they wrote the book?)! And I can't help but admire her persistent personality seemingly willing to plow through any hardship. I'm sure part of the reason I like the book so much is that she reminds me of a younger (and more talented) version of myself. She even has had several traumatic chicken incidents. I can hardly believe that there is someone out there that has had it worse, but it looks like Lynda may have topped even me on this one. After you read the book, you can continue to follow her adventures on her blog.

Just so you know, I didn't give this book a good review because it was given to me and Ms. Hopkins is not a friend. I have no desire to clutter up my house with crappy memoirs, even if they do pertain to things I am interested in. I was honestly charmed by this book, laughed out loud on several occasions, and learned a few things to boot. I call that a good read.

As for last week's giveaway, the winner is #4, brittabelle. Please email me your address so that I can mail it to you.

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At Least One

2011-05-21T16:12:00.001-07:00

The strawberries may be a little worse for the wind wear, but we were at least blessed with one ripe specimen. Ute and I split it. As you can see, there may be a couple more on the horizon. I can't wait as that ripe one was beyond delicious.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Come to the Maker Faire!

2011-05-20T20:30:00.000-07:00

I will be giving an urban goat workshop at the San Mateo Maker Faire this Saturday at 10:30 a.m. If you live in the Bay Area, you should come. There's going to be all kinds of cool stuff there. My friends Esperanza of Pluck and Feather and Rachel of Dog Island Farm will be presenting on converting your backyard to food at 11:30 the same day. On Sunday, Esperanza and I will be talking about keeping urban livestock, also at 11:30. All of the food and farm related stuff will be happening in the Homegrown Village. Hope to see you there. If you read this blog, come up and say hi! You can find the full schedule of events here.

Inspirations from the Big and Little Screen: Victorian Farm

2011-05-18T22:43:00.000-07:00

This brilliant, six episode BBC series stars historian Ruth Goodman, and archaeologists Alex Langlands and Peter Ginn as they recreate a year in the life of Victorian era farmers. If you have a penchant for the "old ways", you won't be able to stop at just one episode. This is some serious homesteading crack. Ruth shells out all sorts of fascinating tidbits about 19th century domesticity, housekeeping, preserving, and cooking, while the boys are off raising the animals and growing the crops. The show gives wonderful insight into day to day Victorian life as it must have been by recreating the mundane tasks, as well as the celebratory occasions. We see how wheat crops were grown and harvested using only the tools available in the 1800s, how laundry was cleaned (you will worship your wash machine after you see how the Victorians had to do it), how cooking was done on a coal range, what preservation methods were available at the time, how dairying, beekeeping, and shepherding were done in the 19th century, the kinds of artisan crafts that were popular, and how holidays were celebrated. In one episode, they show a great trick for preventing rats from getting into your feed. My daughter watched this episode with me after having woken up from a nightmare. Nonetheless, in her half-sleep haze, she pointedly made me take note that this was something I should keep in mind: "Mommy, remember that thing about keeping the rats away. You need to remember that." She's a good little farmer girl. I found the series inspirational on so many levels: seeing old school skills in action that I could apply to life even in the modern age (not the washing bit, of course - I'm not that big of a masochist.), peering through the looking glass into a bygone era and observing what it might have been like for farmers of the day, watching the daily struggles with crops and animals that any farmer in any time period could relate to, hearing the history of long gone skills recounted and illustrated by local experts who keep the old fashioned crafts alive, if only by a faint heartbeat. So if you love history, farming, the d.i.y. life, traditional skills, and/or have a crush on Peter Ginn like I do, you will want to watch this series again and again and again. The same team also did two other fabulous BBC programs, which I will post about in upcoming weeks.

May Happenings

2011-05-18T00:54:00.000-07:00

As always, all kinds of crazy things are happening around here. Spring is always the most rambunctious of times and this year's season has not failed to perform.

Weather

So here we are in May and it's still raining. I don't want to complain too much since rain means less watering for me, but I'm kind of getting sick of the damp. I think the animals have had their fill too.

Goats

With all the wetness, Ethel has developed some weird skin thing. While clipping her hooves today, I noticed that her belly is covered in brownish, oily skin flakes. Like a lot of it. It's even down her legs. I'm not sure what it is, but it does look an awful lot like cradle cap or seborrhoeic dermatitis. I've never heard of this being a problem in goats, but I did read that seborrhoeic dermatitis may be some kind of yeast flare up and I've been seeing some weird, yeasty smegma in the folds under Ethel's tail. Ugh, more animal ickies! I'm going to treat it like I did the cradle cap my daughter had as a baby: moisten it with an oil like neem, olive, coconut, or taminu and exfoliate with a soft toothbrush. Considering the area that it's covering, this will take awhile, need at least two people to perform the operation, and make for one unhappy goat as she will have to lie on her back for the entire procedure. And she'll probably need a bath after all is said and done. Sounds like fun, eh?

On the up side of things, I think Ethel is pregnant. Her udder is beginning to swell and I've noticed some waxy discharge from her teats. But before you get all excited, I have also observed that Lucy hasn't gone into heat since Fred left. Shit, he was only in the pen with her for maybe 10 hours tops and she showed no signs whatsoever of ovulation. I'm hoping I just missed the signs this month. Let's keep our fingers crossed on this one as we don't need anymore incestuous matings happening over here.

Speaking of incest, I've heard from Pam, the baby goats' new owner, that Ginger is ready to kid any day now. Yup, the chastity chonies were a fail. Fred knocked her up and now she's a baby having babies. Jerry Springer, here we come! I've got my fingers crossed that all goes well for her. I'll report back as soon as I receive news.

Chickens and Chicks

The cluckin' stubborn bumblefoot keeps reoccurring. I've dug into Sweet Pea's foot twice now and still haven't found the "plug". The last foray into the pad retrieved a few gooey, milky white strands, but definitely no marble of yuck. She's back to laying, but if it flares up again I think I will have to give her some internal antibiotics.

The other two adult hens just started laying again this week. They seemed to have finished their weird off-season molt and are back in squawky high spirits.

The chicks are almost ready to go outside. One more week of my craft room looking like a chicken coop. I can't wait to foist them into the great outdoors. The fresh air will be good for them, I'm sure.

Garden

The garden is looking so lush right now with the Oregon Sugar Snaps reaching towards the sky, the Aquadulce favas bearing prolifically, and the lettuces and brassicas creating a carpet of greenery across the yard. In the above picture, you can see the herb/strawberry spiral that I built a few weeks ago. One of the ladies who hangs out with me on the farm, Erika, ripped out that palm, which was in such a weird spot under the loquat, and we replanted it in a barrel container to put on the sidewalk in front of the house. I know the herb spiral is a total permaculture cliche, but they really are an efficient use of space. I've got it crammed with all kinds of herbs and strawberries. The poor berries have been getting their asses kicked by the wind so I've put up a little wind barrier that I made out of the leftover corrugated roofing from the animal pen cover. It's helping, but I think I might have to do better.

I've also finally installed my drip irrigation system. Hallelujah! It wasn't as intimidating as I made it out to be. Look for an upcoming post on drip irrigation for the technically challenged.

My tomato starts are starting, but are not quite as big as I would like them to be. This year I started the seeds outside in a makeshift greenhouse. Big mistake. It took them over three weeks to germinate and I still haven't been able to get enough heat on them to get them to take off. They're doing alright though. A couple years ago I started the seeds on my stove top since I've got that super awesome vintage Wedgewood with the constant warmth from the pilot light. The major drawback with this method is that I ran out of room in our small kitchen and dining room area for all of the plants. This led to some strained marital relations so I went with the outdoor plastic covered plant stand on the front porch method. Marriage saved. Tomatoes stunted. Next year I will be starting my seeds in late January or early February, inside, and with a fluorescent shop light over them. The fluorescent bulbs use little energy and since we have solar panels, I won't feel the least bit guilty.

I think that pretty much sums it up. How is your May going so far?

Reviewing the Reads: Your Farm in the City (Our First Giveaway!)

2011-05-16T23:32:00.000-07:00

And yet another thing that I've been meaning to do: review books related to urban homesteading/farming. Over the past couple months, I've received a handful of tantalizing books to review on this blog. Gotta love the swag. Either people actually read this blog or some publishers out there are desperate to get anyone to review their books. I'm going with the former so that I can feel warm and fuzzy rather than sad and pathetic, which would lead me to have to evaluate the meaning and purpose of my life and that's just too much for me on this rainy Monday morning. Instead, I will just promise to review related books on a weekly basis. That will give me purpose, I'm sure.

Today's review is of Your Farm in the City: An Urban Dweller's Guide to Growing Food and Raising Animals by Lisa Taylor and the gardeners of Seattle Tilth. And guess what? They sent me an extra to give away, which means free stuff for you too! (I assure you that gratis goodies will in no way influence my opinions. I'm a lady that says what she thinks.)

I like this book, in all honesty, because of the pictures. I know that sounds totally superficial and kindergartnerish of me, but I can't help it. Fonts and graphics grab my attention and break up what can sometimes be dry, informational reading. To be sure, there are a couple spots in the book where the busyness gets in the way of the content making it difficult to read some of the text. On a page dedicated to what not to put in a compost pile, "pet poop" is almost completely obscured by the giant "O" of "oils". Kind of an important thing not to compost and you wouldn't want to overlook it. But this is minor and a bit nit-picky of me. Overall the layout is gorgeous and engaging. If I had picked this up at the bookstore, you can bet I would have snatched it up right quick.

As for the content, this is a very general book to get you started on all things urban farming. It covers a lot of ground in its not-so-densely-texted 335 pages. Topics covered include planning, building soil, container gardening, working with small spaces, growing from seed, soil fertility, general info on many fruits and veggies, pests, fertilizing, strategies to keep things growing past their typical season, and information on livestock animals that are well suited for an urban setting. The book speaks to the newbie of urban farming. If you've been wanting to grow a few things in the yard and raise a couple chickens but have been hesitant to get your feet wet, Your Farm in the City will set you on the right track and provide a good amount of inspiration and knowledge to get you started. If, however, you've been urban farming for awhile, the book might be a little too basic for your needs. While reading, you get the gist of the subject matter yet nothing is expounded upon in depth. The section spotlighting various fruits and vegetables is incredibly general with not much more information than is found on the back of seed packets. Again, this kind of simpler presentation would be ideal for the fledgling urban farmer, who could easily be overwhelmed by the abundance of information out there on each of the above topics. That being said, I, somewhat experienced urban farmer, did glean a few quality nuggets of info amongst the pretty pages.

Should you buy this book? Well I guess that all depends on your level of urban farming experience. If you can't tell a leek from a potato, a container garden from a raised bed, or a chicken from a duck (ok, that was a bit over the top), this book would be an ideal place to get you started. On the other hand if you've cleaned more chicken crap than you care to recount, successfully grown a few edible crops, and done your time in the compost trenches, this might not be the book you're looking for to take you to the next level. Still, I would have bought it if someone hadn't sent it to me first.

What's your favorite book on farming or homesteading? For your chance to win a free copy of Your Farm in the City, leave a comment before midnight Sunday and I will pick a winner on Monday. I'll announce the giveaway winner with next week's book in the Reviewing the Reads series. Good luck!

Inspirations from the Big and Little Screens: My Urban Garden

2011-05-13T21:54:00.000-07:00

There are so many videos that I have been meaning to share with you all, but just haven't gotten around to doing so. I can hear my mother's voice echoing in the distance, "Shit or get off the pot, daughter!" (I love my mother. She swears like a sailor.) Did I mention that I am a professional procrastinator? If only that job paid. Well I'm finally doing it, shitting or getting of the pot that is, and am making these video posts a weekly feature.

For this first installment, I've chosen a sweet, 1984 short produced by the National Film Board of Canada featuring a woman named Carol Bowlby who grew massive amounts of food in her Nova Scotian urban backyard. Talk about packing it in! This lady had a mere 260 square feet of space in which to plant and was able to produce enough to keep her family of five in veggies for seven months out of the year. Now that's impressive. I've been able to glean several useful and thrifty tips on small space growing from the film. But the icing on the cake has to be the film's classic late 70s-early 80s ambiance: an earthy, handmade pottery sense of style set to an airy flute combined with tinkly xylophone soundtrack, just like all of the educational films us 40-somethings watched in elementary school. The helpful, timeless tidbits overlaid by the dated fashions and sounds make this one a real gem.

The Chick Deck

2011-05-10T22:38:00.001-07:00

The little chickadees aren't so little anymore. At four weeks, they are almost fully feathered and ready to be housed outdoors. Thank goodness! Those little buggers have been flying out of their cardboard box brooder and running all over my craft room pooping on the floor; there's a layer of fine dust on absolutely everything caused by the chicks scratching and churning up the leftover micro-particles of feed; and the peepers are starting to get aggressive with each other. Their time indoors needs to end soon. The newest pastime is to hop on top of the brooder to sun themselves under the heat lamp. What a bunch of kooks.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Got Gardener's Hands?

2011-05-06T14:29:00.000-07:00

Try my healing balm. According to all who have used this stuff, it's the shiznit. My sister swears it healed the chronic rash on my nephew's hands. I've put it on the hubby's eczema and poof, those red bumps disappeared in less than 24 hours. It also seems to speed the healing process of the cooking accident burns that I seem to acquire every week or so. I bet it would work wonders on dry, cracked hands. Here's the top secret recipe:

Heidi's Healing Balm for Hard Working Hands

1 8oz jar of shea butter
a few squirts of avocado oil (maybe like 1/2-1oz?)
at least 4 droppers full of 800 IU vitamin E oil
a couple handfuls of calendula blossoms (fresh or dried)
1/2 a handful of lavender blossoms (fresh or dried)
1 handful of chamomile blossoms (fresh or dried)
30-40 drops of lavender essential oil
10 drops rose essential oil
5 drops chamomile essential oil
15 drops benzoin essential oil

Melt shea butter over low heat and add other oils and flower blossoms. Put in a 200-250 degree oven for one hour. Strain. Add essential oils and stir. Pour infused oil into small containers. I reuse those little metal medical marijuana containers since I know someone who has a lot of them. They're the perfect size and easily fit in a pocket or small purse. If you want the balm to solidify quickly, pop the containers in the fridge. Otherwise leave them at room temperature and they will firm up after several hours. If you make it, let me know if it works wonders for you too.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Easy Carrot Pickles

2011-04-26T12:53:00.000-07:00

Wow! We're finally harvesting the carrots that we planted last October (or was it November?). Success! They are not as big as I would have hoped, but they're a respectable enough size. Since we are getting loads of carrots from our CSA, one of the gals that comes to hang out with me on the farm once a week, Vanessa, suggested pickling them.

We found this recipe from David Lebovitz, a former San Francisco chef cum food writer now living in Paris full time. I've gotten all of my best pickle recipes from him. He's the bomb. I love him. Seriously. And for all you travelers out there, check out his tips for dining out in France, a must read for anyone not wanting to piss off a French waiter, which I have done on more than one occasion and don't recommend.

Vanessa and I whipped up two batches, one seasoned with dill seeds and the other fennel seeds. I like them both equally. The husband told me that these were hands down the yummiest thing I had preserved so far. Thanks hubby. They took us a total of 15 minutes to prepare. Gotta love that kind of preserving: low input, big reward.

Vanessa gleefully chopping the carrots. That might be a little too much glee with that knife.

Blanched carrots soaking in vinegar mix.

The finished product.

Happy Easter!

2011-04-24T10:31:00.000-07:00

We have no eggs, but we've got a load of cute fluffy things.

Goats: Strictly Country or Potentially Citified

2011-04-23T23:43:00.000-07:00

I originally wrote this post for the website Backyard Ecosystem in conjunction with a podcast interview, which you can listen to here.

Goats: Strictly Country or Potentially Citified

The debate over whether or not goats should be allowed in urban backyards is a heated one, as I discovered after being interviewed for a New York Times article describing the difficulties of goat ownership. Unfortunately, the article failed to acknowledge the benefits of goat as pet beyond the delicious dairy factor. To be sure, goats are challenging creatures. This holds true in any environment, urban or rural.

Personality wise, goats are like a cross between a dog and a cat. They love to be stroked, pet, scratched – especially scratched, and can be trained to walk on a lead, carry packs, or pull carts. Much like the feline, they will possibly come when called, but don’t hold your breath. They demand attention, get jealous if another herd member is getting more love than they are, and make human-like screams when in pain or afraid. They will sit in your lap, nibble your shoe laces, eat from your hand, and sometimes give kisses. They are intensely independent and curious, to the point of being naughty. They will exploit any weakness in a fence if it will gain them access to better forage or allow them a larger area to explore. They are smart and crafty, verging on wily. The job of a goat owner is to stay one step ahead of her caprine friends. Challenging? That would be an understatement. Rewarding? You betchya!

So how the heck does one raise a goat in a city, let alone the country? Sheesh! With a little work, problem solving, innovation, determination, and staying on one’s toes, goats make lovely backyard companions. If you are considering taking the caprine plunge, here are a few things to consider.

1. Is it legal to own goats in a city?

Before diving in, find out whether or not your city allows goats. Municode is a fabulous online resource for researching your city’s codes.

If you find it’s not legal, change the law like the folks in Seattle, Denver, and Kansas City have done or are attempting to do. Goats make great backyard pets as they are relatively quiet, don’t smell (only bucks stink and you wouldn’t want to keep one of them in the city anyway), don’t bite, their manure can be used as compost (unlike a dog’s), and they can demolish your weeds.

2. Do I have enough room for goats?

That’s right, I said goats, plural. These guys are herd animals. To just keep one would be cruel. However, if you can find a wee goat fresh from her mama’s teats, you might be able to get your golden retriever and her to make friends. I wouldn’t bank on that so I would say it’s best to go with two goats, at the least.

There are two sizes of goats, miniature and standard size breeds. Miniatures require 135 square feet of roaming space. A standard goat would need twice that, which would probably be more feasible in a suburban backyard. With the 1000 square feet we have in our San Francisco backyard, standard sized breeds are out of the question.

3. Goats need daily care and adequate shelter.

Contrary to popular belief, goats will not eat anything. Stick some meat or cheese under a goat’s nose and she will turn her head in disgust. Don’t even think about picking something off of the ground and offering it to her. Your gift will surely be rebuffed. And once and for all, goats don’t eat cans. They might taste one, but they won’t actually eat it.

Goats are ruminants, intended to digest the cellulose of plant fibers. Thus plants should be the basis of their diet. Goats are mostly browsers, but you probably won’t have enough fresh and dry forage in your backyard to cover all of their dietary needs. We feed our goats alfalfa and/or orchard grass for the dry. If you have a wether (castrated male), don’t feed alfalfa as the high calcium can cause urinary problems. To a lesser degree we offer the goats fresh things like weeds, raw veggie scraps, and tree branches for the leaves. Green things can potentially cause bloating of the rumen, which can be deadly, so always keep some baking soda out. The goats will eat it if they need to neutralize their stomachs. Some green things are poisonous to goats. Know exactly what you are feeding your friends and if it's safe.

Goats should also be fed a ration of grains twice a day in order to ensure adequate nutrition. This should be available from your local feed store. If you have a lactating goat or doe in her later stages of pregnancy, you need to make sure that her feed is at least 16% protein. Of course, fresh water should be available at all times.

Goats have high mineral needs, especially for copper. They need to always have access to minerals, either loose or as a compressed brick salt lick. Watch for high salt contents since that can deter the goats from taking in enough minerals as they will stop consuming when they feel they have gotten enough salt. Do not be tempted to buy something that is labeled for both goats and sheep. Copper is toxic to sheep so these products will be useless. Goats must have copper, as I recently discovered when one of my goat’s coats started to go gray and dull – a sign of mineral deficiency, particularly copper. We now give our goats copper boluses twice a year along with their minerals. On the other hand, too much copper is toxic. Do your research on how much copper your goat will need and administer accordingly. Selenium is also an essential mineral. You need to check with your hay supplier to see if you live in a selenium deficient area. If you do, there are supplements that you will need to use, especially during the end of a pregnancy.

Every six weeks, hooves need to be clipped. Twice a year, goats should be de-wormed. And once a year, you will need to update their tetanus shots.

As for shelter, goats require something that will keep them dry and out of the wind. We use dog igloos, but any small draft free structure will work. It’s also nice to have a dry area for the animals to roam around on rainy days. We’ve put up clear corrugated roofing over a portion of their pen.

Life expectancy for goats is around 15-18 years. Figure they will be around as long as human children usually live in their parents’ homes.

4. Goats need to give birth in order to produce milk.

I know this might come as a shock to some of you, but don’t feel silly that you didn’t know. Time and time again, overly educated adults, some even mothers themselves, have asked me how I got my goat to produce milk. Mothers, people! This goes to show exactly how far we have been removed from food production. We can’t even recall that goats, like all mammals, must have offspring in order to lactate.

Now that we’ve all reached that little epiphany, let’s move on to reproduction in an urban environment. First you will need a buck to impregnate your goat. Unless you have a large property, I wouldn’t recommend bringing the buck to your little urban homestead. You may be wondering why you couldn’t have a male and female goat pair to make babies. Well, I’ll tell you; bucks smell. Really, really, really strong. They also pee on their faces in order to woo their women. I’m not kidding. Apparently, it drives the ladies wild. (Attention human men, I am certain this only works for goats. Don’t even think about trying it. I guarantee poor results.) We send our does off to the country, where the odiferous buck is of no offense, for a six week romantic get away, otherwise known as a stud service. For $50-75, our does receive room and board and all the lovin’ they can handle. They come back to us pregnant and five months later give birth on the urban farm.

This leads us to the space constraints of dairying in the city. Once the doe kids, those babies grow faster than a bean sprout. Suddenly, your little herd of two has turned into a gaggle of four or five. Though those little fluffy critters are cute enough to make you puke, you live on a plot the size of a postage stamp. Where are you going to put these new additions? Most likely, you won’t have room for more goat friends. Good quality dairy does are highly marketable, if you can find a buyer in your area. Therein lies the rub. Goat rearing in the city is kind of like a pyramid scheme. You need to keep finding people willing to purchase the goat babies to keep yourself in milk. Oh by the way, did I mention that goats only produce milk for about 10 months? After that, they will need to be “freshened” (impregnated) in order to give milk again, which means more babies to find homes for.

And then there are the males. The livestock world is cold to the men of the species. Since it takes very few males to impregnate lots of females, breeding bucks are kept very selectively. Most males are either wethered to be companions for other goats or slaughtered for meat. You will have a 50/50 chance of having male offspring so you need to figure out what you are going to do with them after they arrive. Could you butcher your own animals? Would you be able to find a buyer locally? On Craigslist? Are there farmers outside of your city that might purchase a goat or two? Be honest with yourself. Sending the offspring to a local shelter so that you can make chevre from your own animals would be irresponsible animal ownership, not to mention it would give the rest of us urban goat owners a bad name.

5. Milking goats is a daily job.

When your doe is lactating, she must be milked every day. Every day. Twice a day for standard sized breeds (I only milk my miniatures once a day). This means if you go on vacation, somebody needs to do the milking for you otherwise your doe will dry up and you will be milkless until the next breeding cycle. Make friends with goats’ milk lovers. You can probably train them to do the milking while you are out of town in exchange for all the goat milk they can drink. This type of trade has worked well for me.

6. The key to raising urban goats is adequate fencing.

In a rural area, setting up a goat pen and small barn is pretty straight forward. Urban areas can pose more challenges, particularly around legal code issues. Most cities have restrictions around how close animals can be to dwellings. San Francisco requires that animals be kept at least 20 feet from any door or window. Find an area of your yard where you can contain the goats legally, and yet allow for enough roaming space to keep the gals happy.

Miniature goats need a minimum of four foot high fencing to adequately contain them. For standard goats you would probably want to go with five feet. We use redwood fencing in some areas and wire field fencing in others. Goats love to gnaw on wood (not severely) so plan to replace wooden fences after a few years. Some people use electric fencing, but city’s often have rules about that so make sure you know what you can and can’t use. There are a wide variety of materials that will make good, strong fences, just remember that goats are escape artists. Gaps, spaces, or holes in fencing larger than 4”x4” could have you chasing small goat kids down all day long. Thin wire will be rubbed against and bent down until the goat can leap over it. Play it safe and build secure fences before your goats arrive.

7. Be good to your neighbors.

In a city, you live so close to your neighbors that you can practically spit on them. Don’t. If you want to have your animals without raising the hackles of the folks on your block, keep things clean and tidy. Keep your manure shoveled and compost tumbling to prevent stinky anaerobic activity. Use lime or enzymatic products, like Roebic, to control urine odors. Keep flies and vermin in check. Nobody wants to live next to a dump. Don’t let your property become one.

8. Disbudding and castrating are necessary evils.

Goats have horns. In small spaces, you do not want a goat with horns. Not only could she injure you or a child (god forbid), but she could seriously harm another goat, dog, or herself. Horns can break off during aggressive play or attempted escape artistry and as the horn is alive, there is a vein inside that if broken can cause the goat to bleed to death.

The most effective way to stop horns from growing is disbudding, which entails shoving a two week old baby in a small box so they can’t move and pressing a special hot iron into their skulls until it burns the horn bud off. This is as painful as it sounds. Disbudding irons are pricey and the process is ugly, so I take my kids to the vet to have it done. I’m a total wimp when it comes to inflicting pain on baby creatures, though I am sure that I will eventually take it on since having the vet do it is expensive too.

Castrating males isn’t as bad, though there is a lot of controversy around which method to use. Like I said before, male goats are not cut out for city life due to their unique smell. They can also be aggressive. If you decide to wether your goat, at around eight weeks you want to either band the testicles with these thick rubber band thingies (available at feed stores) which cut off blood supply to the testicles, or use something like the Burdizzo to squash the blood vessels.

There you have it: the basics of raising goats in the city. There are a lot of issues to take into consideration when thinking about owning goats. It is a serious commitment. Will goats become as popular as the backyard chicken? If my ability to find buyers for the babies that we produce here at Itty Bitty Farm in the City is any indication, the answer is most assuredly no. Yet I hope that all the work involved doesn’t dissuade folks from considering them as potential pets. Producing your own milk from animals that you have direct care over is more rewarding than you can imagine. It’s worth the effort and reminds us of how grateful we should be to those who produce our food.

For more detailed information on raising goats check out Gail Damerow’s book Your Goats (geared towards kids, but a great book for beginners) and Storey’s Guide to Raising Dairy Goats. My hands down go to source for all things goat is the Fias Co Farm. This site has some of the most extensive information on raising goats out there on the web, including a lengthy list of plants, shrubs, and trees that are poisonous to goats.

That's My Bee

2011-04-21T23:22:00.000-07:00

And this one too.

How do I know? Well the apple tree hasn't had a single bee working the newly blossomed flowers over the past week until I brought this home.

Yup. I drove out to Walnut Creek, plopped the vibrating box in the trunk of the Prius, and drove the bees home. Don't worry, the hive was sealed shut so no bees were flying around the car. I was expecting to be unnerved by a violent buzzing coming from the back, but the wood box really muffled their hum.

I purchased the bees from a Bay Area beekeeper who sells off his swarms along with the base deep and frames. They weren't cheap, but what I liked about it was that I could get started without having to chase down my own swarm and figure out how to establish the hive by myself. I'd like to have a little more experience with the bees before I advance into swarm catching. I also liked the fact that the bees come with a guarantee. If the hive fails within the first three months, the guy will replace them for free.

When I arrived home, I set them in a secret spot in the backyard where no one ever goes, right under the neighbor's two apple trees. As soon as I popped out the protein patty corks, the girls came out to explore their new surroundings. I had a cinder block stand set up as a base for the hive then realized that I needed a framed base for ventilation and to be able to place buckets under the legs to prevent ants. I moved the hive - without any bee gear, mind you, cause I'm balls ass crazy like that - over one foot while I put the stand in place. The slight adjustment completely disoriented the bees. They couldn't figure out where the hive entrance was. This after only two hours of being at their new location. Their homing instinct is more accurate than a GPS device. Amazing! And a little weird. I mean how come they can't find their way over a span of 12 inches? I noticed they were getting a tad agitated from the move so I made a makeshift bee veil consisting of a basket on my head and an orange-pink-yellow swirly see through curtain thrown over the top. Never mind my ridiculous ensemble, the thing worked as I endured no stings. I put the hive back in its original place, which then set everyone to right.

Unfortunately, the buckets under the legs didn't seem to deter the ants. By morning the hive was crawling. I kinda freaked. Not even 24 hours after arrival I was being robbed! I couldn't understand how the ants had gotten on the hive. It's not like they can swim, right? Ok, I guess they can swim. With a little online research-o-rama, I found out that I was supposed to put oil in the buckets. Um.... yeah... I knew that.

Though I have had experience with bees, albeit 18 years ago when I was interning on a small organic farm, my knowledge of their inner workings is rudimentary at best. So I've pulled out Sue Hubbell's A Book of Bees to refresh my memory and I plan to join the local beekeepers' association. For over 20 years now, I have dreamed of having a hive of my own. I am beyond thrilled with our new additions.

Introductions

2011-04-18T21:36:00.000-07:00

The video is courtesy of Ute, Itty Bitty's very own seven year old chicken whisperer (love the sideways videotaping). Try to ignore my unkempt appearance. I hadn't gotten out of my jammies all day.

New Peeps on the Block

2011-04-15T23:30:00.000-07:00

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Goodbyes Are Hard

2011-04-12T00:00:00.000-07:00

Lucy was in a foul temper this morning. That makes two of us. I trotted out to the yard with the oh-so-bright idea that I would attempt milking her out completely by hand, but found myself more than a touch regretful when half way through the squeezing, Lucy planted a poo laden hoof into the milk pail. I leapt off of the milking stool erupting, "You fucking bitch!" I think the gaggle of teenagers at the bus stop (our yard looks over a main thoroughfare) overheard me as I could hear the snickers echoing up the hill "Who's she calling a bitch?" I could have kicked myself for being so cavalier, so presumptuous... so public with my colorful outbursts. Damn it, I knew better. Eh, Lucy did plenty of kicking for me. She coated my brand spanking new, totally awesome "Millions against Monsanto" t-shirt with a slime of crap and milk. I washed it off, but by early afternoon I detected a baby puke odor following me about.

I guess Lucy had a right to be upset; Fred and Ginger went to their forever home this weekend. Lucy's been agitated since they left. Even Ethel was miffed. I understand. We miss them too, even if they were only here for a short while. They're just so darn affectionate and adorable. But they've got great new digs down in Watsonville with Pam at Peaceful Valley Farm.

They will surely be happy there. Pam's got a great plot of land with all sorts of interesting residents, like this bantam frizzle,

these Polish ladies who, contrary to assumptions, are great layers,

this gorgeous roo, whom I wished I could have taken home but for that darn crowing issue,

and these cute-as-can-be turkey poults.

Chickens running around the yard is pretty pedestrian stuff to Pam. She grew up in the San Jose area where her mom always had a flock in the backyard. Her mother, who now lives in Los Gatos, often drops by to help her with the ladies. Pam's got all kinds of interesting breeding things happening. Right now she's working on crossing Ameraucanas with a brown layer (I think she said a Cuckoo Maran) to produce hens that will lay olive colored eggs. So cool.

I was super impressed by the number of onions Pam had planted: 365, one for every day of the year since that's how much her family eats on average. She's really got those suckers packed in here.

And check out this celery plant.

Good god, it's like a bush! The poor puppy could get lost in there. Maybe one day I'll get a celery plant to grow that ginormous. Though I suspect Pam may have some sort of plant crack in the soil. You should have seen the Dino Kale tree. Wish I would have gotten a pic of that. It was so impressive that I begged Pam to send me some of the seed when she collects it.

We wandered around the farm for a good long time, procrastinating on our goodbyes. It's so hard to let go. Fred and Ginger are super special to us. They are our first babies.But Pam promises that she will keep us all posted on their to-doings on her blog. Thank you, Pam, for taking Fred and Ginger into your fold.

Eggo Egg Bound?

2011-04-06T20:12:00.000-07:00

When I found our white Ameraucana stiff as board, beak in the dirt, spread eagle under the coop, the first thing I thought was that the mites took her. Upon closer inspection I saw that she had passed a couple blood clots, which were stuck to her fluff. Did she get an egg stuck? Since it was dark out already, I decided to sleep on it.

The next morning, scalpel in hand, I went to see if egg binding was the actual culprit. Having never eviscerated a hen before, I struggled with where to start. A good long cut from the cloaca down the belly seemed right enough. Dang, there was a lot of stuff in there! I probably should have checked out some chicken anatomy diagrams before I began this little operation. Next time.

After rummaging through her intestines, I found a hard oblong sac, which at first I thought was the trapped egg but then realized as I sliced it open that it must be the stomach... er, crop (chickens don't have stomachs) as it was full of grass, dirt and other muck. In the center of all the mush, I found the culprit: a big chunk of glass. I thought my luck with chickens was pretty piss poor, but this one really takes the cake. Damn, just when I was getting those mites cleared up!

R.I.P. Eggo.

In other news, Sweet Pea's bumblefoot has cleared up nicely and she's laying eggs again. The other two hens are not laying, still losing feathers, and seem to be going through a second molt. I didn't know that was possible until my friend Esperanza sent me this. And then I read another article on the topic that says stressful events - like heat, mites, or parasites - can lead to molting. Some breeds only molt every two years, which would explain my friend Rachel's ragged hen that didn't molt this year.

Hopefully one of our remaining ladies will go broody soon and we can pop a few new chicks under her. This is a great way to take advantage of one of those chicken behavioral annoyances that leads to reduced egg production. The broody hen will see the chicks, think she's hatched them, and then dote on them like any good mother hen.

Itty Bitty Baby Goats Update

2011-04-03T13:14:00.000-07:00

Fred and Ginger are home! Only for the week though. My friend who had purchased them has decided to move out of the country so the kids need a new place to crash. Another blog reader, Pam of Peaceful Valley Farm, has agreed to take Fred and Ginger. I will be delivering them to her this week, but I wanted to keep them around so that Fred could work his magic on Ethel.

Over the last month, I was beginning to have serious doubts about Ethel being preggers. She wasn't growing. She wasn't moody. She wasn't laying around more than usual. Yet she also wasn't showing any signs of estrus, until last week, that is, when after a walk I saw some goo coming out her backside. I was disappointed, to say the least. This meant no Easter baby goats, and more importantly, no milk coming in when Lucy is due to dry up somewhere around June. Boo hiss!

I knew for sure Ethel wasn't pregnant when Fred arrived and she started showing clear signs of heat: tail flagging, blubbering, mounting Fred, sticking out her tongue, and getting gooey "back there". I've set up a little love nest for Fred and Ethel in an unused portion of the neighbor's yard. They are having a swell time snorting all over each other, waggling their tongues, and taking turns jumping on top of each other. To tell you the truth, Ethel seems a little desperate for it. Hopefully this will be a prosperous match.

It was amazing how instantaneously Lucy and her babies recognized each other.

After a bit of sniffing and licking, you know what the first thing those kids wanted to do? That's right, get a little chichi from their mama. She rebuffed them at first, but then must have conceded at some point as I've only been getting 3/4 of a cup of milk in the morning (I usually get 3 cups). Those darn kids! I've missed them though. They are still so adorable and SMALL. Ginger is a tiny little thing and I'm pretty sure she is pregnant. Her udder has started to develop and she is pretty wide for her size.

I suppose this happens all the time in nature so I shouldn't worry too much about it. Though I've got my fingers crossed that everything will go without a hitch for Pam's sake.

And look how handsome Fred is with his long beard and white flip of hair on his forelock. Too bad he is probably going to be castrated as he could make some lovely offspring. Good luck to Ethel on making some attractive babies with him.

Out of the Pot and into the Frying Pan

2011-03-28T00:06:00.000-07:00

Unfreakin' believable! You would think that with the mites on the hens, the lice on the goats, and the staph infection on one chicken's foot, nothing more could go wrong on the homestead. Ha! That's just not the way our luck is rolling these days. To complete this den of infestation, Ute and I got lice. However, not from the goats. Like many parasites, lice are commonly host specific.

Last week, Ute brought home from school a letter informing us that someone in her class reported to have Pediculus humanus capitis. I checked her over several times during the week - not thoroughly mind you, just a look see for anything squirming about in there and nada. Zip. Zilch.Then on Friday, after our dear house guests from Redlands departed from their week of Itty Bitty farm camp (more on the visit later), I found a load of the nasty buggers in various stages of development roaming around Ute's scalp. Having never had lice before, I was aghast at their relatively large size compared to goat lice and almost transparent coloring. If they hadn't been moving, I would have never noticed them amongst our blond hairs.

Ugh! For the last three days, I have done nothing but vacuum, bag clothing and anything else that has touched a head (if left for two weeks, any louse or nit left will die from starvation as the babies need a blood meal within 24 hours of hatching and the adults can't go longer than two days sans sangre), and obsessively comb hair. We are trying to stay away from the nasty poisonous stuff as I am sensitive to chemicals and I would rather not expose my daughter to it either. We've gone with a head dressing consisting of massive amounts of olive oil, therefore suffocating the little bastards, and LOTS of combing and inspecting for nits to stop the cycle. I believe on the day of discovery, I spent somewhere near nine hours dealing with the eradication and preventative measures. Poor Ute was passed out cold for the final comb through.

The olive oil did kill the live lice, leaving only two barely breathing ones that I murdered with my razor sharp finger nails. We are now on a daily regimen of inspecting and combing for the next seven days as that is how long it should take for any remaining nits to hatch. We are being very thorough in our daily combing rituals, taking at least an hour or more to inspect each strand of hair. We are also leaving our hair really oily so that no freeloaders can cling on (worked for the husband - with all of his hair goop that he uses he has avoided infestation) and rubbing in tea tree, rosemary, peppermint, and lavender oils since lice reportedly don't like pungent smells. With all of these measures, we should be good. Good lord, I hope so! All this bugginess is really beginning to bug me. Really.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Cluckin' Bumblefoot

2011-03-17T22:13:00.000-07:00

And so we begin another episode of veterinarian's hospital. Jesus Christ, when it rains, it freakin' pours! So I was slathering on the petroleum jelly to Sweet Pea's legs to get rid of the mites, which I might add is a real pain in the ass with all of her lovely leg feathers, and I notice on the bottom of her foot that there is a ball of something that looks like a goat poo pellet. Being the picker that I am, I scratched at it. Cluckin' A! Wouldn't you know it, that was no piece of poop. It was a scab masking a big bleeding hole. Cluck!

And I was just talking about this in my chicken class and breathing a big ol' sigh of relief that I've never had to deal with it: the dreaded bumblefoot. Contrary to the name, this does not mean that my chicken stepped on a bee. Bumblefoot is caused by a staph infection and can be gruesome to get rid of. If you notice in the picture, the pad of the foot is swollen under the sore. This is the "plug" or "seed", basically a mat of staph bacteria that needs to be dug out. Gross!

After reading a few different discussions on the topic at Urban Chickens, Backyard Chickens (warning graphic pics), and Yuku's Backyard Chickens, I decided to start with something that didn't involve a scapel and digging around inside the tissue of the foot. I tore the scab all the way off, palpated the foot to see if any nasty things popped out, washed it in some special blue liquid that I got from the vet a year and a half ago when I ripped off Sweet Pea's toe (you can clearly see my handiwork in the pictures), soaked the foot again in diluted Betadine, shoved a buttload of triple antibiotic ointment in the wound, wrapped it up, and put a shoe on it made from foam insulation used for copper tubing and duck tape. That's right, I made a shoe for a chicken. Don't laugh. I'm like McGyver over here.

My fear is that I will have to go in for the "plug". We'll see how this goes first. What is up with Sweet Pea and her foot? This time it is so not my fault.

Bugs

2011-03-15T21:39:00.000-07:00

All of this rain intermingled with warm sunny days has been amazing for the garden. And the bugs. Ugh! It seems that in every nook and cranny there are little crawling or flying things emerging en mass from some invisible winter hibernation. Everyday I'm out with the zapper, electrocuting flies left and right. However, it doesn't get the tiny bugs, which have been more than prolific.

Not only is the yard abuzz, so are the animals. This past week, one of the chickens stopped laying and started losing feathers. I noticed that a few of the scales on her legs were looking dark and raised. That's definitely not normal. Usually her scales are smooth and almost white. From what I could figure, it was scaly leg mites though I wasn't sure. But when I pulled out the bedding in the chicken coop and saw all these little black dots bouncing around, I had no doubt I was right. I checked all the girls, and each one seemed to have it. *sigh* To deal with the pests, I've scrubbed down the hen house, sprayed the coop and the birds with poultry spray, sprinkled diatomaceous earth (theoretically, the fossilized remains of diatoms absorb lipids from the exoskeletons of tiny insects causing them to dehydrate and die) on absolutely everything, and slathered all the chickens' legs with petroleum jelly to suffocate the suckers. So far it looks as though it is working.

The goats haven't fared much better. Both have lice. Lucy not so bad, but Ethel... good lord! I usually give Lucy a good grooming while she is on the milk stand and that seems to have kept the numbers down. I only find a handful each morning. Obviously I've been neglecting poor Ethel. Last week her spine was coated with tan, sesame seed looking bits. After a rubbing of tea tree and lavender oil into her coat and a good sprinkling of D.E., she is looking much better. Once we get a good spell of sunshine and things dry up, so should the lice. I look forward to that day, but in the meanwhile I'll continue the battle by arming myself with pungent oils, hard-shelled algae, and oily substances.

Goat Baby Flashback

2011-03-08T21:40:00.000-08:00

I wanted to post this video yesterday in solidarity with my fellow urban homesteaders who would like to retain the ability to legally use the terms "urban homestead" and "urban homesteading", but have been a bit out of sorts with the caffeine detox. In fact, I was going to write a whole bunch more stuff today, but I think I will go to bed instead.

As Ethel approaches her due date (Easter), I was fondly remembering our farm's first births.

What an exciting time. I can't wait for more babies.

By the way, Fred and Ginger may be in need of a new home. If you or anyone you know would like these two adorable (now full-grown) creatures, please please please contact me. They are super sweet and very friendly. Fred could still be neutered (surgically) if you need a wether rather than a buck.

Mineral Deficiencies

2011-03-07T00:07:00.000-08:00

Recently, I've noticed that Lucy doesn't quite look the same as she did when she first came to us. She seems to be going gray. I'm sure that at a mere two years of age she isn't anywhere near ready for the old goat folk's home. This premature graying must be due to a mineral deficiency. You can see the difference in these two pictures.


At 5 months


At 2 years - photo courtesy of Lori Eanes

I have read that goat coats can get scruffy and dingy if the critters are not getting enough of what they need, especially copper. I looked into getting a product called Sweetlix® but everyone in the area was either out or didn't have the kind I needed. Someone actually tried to sell me the mineral mix for goat and sheep, which would do me absolutely zero good since there isn't any copper in the mix because it's extremely toxic to sheep. So I ordered Hoegger's Golden Blend Minerals and some copper boluses off a lady that I found through a thread on Homesteading Today who takes apart boluses for calves and puts them in smaller capsules that a goat can swallow. She sells them at cost. Since I only need 4-6 boluses to get me through the year, this was more economical than making my own. Let's cross our fingers that Lucy returns to her lovely golden brown color soon.

Lucy isn't the only one around here looking a little lackluster. I know I told you all that I would be cleansing at the beginning of this year (including a colonic which I've decided to skip for now), but of course I procrastinated on that for weeks and now here we are in March and I have done zilch to curb my caffeine and sweets addictions. In particular, my fondness for black tea has gotten completely out of hand. In less than two weeks, I have consumed over 100 tea bags. No joke. Over 100. It's real bad. My poor adrenals are begging for a break, along with my kidneys and liver. I may be loaded with antioxidants, but I'm sure that hasn't done me a darn bit of good since all of my vitamins and minerals have surely been depleted.

After having investigated a ridiculous number of cleanses, I've settled on the Clean Program. What makes that one so great, you ask? Well I like the fact that you are eased into the cleanse by eliminating things such as caffeine, sugar, wheat, dairy, red meat, and processed foods before you begin. During the cleanse itself, you have a liquid breakfast and dinner, and a real meal with protein and permitted grains for lunch. This supposedly gives the body a good amount of time during the night to do it's job of "taking out the trash" so to speak, while simultaneously rebuilding with plenty of nutrient dense foods. This seemed perfect for me since I need to eat a decent amount of food on a daily basis as I have a wicked fast metabolism. I know for some of you there is a snarky little voice in your head shouting, "Um yeah, that's called being lucky!" I promise it's not as awesome as it sounds. At various times, I've been told that I look like I escaped from Auschwitz or asked, in all seriousness, if I had cancer. The best was when some over zealous psych student approached me with a "I know what you're doing and you're going to kill yourself that way" diagnosis. And before anyone out there thinks, "God, I wish someone for once would think that I had anorexia," I say no, no you do not. Nobody in their right mind wants to be accused of having a mental disorder that they don't have. That's crazy.

I digress.

I know you all are wondering why I need to detox since I am thin and, of course, the healthiest eater on the planet with my omega-3 rich eggs, easily digestible raw goats' milk, and nutritious veggies sprouting from every corner of my yard. Ha! Little do you know that I harbor secret lusts for coca-cola, bacon, and In and Out burger. Anyone remember this?

As a wee child filled with optimistic ideas about a culturally united world, the carbonated beverage folks, with a moral compunction no better than that of the tobacco industry, infiltrated my impressionable young mind with this little number. Though, I don't drink as much of it as I did in my younger years, I have been a coke (the drink) addict ever since I can remember. Now that we know the caramel coloring causes cancer, I should really consider suing for damages. My friend Robyn tells me that since I know it's bad for me. I can't sue in good consciousness. I don't agree with that logic.We successfully took the tobacco companies down, why shouldn't we take on the soda giants?

Again, I digress.

I was also inspired by the physical transformation of Melinda (One Green Generation) on the Clean diet. Shit, I want to look and feel that good! Bring on the green juices and quinoa. I'll check back in around the beginning of April with before and after pictures. I'm so looking forward to my future radiance.

Wish Lucy and I luck on our journey back to health and well-being.

The View from My Backyard

2011-03-03T16:16:00.000-08:00

I see this truck pull into the Safeway parking lot a couple times a week and I have to chuckle each time I read the banner.

I have to disagree.

Photo courtesy of Robin Jolin

Inadvertently Suggestive Photos of Sausage Making

2011-03-01T00:07:00.000-08:00

I suppose it would be impossible to illustrate making wieners without it coming across as somewhat x-rated. Reader be forewarned, I cannot be held responsible for fits of giggles or the urge to make lewd jokes usually reserved for the junior high boy's locker room or a Mike Meyers' film while reading this post. Please try to exude a level of maturity equivalent to your chronological age. This won't be easy. But, you do want to learn how to make sausage, don't you?

My friend Julia mentioned on Facebook that she would be attempting her first batch of sausage. Having also never had the pleasure, I begged her to let me help (see, it's already getting kind of pervie and we haven't even gotten to the photos yet!). Julia supplied the fixings and I supplied an extra set of hands. Ute, my seven year old daughter, also joined in the fun and I have to say that I don't think we could have done it without her. If only someone could have snapped a shot of all three of us trying to crank out the bangers without getting raw meat everywhere, but of course someone had to be in charge of the camera. The following is a blow by blow account of how to make your own inadvertently pornographic food.

Equipment needed:

meat grinder
sausage stuffer
hog casings
bowls

Ingredients:

5 pounds meat (we used a mix of skinless chicken thighs and pork loin - I would recommend leaving skins on)
1 pound fat (we used about 1/4 pound of lard - we had extremely lean sausages)
1/4 cup whiskey
3/4 cup chicken broth
2 tsp. salt
sauteed onions
seasonings (we used fresh thyme)

Julia had placed all of the equipment in the freezer and refrigerator before I had arrived. This was to keep the fats cool while processing so that everything doesn't become a big gooey mess.

When I showed up, I found Julia meticulously washing out the hog casings. She opened one end of the intestine, filling it up with a good amount of water

until it looked like the start of a balloon animal.

She then drew one hand down the intestine, pushing the water through, while looping the cleaned gut with the other hand.

As the water passed through, Julia would pick out the microscopic pieces of grit.

Once the casings were clean, we focused on the meat. The semi-frozen cuts were a breeze to chop into one inch chunks, which were then mixed with the lard and thyme.

The broth and whiskey were combined

along with the 2 teaspoons of salt.

Then all ingredients were tossed.

After mixing, it was into the hopper of the grinder.

Ute cranked, while Julia fed the meat into the machine.

Then they traded places so that Ute could get her hands into the frigid, squishy mess.

Once the grinding was finished, the mixture went into the freezer to cool down before stuffing.

In the meantime, Julia cut me and Ute's hair. Did I mention that she is also our hairdresser? Freshly shorn, we moved on to setting up for the stuffing bit. This 6 inch plastic tube went inside the stuffing machine.

One end of the hog casing was put onto the plastic tube

and then the entire casing was eased onto the plastic shaft.

(Breath deeply, it gets worse.) Stuffing was placed into the stuffer and after all the air was expelled through the casing

a knot was placed 6 inches from the end of the intestines.

As Julia pressed, I guided the sausage (I told you),

helping it to form a nice even tube.

As the filling continued to expand the tube, I spiraled the sausage snake onto a wax paper lined pan.

Julia formed the links by twisting the casing every six inches, making sure to alternate rotations in opposite directions at each separate twist. For a first timer, her technique and speed were impressive.

Voila, a pan full of sausages.

The strands were hung up to settle and have the air pin pricked out of them.

I skipped this step, which didn't seem to adversely affect my half of the booty in the slightest. The sausages were most definitely tasty and the husband liked the fact that they were lean. I think on my next go around, I will make two batches, one lean and one with loads of fat. I can already feel my arteries bulging.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

The New York Freakin' Times, Baby!

2011-02-23T15:29:00.000-08:00

I swear I will not turn this blog into shameless self-promotion, but I just had to share this with you all.

Lucy made it to the big time. Ute (our daughter) is very jealous.

On French Drains and Farming Friends

2011-02-22T00:14:00.000-08:00

The French drain is finally done. I procrastinated on finishing that project for a good three weeks. I wasn't REALLY procrastinating, I was busy with other things - I know, likely story, but I swear it's true.

I was so fortunate to have my friend Esperanza of Pluck and Feather volunteer to help me with the digging. Yes, you heard me right, she OFFERED to dig a hole in my backyard for free, which, in my book, makes her one of the most awesomest people in my world. When I questioned her motives, she said "How is this any different than if we were friends that liked to run together or play sports? This is the stuff we like to do so why wouldn't we do it while hanging out." God, I'm so glad we're farming buddies and not running buddies. I HATE running.

Here I am looking a little spent.

I assure you it's all for show. While I was out at the store picking up some more filter fabric, Esperanza had moved all 900 pounds of drain rock from my truck to the backyard. Damn, that girl can hustle. I told my husband that he should hire her for construction jobs. Most of the guys I've worked with in our construction business couldn't hold a candle to her. Her breakneck productivity left me in the dust feeling more than a little guilty for not being as industrious - you know, like when a guest comes over and does the dishes that you've been meaning to get to all day. What? That's never happened to you? Looks like I could use some more urban farm workouts.

After we dug the trench, we laid filter fabric (landscaping fabric) and then a 20 foot length of 4" perforated pipe in the hole.

We then covered the pipe with drain rock.

After the drain rock, we wrapped the filter fabric around the whole thing as if we were putting a baby to bed or wrapping a burrito. Rocks were placed on top to hold the fabric in place.

At one end of the pipe, I installed a small sump pump, which I placed in a five gallon bucket. I don't think we'll need it, but the husband wants to make sure we don't flood in the animal pen again.

The bucket was attached to the perf pipe and then buried only to the lid so that we can still access it in case of mechanical problems.

I put a small square of ply over it, keeping it from being crushed by curious animals.

I suppose the pump is in no danger of damage by Fruit Loop.

And here's the finished product! We're going with bark mulch for bedding, since the hay seemed to prevent water from draining into the soil. I'll keep you posted as to how that ends up working out.

I Am an Urban Homesteader

2011-02-20T23:20:00.000-08:00

Duh!

ur·ban (ûrbn) adj.

1. Of, relating to, or located in a city.

I've got that covered.

home·stead (hmstd) v.intr.

To settle and farm land, especially under the Homestead Act.

Hmmm. Maybe we should look up what exactly "farm" means.

farm (färm) n.

1. A tract of land cultivated for the purpose of agricultural production.

2. a. A tract of land devoted to the raising and breeding of domestic animals.

Well I engage in one of those definitions, but do I practice agriculture?

ag·ri·cul·ture (gr-klchr) n.

The science, art, and business of cultivating soil, producing crops, and raising livestock; farming.

Yup. Since there is no size requirement, I'm an urban homesteader according to The Free Dictionary. Let's see what Wikipedia has to say.

"Broadly defined, homesteading is a lifestyle of simple self-sufficiency." (Note that this definition was last modified on January 22nd, 2011, almost one month prior to the debacle.)

Let's see; In the city of San Francisco, I raise goats for all things dairy, chickens for eggs, grow as much of our produce as I can, knit, sew, preserve, build (love my drill gun), cook most things from scratch, re-use, re-purpose, recycle, act as my own accountant, make my own toiletries (soap, deodorant, hand creams), produce energy (with solar panels), make my own music, and a whole bunch of other things that I'm sure I'm forgetting. I learned the majority of these skills from my super crafty, homesteady (and they didn't even know it) parents. They learned to knit, sew, preserve, bake, build, and raise livestock from their parents. Life used to work that way and I am extremely fortunate that my parents felt these skills were important enough to pass on. Most people my age weren't as lucky in that regard.

I am proud to be a jack of all trades, master of none. It's a great life. It's MY simple life on MY URBAN HOMESTEAD where I am URBAN HOMESTEADING. Without trademarks.

(If you are confused, see this post from a couple days ago.)

Victory!

2011-02-18T13:45:00.000-08:00

The San Francisco Planning Commission has passed the Urban Agriculture proposal! Now it is on to the Board of Supervisors. This is really exciting stuff. You can find out more information on the proposal at the SFUAA website or on the outcome of the Planning Commission meeting at Little City Gardens. Let's grow it San Francisco!

Holy Urban Homesteading Hurricane

2011-02-17T23:18:00.000-08:00

If you've been asleep or off the computer for the last 24 hours, you've been missing one hell of a soap opera in our little urban homesteading community. A real firestorm of outrage has ignited amongst our ilk due to a well known family in Pasadena having trademarked the terms "URBAN HOMESTEAD" and "URBAN HOMESTEADING". Recently, the Dervaes family sent out "friendly" letters to businesses, bloggers, libraries, and non-profits, requesting that “If your use of one of these phrases is not to specifically identify products or services from the Dervaes Institute, then it would be proper to use generic terms to replace the registered trademark you are using. For example, when discussing general homesteading or other people’s projects, they should be referred to using terms such as ‘modern homesteading,’ ‘urban sustainability projects,’ or similar descriptions.”. But what really threw the community into fits of high passion was when yesterday, folks like K. Ruby Blume of Oakland's Institute of Urban Homesteading found their Facebook pages blocked.

Oh lordy, were people pissed! And justifiably so. Take Back Urban Home-steading(s) cropped up almost immediately on Facebook after the news broke and in less than 24 hours, 2,124 people have "liked" the page. Incredible!Well what did the Dervaes family expect? The "friendly" letter informs all of us out here in blogland that we need to cite the Dervaes Institute whenever we use the terms "urban homestead" or "urban homesteading" as these words are now their "intellectual property". For reals?

Since I started my urban homesteading (I refuse to trademark this term on principal and in solidarity with my fellow urban homesteaders) project, I have looked up to and greatly admired the Dervaes family for their accomplishments. What they have done on their little lot is truly amazing. I've gone out of my way to purchase seeds and other products from them and to promote their endeavors on my blog. I've even felt protective when folks gave them crap for writing about their religious practice of keeping the Sabbath. And I'm an atheist! I believe they have the right to claim ownership over their work, but this over the top power play for dominion over common use words that are most often utilized in a descriptive manner was just too much. It felt like a good, hard slap in the face from a beloved friend that turned out not to be a friend at all. I was hurt.

And then I was angry. Which is what happens when you feel hurt. I know this. I've spent years in therapy.

So I moved past the anger and once I did, I felt really sorry for this family that is now being bombarded with all kinds of vitriol from an intensely passionate community who feels betrayed. I couldn't withstand that kind outrage from a well-spoken, articulate mob. Yet the back-peddling on their blog, posted multiple times a day without addressing the valid concerns and questions the community has raised, only justifying and reinforcing their stance is... goodness, I'm embarrassed for them.

If they could only bury the self-aggrandizing flag and realize that all of us urban homesteaders have something of real value to contribute to the conversation. Each urban homestead is different - different projects, different configurations.. Each person or family faces their own challenges. Most of my urban farmy friends read loads of blogs from all kinds of folks in all kinds of situations. We learn from each other. I'm certain there is room for all of us at the urban homesteading table.

And to anyone else out there who thinks they are singular in their self-sufficiency ideas (don't even get me started on whether or not any idea is truly our own - we borrow from everyone else and we all know it), I say phooey to you. Tell that to my friend Martin, who grew up with Chinese immigrant parents. They always kept a chicken in a shopping cart out in their Richmond district neighborhood of San Francisco. Or to my neighbor who told me one day while I was out walking my goats that his Mexican immigrant father who lived only a couple blocks away kept rabbits and chickens for food over 20 years ago. And what about the Asian families in my neighborhood who use every inch of ground to grow something edible? I snapped these photos during the summer of 1993 in an urban neighborhood just north of the Boston University campus.

At the time, I called this permaculture as I had recently finished my design certificate course. My sister told me that there was a large Asian community in this neighborhood and that they always had food growing in their front lawns. I was flabbergasted by the efficient use of space. I'm sure they didn't slap any fancy labels onto what they were doing. They, like most immigrants, probably called it "surviving".

If you want to read more about the drama, you can see the Dervaes' posts on their website and find most of the blogospheres reactions at the Take Back Urban Home-steading(s) page. Who knew that age old traditions of gardening, preserving, and raising chickens could find themselves in the midst of a patent war. And why does this whole thing smack of the second grade drama my child whines to me about, "Mom, Dolores was copying me today and I didn't like it." Honey, copying is merely a form of flattery.

It's Here

2011-02-11T15:37:00.000-08:00

Hey Bay Area folks, did you feel it? That blustery northwest wind gusting through our parts earlier this week? Baton down the hatches kids, spring in San Francisco is here! Aside from the annual zephyrs,our city's de rigueur Purple Leaf Plum trees are bathing us in their sea of pink, sweetly perfumed blossoms for the next week or so. Blink and you could miss this classic indicator of the season.

So have you ordered your seeds yet? Better get a move on. There's not much time! In fact, you should have been planting yesterday according to lunar cycles. We've been planting by the moon for the last year, not so much in that woo woo astrology kind of way, but more as a means of staying organized and on track to ensure continuous yields. We also figure that it's probably been the way humans have been planting since the dawn of agriculture and that there might be something to be said for a tradition that has withstood the ages.

What is planting by the moon? Here is a good explanation of the basics. I also find this site really useful.But once you have a general understanding of the way it works, you can just check in with the moon phases and you'll know what to do. The Farmer's Almanac always has a lunar calendar and a list of ideal dates for specific gardening chores, a great choice for the lazy gardener.

With so much back stock of seeds and such limited growing space, I decided to order from only one seed company this year, Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds. I've had great luck with their products and the selection of rare varieties is mind boggling. It literally takes me 12 hours, minimum, to go through their glossy, over-sized mag in order to pick out what I want to grow. I love every second of it. Since we have a super long growing season, but very little summer heat, we have to choose our seeds with great care. For traditional summer crops with heat requirements, we go with short season varieties. I've found that Russian heirlooms do exceptionally well around these parts. Here's the list of what we will be taking a stab at this year:

Beets - Golden
Broccoli - Romanesco Italia
Cauliflower - Purple of Sicily
Carrots - Jaune Obtuse de Doub, St. Valery, Parisienne
Cabbage - Early Jersey Wakefield, Bacalan de Rennes
Pak Choy - Extra Dwarf, Shanghai Green
Spinach - Merlo Nero
Onion - Yellow Flat Dutch, Noordhollandse Bloedrode
Fava Bean - Extra Precoce A Grano Violetto
Bush Bean - Hutterite Soup, Dragon Tongue
Cucumber - De Bourbonne, Early Russian
Eggplant - Diamond

Giant Cape Gooseberry

Melon - Minnesota Midget
Pepper - Lipstick
Pumpkin - Jack Be Little
Winter Squash - Table Queen
Tomato - Orange Icicle, Caspian Pink, Rose de Berne, Black from Tula, San Marzano Lungo No. 2, Isis Candy Cherry
Watermelon - Blacktail Mountain

Hmmm, I think I went overboard again with the seeds. Maybe I'll have to borrow the neighbor's yard for the melons and squash. They get more sun anyway.

What kinds of interesting things are you growing this year? I have to settle for living vicariously through folks who have hot summers.

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Come One, Come All

2011-02-11T00:04:00.000-08:00

Please support urban agriculture in San Francisco by joining us at City Hall next Thursday. Pimp some green colored clothing to show you're down for the cause. We hope to see you there.

Announcements

2011-02-03T22:45:00.000-08:00

The Killing Never Ends

Romper, bomper, stomper, boo. Tell me, tell me, tell me do. Magic mirror, tell me today, have all my friends had fun at play? Any Romper Room fans out there?

I can see my friend Novella, whom I'd like to thank for her posting about these bug zappers. The kiddo and I spent the better part of an hour fighting over who would get to fry the flies.

"Can I try?"

"Wait, wait. Just let me get this one."

"Please, can I try it?"

"Wait till I get that one flying really high."

"Just one time? Pleeeeeeease!"

It's obvious that I was totally bogarting that electric swatter, but before you feel too bad for the child I did let her get her fair share of zaps in. We had a blast with our new toy, high five-ing each other after every good zzzzzt. There's nothing better than the sound of sizzling bugs. I think I've found a replacement for my flea picking compulsion. The dog and cat will be so relieved.

Goodbye stinky, gross fly traps. You've been replaced.

Farm Tours

I know I've tried this before, but I really mean it this time. For reals. Starting next week, the farm will be open on Fridays from 10-11 a.m. for visitors and anyone looking to pick up some farm goodies (email me for address). Please show up within this time slot if you want a good look around and a bit of chat. If you show up at 10:55, you will get a whirlwind five minute tour and if you show up after 11 you will be "shit out of luck", as my mom likes to say. I hate to sound like such a biznatch because we really do love showing folks around and sharing our space with the urban farm curious, but the amount of work that needs to get done around here combined with two (work at home) jobs precludes us from being available all the time. I realize this is an impossible time slot for those of you with regular jobs so if you really, really can't make that time, email me and we'll work something out.

Here's a list of current farm treaties available:

Eggs
Chevre
Spicy Salsa
California Chile Salsa
Catsup
Strawberry Syrup
Ollalieberry Jam
Lemon Apple Butter
Blueberry Jam
Goat Milk Soap
"Cluckin' Good Eggs" T-shirts

Internships and Apprenticeships

Did you know there's a difference? I'd been using the words interchangeably until I read this article and realized I shouldn't be playing fast and loose with semantics. "Say what you mean, and mean what you say." That's what my dad always told me to do.

Anywho, I had a couple of folks who were supposed to start interning at the beginning of the year, but that fell through. I've now got a couple slots open for any interested parties. Folks should have an interest in the following:

1. Gaining firsthand experience with various aspects of the urban farm: food production and preservation, animal care, and maintenance/use of space/beautification. The internship can focus on any or all of the three categories, depending on interests.

2. Committing to working 6-8 hours a week for a minimum of 12 weeks.

3. Having a real desire to learn about urban farming practices and a willingness to work hard at a variety of tasks including light construction, mucking manure, digging, and handling stubborn, willful goats.

Itty Bitty is an experiment in self-sufficiency (like we don't make any bread for making our own bread, man) so we can't pay interns money. However, we do shell out in eggs, milk, and produce for a hard day's work. Email me if you are interested.

Spring Chicken Class

A good number of people had said that they would be interested in taking a chicken class at Itty Bitty if it was offered. Hmm... so what happened to everyone? Do you all have plans that weekend? Is it the time? Are you afraid that I'm going to be really mean and have you stick your fingers up the backside of a chicken to prove your readiness for hen ownership (I swear I won't do that)? Talk to me, people. I was expecting a larger number of folks to sign up and I would hate to have to cancel on the couple that have already committed.

The class will be on February 26th from 1-4 p.m. I promise it will be super fun. There will be loads of good info, you'll get to try your hand at wrangling chickens, I'll give a wing clipping demonstration, AND there will be farm snacks.

(Wow, I didn't mean for this post to be so long... and bitchy... and whiny. Sorry. I'll go ahead and blame it on "that time of the month".)

Kale Chips Itty Bitty Style

2011-01-30T19:28:00.001-08:00

I believe the secret to perfect kale chips is a low oven temperature, about 250 degrees. Too hot and they tend to burn. I also use insulated baking sheets, which hold even heat. With regular pans, try parchment paper.

Usually I stick with olive oil and salt, but today I experimented with my seasoning. I whipped up a concoction of olive oil (3 Tbsp.), ume plum vinegar (1-1.5 Tbsp.), and soy sauce (1-1.5 Tbsp.). After de-stemming and drying the rinsed kale, I brushed the mixture on the leaves and placed them in a single layer on the pan. Using a brush prevents too much of anything globbing up in one area. I then popped them in the 250 oven for about 30 minutes. I checked them a couple times to make sure they were fully crisp - leathery kale chips are not what we are going for. They came out perfect and oh so delicious. A real hit with the kiddo to boot. This could be the trick you've been looking for to get your child to eat their greens.

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Support San Francisco Urban Agriculture

2011-01-27T21:32:00.000-08:00

If you haven't heard, San Francisco is changing its zoning laws to permit gardens in all areas of the city and to allow sales of produce from those gardens. Yay! This is really exciting stuff. But we still need your help. The San Francisco Urban Agriculture Alliance is supportive of the proposal with the exception of three little niggles: the requirement of fancy fencing for gardens (fancy fencing costs bucks, big bucks), the "change of use" permit fees that would incur if someone were to say put a commercial growing operation in a residential neighborhood like Little City Gardens has done (again, could be costly and involve all kinds of convoluted conversations with the planning department - we want to promote urban ag, not scare folks away), and the prohibition of selling value-added goods (what can we say, jams and preserves are all the rage these days and a little extra moola could turn a business that is just covering costs into one that is profitable). You can find more information, including the proposal itself, here.

There are three ways you can show your support.

1. Sign the online petition!

2. Send a letter to the planning commissioners.

3. Join us at the public hearing on Thursday, February 17th (1:30 p.m. at City Hall)

Thank you everyone for supporting urban farming!

Cool Season Squash

2011-01-25T12:39:00.000-08:00

If you live in an area where the soil doesn't freeze, you might want to give chayote a try. This squash plant, native to Mesoamerica, is unique amongst cucurbits in that it produces fruit in winter. The plant is propagated by allowing the harvested fruits to begin sprouting. They should be collected in December or January and left on the counter. If by March the squash doesn't sprout, you've got a dud and will need to start again next year. Chayotes should be grown in pairs for best production. Make sure you select a good site for their size. They can be grown in sun or shade, as they are light seekers, but will grow 10 to 15 feet in the first season so they will need plenty of room. A trellis or fence is a good idea for support.

The chayote is a popular plant in San Francisco. I've been meaning to plant some the last couple years, but kept missing the time window. The other day I saw that a neighbor had a huge canopy of vines that looked like a grape variety of some sort, but on closer inspection, I saw that it was a chayote con espinas. Ouch. I made a special effort to walk the dog past this house everyday, hoping to catch the owner at home to ask if they could spare a couple. I want to join the chayote club too! No luck. So I hopped down to 24th street in the Mission and picked up both the smooth skinned and the prickly types, two of each. Because dammit, I will have chayote by next year!

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It's January?

2011-01-23T11:57:00.001-08:00

My peppers are finally ripening. It's winter, right?

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Spring Chickens Class

2011-01-22T21:51:00.000-08:00

Want chickens in your backyard, but don't know if you've got the chutzpah? Come find out at Itty Bitty's first ever class on raising urban laying hens. We'll go over everything you need to know about responsible chicken ownership in a city: housing, feeding and general care, essential chicken terminology, predators, breeds, vaccinations, diseases and illnesses, purchasing chicks or pullets, legal issues, maintaining good neighbor relations, and local resources.

When: Saturday, February 26th from 1-4 p.m.

Where: Itty Bitty Farm (address given once you sign up)

Cost: $20-30 sliding scale (you can pay by cash, check, or Paypal)

To sign up, contact me at heidikooy(at)yahoo(dot)com and I will reserve a space for you. Hope to see you there!

Get Your Fruit On

2011-01-21T00:29:00.000-08:00

It's January boys and girls, which indicates for us Left Coasters that it's time to seriously contemplate fruit trees. Get that bare rootstock in the ground and light a fire under it (metaphorically speaking, that is; I'm not advising burning bushes here). Prune your established trees. Give your Prunus persica a good dose of copper to prevent the horribly debilitating peach leaf curl. Graft scions to existing trees. Where can you get scions to graft, you ask? Funny, I was just going to mention the Golden Gate Rare Fruit Growers scion exchange this Saturday.

WHEN: 12 noon to 3:00 PM
                Saturday, January 22, 2011

WHERE: First Baptist Church
                  4555 Hilltop Drive
                  El Sobrante, CA

EXCHANGE DETAILS:
•Hundreds of varieties of scions (fruit wood) to graft onto your own trees, including:
apples, pears, quince, plums, peaches, nectarines, apricots, cherries, and more. . .
•Cuttings to root: grapes, figs, pomegranate, kiwi fruit, mulberries, and more. . .
•Rootstocks and grafting supplies
•Grafting class and demo 12:30 and 1:30
•Custom and assisted grafting of your selected variety onto a rootstock
•Local Fruit Friendly organizations
•Raffle
•Questions answered, secrets revealed. . .
•$4 donation to enter
** volunteers needed
** bring plastic bags and tape to label scion varieties you take home

Don't forget to do your research about what trees will work best for your microclimate. Chill hours are crucial. If you think you can get away with growing a tree, in the heart of San Francisco, that needs 1000 plus chill hours, you are sadly mistaken and will certainly be disappointed. Here's a useful chart for the Bay Area. Chill hours can vary greatly across the city of San Francisco and I had once found this very awesome link that gave the number of hours by neighborhoods, but now I can't find it. Crap. You can use this for now as cross reference and if I ever do find that super useful site, I will be sure to post it. Happy fruiting!

Fond Remembrances

2011-01-20T22:55:00.000-08:00

Is it possible to be nostalgic for events that transpired merely a month ago? I just received a disc of photos in the mail from a local photographer, Lori Eanes, who came out to snap some shots of the farm last month. Aside from being absolutely gorgeous, they capture the last few days that I had with the baby goats. My heartstrings are feeling a serious tug at this moment. Sniff sniff.

Not Such a Bad Gardener After All

2011-01-19T21:20:00.001-08:00

I'm enjoying spending time in the garden during this lovely warm spell we've been having. And I've come to the conclusion that maybe my thumb isn't all that brown after all.

The speckled lettuce and escarole have been slow to grow, but are coming along nicely. You can even see some carrots in there.

This is my experiment bed where I threw in a load of radish, carrot, and beet seeds all nilly willy. The radishes are obviously winning.

I'm surprised at how well my chicken wire potato cages are doing, regardless of the leaning Tower of Pisa issue.

I will blame all of my previous garden mishaps on the rats, who, by the way, have been suspiciously quiet.

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Hunting

2011-01-13T13:34:00.000-08:00

Guess how I spent the better part of my morning? Tracking down neon green rat turds in the animal pen so that the chickens wouldn't accidentally peck at poison poo. Damn, there were a lot of them. This is going to be a messy five days.

Makes me fantasize about buying this pellet gun, called the Whisper, for the hubby's Valentine's gift. How romantic. We could sit in the backyard like a couple grits, me with the blow dart gun and hubby with his air rifle (My awesome urban farming friend Rachel over at Dog Island Farm informed me that pellet guns are not considered firearms because they don't use gunpowder. Shows you how much I know about weapons.), enjoying a quiet evening taking out rats as they skitter across the fence.

"Did yeh git that one, honey?"

"I shore as shit did!"

Too bad both weapons are illegal to possess in San Francisco. Just when I thought I could bring a little romance back into my life

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Your Days Are Numbered

2011-01-12T22:23:00.000-08:00

To exactly five. How do I know this? After over a year of hunting you and your kind down using every method known to man, I have finally sunk to the lowest form of ridding one's self of thine enemy. It wasn't like I wanted it to go down this way. Thankfully you were a willing participant in your own demise, gobbling up three of those fluorescent turquoise poison cubes like you were one of Jim Jones' bitches guzzling the People's Temple Kool-aid. An ugly, brutal death awaits you, but you left me no choice.

You see, I'm over the top pissed that you got yourself out of this Havahart trap that I left you in for the Disgruntled Farmhand to do the dirty deed. You looked so defenseless and cute in that little cage, and I had done enough killing in recent months. I thought I could pass the job on this time. I hadn't expected that you would be able to wrench yourself out of seemingly secure galvanized steel. But you did. You clawed hay up through the mesh, piece by piece, until you could shove it into the corners and wiggle the lock on the door, cracking it open no more than a half inch. It was enough. What are you made of, silly putty?

The DF was hopping mad because he knew - now that you had figured it out - you wouldn't go in the trap again. Fuck you and your metacognition! It's no wonder you are so blasted difficult to get rid of. You can fucking learn!

Screwed I was, since we had exhausted every other method of good riddance. Snap traps killed a couple of your young ones, but then everyone wised up and the grain tinged lumps of peanut butter remained untouched. The bucket trap seemed promising since you guys were always falling into the goat's water. However, I never got that one set up quite right. The electric zapper was a winner until it shorted out in the rain. I'm sure, in time, you would have caught on to that one as well. The black box bait stations never had a chance since you all are neophobic. How the hell did your kind get so smart if you're afraid to try new things?

Having little impact on your overall population, we moved on to interesting weaponry. The DF built this cool frog gig from a bamboo pole.

We taught the seven year-old how to use it.

The best any one of us did with the spear was to knock one of you off a fence, possibly causing some bodily injury. Though that might be wishful thinking on our part.

Everyone loves the blow dart gun.

I don't know how effective it is. A few of you have shown up injured and in need of a more humane end after a nighttime under-the-chicken-coop dart blitz. Certainly not enough death to put any kind of dent in your numbers. On this count, we really don't care. A strong puff through the tube is a super fun way to pass the time while simultaneously developing fine marksmanship.

The DF expressed interest in busting a cap in your ass with a pellet gun, to which I had to persuade him otherwise as I am 100% positive that it is illegal to discharge a firearm within city limits. There's only so much law breaking I can allow around here.

Our foray into various arsenal eventually seemed diversionary. We moved on to destroying what we thought were all of your nests, like this one inside the neighbor's fence.

But you little fuckers set up shop everywhere. You're like the John McCains of the rat world with too many homes to even remember where you put them all.

When we realized that you had breached the sacred boundary between interior and exterior, finding droppings under the basement stairs, we were done with you and the filth leaking from your incontinent sphincters. This war needed to end. I put that poison out where I knew you could get at it, but other less pathogen-laden creatures couldn't. I will try not to think about how you are going to bleed to death internally. Or that a stray cat may eat you and be poisoned accidentally. Or that you might die between our walls, producing a stench so vile that we will have no choice but to open it up and dig you out. Yeah, I'm going to try not to think about all that.