So About that Blog I Have...

Summer here is chaotic at best, insane often, frequently over the top and always unexpected. This one has been no exception. A coyote comes every time I let birds out and eats them, sometimes before my eyes and always before I can react. We did our first slaughter of birds for resale. We've done it twice now and we're getting much better at it. The birds are not like the ones in the store. There's a difference in the meat that you can either handle, or not. I love it. I am working on the new book most of the time and inserting canning tomatoes, chicken killing, coyote watching, seeing family, gardening and life-in-general in the cracks. There are not a lot of cracks. So pictures I think for now, since it's been so long. Knitting...someday! Closer to completion of this book I will start sharing bits of it. I don't like to share while I am in the middle of the thing. It feels not right somehow. I am not sure how. Just not right. So you get life, in brief.

The hawk who harries my birds. One of, I should say. Momma had 2 this year and has managed to keep both alive.

Thud that was. He is now gone. In the end I could not eat him and in spite of my protestations against waste, he went to the coyote or some other wild thing.

Young birds on range with supervision - we've had a coyote here eating birds faster than I can grow them. I spend a lot of time bird-watching, and not the wild ones.

I think I keep chickens just for this. I love to watch them being chickens.

Armageddon. Three supers full of honey, and the extractor due here this week. The honey shall (I hope) be mine!

Beans. I love beans. I have a new (to me) variety this year called Lazy Housewife which seemed right for this year. Good call. Prolific. Stringless. Tasty. What's not to love?!

The tea jug (formerly used for racking wine), just because I like the handle.

Aidan, my Ninja Grandson. No really. He is. He's almost invisible.

 April, granddaughter, non-Ninja, all innocence.

Aidan eats corn. Somewhere there is a picture of him on this same deck eating corn, but he's about 5 years younger.

April looking pensive, or curious, or just young. Or just perfect.
Hope your summer is wonderful!

How can I Blog without any Pictures?

I can't. So I went and took some just for you.
Summer is in full swing here, which means things are insane. The Armageddon hive bees have filled three supers, or nearly filled three supers, so there will be a mid-summer honey harvest very soon. Meanwhile, the baby chickens aren't so much "baby" any more, and some of them will soon find their way into the Featherman Special and others will be laying soon. The Fayoumi and Lakenvelders who are the smallest of the batch were the first to crow and the first to run out the door to the fresh grass once I opened it. They are tiny and indomitable. The bigger birds hang back. I love this about chickens, their personalities and tastes and attitudes. And yes, I will still eat them. Some of them are jerks, which makes it simpler. A tiny cockerel who's flying at your legs and attacking your boots at 6 weeks or age is asking for it, and I can oblige.

This was a couple of weeks ago, their first box of veggie trimmings from the kitchen of New Fortune (my current favorite is the Greenfield Roll - light and perfect for summer!), which they attacked with great relish and vigor, as did their olders and betters

The hens still are a mess. Although two roosters for 32 hens should be within a range that might make life good for the hens, it is apparently not a good ratio for these two particular roosters. They spend a lot of time fighting over hens, and even more time on hens. But the hens put up with it and even encourage it at times, so if nothing else I am respecting the natural behavior of the animal. Chickens reproduce. It's not a glamorous act, but they have a job to do. Candles and wine have no place in the barnyard, unless the farmer and her husband are having dinner on the deck.
The garden is ridiculous, with garlic already in the mudroom waiting to be laid out to cure tonight, green beans already in the freezer and more to come.

We've had more than a few dinners culled from our own garden, which makes me very happy. I lost all berries to chipmunks, moles, and either a fox or a bear, I am not sure which. Whoever it is, they sneak in the night after I say "Tomorrow those will be ready for picking!" The currents and gooseberries just never had fruit, which stunned me. They were so prolific last year. It's an odd year. Not odd and moldy like last year, but odd in new ways. My Bee Balm is tiny, and the roses just never had flowers. But the peach tree wants to topple under the weight of it's offerings and we had our first cherries (4) and first apricots (2). We were very excited. We also have our first hazelberts, maybe 4 or 5 of them. These trees are all young, so any productivity is a shock.
Last night I rode to Northfield's farmers market, since I'd missed my own for a Natalie Merchant concert (a worthwhile event to be certain). I saw Kristin and Julia with their freezer full of lamb (yum!) and the folks from Coyote Hill Farm and Chase Hill Farm and a lady sitting under an umbrella selling raspberries for $3 a pint, and a few other vendors scattered around. I bought a pint of berries, of course. I would have bought them all but that seemed excessive.The Northfield market also has live music and they open the church kitchen and cook up burgers and dogs, or salads, or ice cream by request. It's a longer ride, but a more entertaining experience than the market in my own town. I miss living in Northfield, and I think I would go back in a heartbeat if we could arrange it. I grew up there, I reared my kids there, and I miss it most of the time, in spite of their abject stupidity in removing the last remaining gas station from town.
And I am writing a book. No sweat. Did I mention the part where I neglected to look closely at my calender and managed to not realize I had a deadline in July? Oops. One sneak peek. This is a scarf that will be in the book; the yarn is Lorna's Laces Pearl which I am unbelievably in love with. Love love love. The drape is amazing, it runs through your fingers like butter.

In other news, or in the interim while you want for more scintillating sneak peeks into the new book, I knit a sock for someone else. The pattern is written Toe-Up 2-at-a-Time.

The yarn is Black Bunny Stella, which is sparkly with silver (mmmm) and very, very ballet pink. Super-girlie sock, perfect for farm chores I think.
The yarn came from Dye Dreams for me use to design for their Four Seasons sock club. October shall be my month. I had to choose a color from one of these.

I did, but I am not telling you which yet. You can guess or wonder, as is your wont. More will be revealed.
I bought Very Expensive Firewood.

This is a mushroom log; an oak log that's been drilled in spots and filled with shiitake spore. It has so far produced 3 mushrooms. It's not in it's final home yet, so really I am not expecting a lot. And it was so bloody hot the last couple of weeks I am surprised it's even trying. 98 degrees and mushroom culture are not compatible.It's in a shady spot, but really should be further into the woods I think.
Mostly my life revolves right now around this:

Two bins stuffed full of yarn, stacks of reference books (apparently I was Knitting in the Old Way recently? Or just scrounging sources for percentages on which to base a sweater design, more like) and stitch dictionaries, every circular needle I own and...a wooden hand. Not really sure why that's there. And my remotes, so I can watch things like Shakespeare plays over and over and over while I write and draw and swatch.
There are moments in the process of composing a book that I come to despise it, question my sanity, ponder my future, contemplate a return to nursing and wonder if I just gave back the advance could I be done now? This has happened every time, just as it generally does with patterns. I have adjusted to it and make allowance for it now. In the beginning it scared me. Once the patterns are written and put to bed I can relax again for a while. Until the next book, or next flood of produce or honey or eggs, or the next chicken or human canine crisis.
For now it is errand day, and there are eggs to deliver and dog and cat food to be obtained and chinese food veggie scraps to be retrieved for my starving chickens (not really, but like the dogs they regularly think they are).

I Love Books, Not Just My Own.

First I do the whole disclosure thing here - yes, some books come to my door in boxes that I didn't pay for. The two books I am reviewing today are such as those. I am not paid to review them beyond the 'free book' part of the deal, and I will not review any books I don't like. If I like it, you'll see it. If I don't, you won't. The people who send me the books know this. Occasionally they send me a book I love and I forget to review it right away and then time passes and I get busy and I forget which one I was supposed to review, but that's more a personal problem, really. I was just sharing. These two are unforgettable, and not just because I am as the writer of 2 sock books and a collector of same.
The first, Toe-Up Socks for Every Body - Adventurous Lace, Cables and Colorwork from Wendy Knits by Wendy Johnson is a truly stunning collection of beautiful toe up sock information and design.

There is marvelous breadth and depth here. From the encouraging "Basic Information for Sock Knitters" which inspires you to begin modifying and designing socks, through a stunning series of patterns, culminating in a detailed technique section with clear images and instructions for multiple cast-on and heel applications, this book does not fail to impress. I have a particular love of twisted or traveling stitches and cables, and there are socks in this book of that ilk that nearly take my breath away. I was particularly struck by the beauty of the Diamonds and Cables Socks and Crocus Socks. I tend to avoid colorwork in my personal knitting life; I am not sure why this is, unless it stems from a childhood of various Red Heart intarsia and colorwork 1970's atrocities. In fact this would be my guess - one too many loopy hats in something brightly ombre, or vests with large ladybugs or owls yanked over my then 7 year old head may have left a rainbow of scars. Yet I am lustful over Wendy's lovely Norwegian Rose Socks. Brilliantly designed and beautifully photographed, this book is a must-have for any sock knitter.

The second book, The Sock Knitter's Workshop - Everything Knitters Need to Knit Socks Beautifully by Ewa Jostes and Stephanie van der Linden truly lives up to it's name.

From discussions on yarn, needles and tools required the books transitions to the basics of sock knitting; numbering double pointed needles, knitting a swatch (always a topic near and dear to my heart), clearly photographed and explained increase and decreases, Kitchener stitch - it's all here. This is a must-have book for beginning sock knitters and fledgling sock designers. Casting on and getting started with double points is covered in a way that gives knitters a choice between a single needle cast on or a multiple needle cast on (the method I use myself when knitting with double points). Multiple cast-ons and variations for cuffs are presented from basic to decorative (and adorable!). Heels and toes are approached in the same fashion - many options so that knitters can choose for themselves. The focus of this book is really top down, but directions are supplied for toe-up knitting as well. Time is given to knitting socks on circulars, as well as flat or back and forth techniques to take your socks in new directions. The book culminates with a section featuring 15 patterns, each rated according to difficulty using a yarn-ball scale as a guide. New to socks? Start with a one-ball pattern such as Babies' Socks - a great way to step into socks without the commitment of a large scale project. Looking for a challenge? Choose the 3-ball Mosaic Pattern. If you've not tried socks yet, this would be a great way to dip your toes in.

Unless of course, you want to jump in headfirst, in which case I know of a couple of books that might be of interest, but maybe I am biased.

Speaking of me (such ego), things are gearing up for a wild few weeks here. I will be on the Webs Ready Set Knit podcast with Kathy and Steve this week. It will air locally Saturday at 9am on 1400/1250 AM, or you can download it at iTunes after the show airs. Also on Saturday I will be teaching the first ever open to the public (but it's full now, so don't bother trying to get into it) Toe-Up 2-at-a-Time class at Webs. On Monday, a package of bees will arrive at Mr. Wonderful's place of work, and we'll pop them into our second hive. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? On Tuesday there will be 50 fluffy chicken butts in a cardboard box at my PO at some ungodly hour. On Thursday May 6th at Webs there will be an evening gathering to celebrate the official launch of Toe-Up 2-at-a-Time Socks, complete with nosh and champagne and chit-chat and signing of books. Please come if you can, but register first with customer service by calling 1-800-FOR-WEBS or emailing customerservice@yarn.com. There's no fee to attend, but a head-count is a good thing - it simply would not do to run out of champagne now, would it? I'd love to see you there - really I am just perpetually neurotic that my various hosts will buy cookies and bottles of bubbly and boxes of books and then no one will show up and I will feel bad that they invested time and money in me, so please come and drink something or eat a cookie and definitely buy a book so that I can relax a little. On May 9th I will be wandering aimlessly at the NH Sheep and Wool with my husband who will be buying me yarn and raffle tickets and lamb and things - if you see me and you have a book and want it signed, I do travel with a Sharpie! Don't be shy, unless I have my mouth full of lamb, in which case if you could wait till it's empty that'd be nice. On May 22nd a Toe-Up 2-at-a-Time class will be held at Metaphor Yarns in Shelburne Falls, and then on the 29th of May I will be at the Massachusetts Sheep and Wool in Cummington, signing book at Foxfire Fiber's booth again. I love signing for Barb. Sitting there surrounded by all that luscious yarn and fiber. Mmmm. Then we get into June when I'll be everywhere from Rhode Island to Ohio and Virginia and home again. On June 26 and 27th there will be two 2-at-a-Time sock classes at Webs - one tops down and the other toe up. And then in July...in July I will be on my deck in the sun taking a nice long nap to recover from May and June!
Keep knitting, and hope to see you out there!

And Then There Were Two

It took me a minute to remember how these socks were born. We drove Girl to Indiana more than a year and a half ago to leave her at the mercies of a freshman dorm. I knit a lot along the way. I say "we" drove, but in truth Mr. Wonderful drove. My sole responsibility on road trips is to say things like "You missed that exit" and "Are we ever going to stop so I can pee?" and "You drive like crap." Generally at that point he references the fact that I never drive on road trips, and would I like to now. I decline and return to my knitting. I did once drive across South Carolina.
But about these socks. They didn't start as this colorway or this weight. They began as fingering weight socks in a colorway called Scottish Highlands. This is one of those "vision + yarn choice + stitch pattern = fail" moments in which I discover that while the concept is sound, something just isn't right. Maybe swatching for a pattern when you've just tearfully and forcibly dumped your youngest child and only daughter off at a college halfway across the country, cruelly wrenching her from home and Gerbil, isn't such a great idea. Maybe, based on circumstance, the poor Scottish Highland socks were doomed from the first moment the swatch was cast on. Maybe parenting is the hardest, worst, best, scariest, most painful, most rewarding job I've ever had. I stuffed the swatch to the bottom of the bin, grumbled, and moved on to something else - I don't remember what now. Denial is my favorite defense mechanism in yarn and in life. Stuff it to the bottom, forget about it and move on. It never happened.
Home again, just the two of us - an odd thing, feeling both empty and full at the same time, when has it ever been just the two of us? - I hauled the swatch out and began the quest of the yarn box. This is where I poke and dig and try to find something I think will work. My hands found a yarn. Wrong weight. Wrong colors. But perfect.The yarn is Blue Moon Fiber Arts Socks that Rock heavyweight; the colorway is Lunasea. I love them. These are wonderfully thick, warm socks suitable for cooler weather as a hiking sock or a house sock. I love thick wool socks in cold weather. The stitch pattern is quickly and readily memorized, and knitting them up is a relaxing and peaceful act. Well, I think it is. Mary Kubasek-Haber actually knit them. We could ask her. Regardless they are sort of phoenix socks; from the ashes of my stitch pattern denial and yarn angst rise these beautiful, simple, peaceful, methodical woolies. Come May, you can knit a pair for yourself - just snag a copy of Toe Up 2-at-a-Time Socks from your local library, yarn or book shop, and cast on.
If you are in the Boston area next weekend, please come and join us at The Wellesley Booksmith for a wonderful full-day knit-a-thon event. There will be presentations and demonstrations, signing of books, and general fibery goodness. I will be there, along with Gail Callahan, Kristin Nicholas, Judith Durant, Wren Ross, Jill Stover and Roseanna Means. 10% of proceeds of the charitable book fair will benefit Women of Means which seeks to provide "...free, patient-centered health care to women and children". Worthy. Also, anyone looking for a job? The need a nurse case manager. I'd apply but it would cut into my knitting time, I think.
I have also updated the 'where I'll be' thing in the sidebar (I think it may need it's own page soon) to include book signings at both the New Hampshire and Massachusetts Sheep and Wool Festivals - Sunday (Mother's Day) in New Hampshire from 11am-2pm and Saturday in Massachusetts, same times. I will once again be signing books for Barb Parry at Foxfire Fiber booth. There will be books available at both events, and I look forward to seeing you there! I think a new sock book would make a lovely Mother's Day gift, don't you? (insert grin here!)
On the home front - apparently in spite of our best attempts at apicide (I made a word!), the bees are not only alive but thriving. We've done so much wrong and they still soldier on. We're taking it a little more seriously now. We're even going to add on a second hive this spring.I am hopeful that this will ensure honey in a quantity greater than a pint come fall.
Spring is springing - baby garlic is poking it's slender green top out to take a look around.I love garlic and I planted a couple of new varieties this year thanks to my Garlic and Arts Festival quest. What is not to love about two days of eating garlic raw? If you're in or near Western Mass in October, I cannot recommend this event highly enough.
I also found one tiny gray asparagus spear blinking against the light.These beds should have good yield this year, as it's their second in full production. We eat it like there's no tomorrow, so it will be nice to grow our own. I am hoping to have enough to freeze, which although so wrong will allow us to extend the season.
And then I found this one lone onion,overlooked in the fall harvest, too small for much of anything, but struggling to make a go of it. I pulled it, and added it to dinner - sauteed mushrooms and chard from last year's garden, plus the chopped sad little onion, a bit of garlic and some clarified butter. It was all quite excellent.
I am glad that winter is heading out trailing green growing things in it's wake. In four days spring will officially be here. In three Girl will be 22. About that denial thing...

Nah-Ta-Reevu!

This morning's sky. Lovely. And a promise. No review today, unless you consider a recap of the last few weeks of my life a review. I guess technically that is a review. But let's pretend it's not.
First, the knitting. I finished some things, or added to some things underway.This is a collection of baby socks that I occasionally pick up when I am at odds or unsure of what to begin next. They are made from the leftovers of socks I've knitted previously. I've decided to start taking pictures of them when there's a bunch and add it to the ongoing project I keep tabs on at Ravelry.
Just before Rhinebeck I decided to knit myself something for the predicted cold out of the qiviut I bought last year.I decided on Ice Queen from Knitty, and I adore it!The beads sit there like water droplets. The pattern is simple and worked up fast, making it a supreme gift idea (hmmm...and Webs has all that Misti Alpaca Lace in the warehouse, and beads right next door).
I also knit up a pair of Sweet Fern Mitts from The Knitter's Book of Wool.There is some errata in the first printing of this book,, so be sure to check here if you decide to knit a pair. The yarn is Foxfire Fiber Cormo Silk Alpaca. The color I use here is not available on the website, but the yarn is just amazing in any color! Luscious. I adore them, regardless, and recommend you give them a knit. Fast and warm and seasonally perfect! I also knitted a hat that more or less matches by using a 2:2 rib and Clara's cable pattern.I also finished two pair of socks, both in STR Heavyweight, one for Gene and one for Selina (who-is-engaged-to-our-oldest-kid-hallelujah)Selina's are Blue Brick Wall.Gene's are a mill end I grabbed at Sock Summit.
By far the biggest news around here involves my birds, their future, energy independence and our future, and the answer I get to give from now on when someone says "So you live on a farm?" Up until now I've always said "No, not really." That's about the change. Bee hives and 30+ birds with plans to breed them, plus a barn that should be up by Thanksgiving makes me think that it's time to call ourselves a farm. If everything goes according to plan, please God, next spring or summer we will cover the roof of the new barn with solar panels, so that not only our water is heated by the sun, but our computers, fridge, dvd player, etc are all powered by the sun as well. I think I've said here before that this is a fond lifelong dream, to transition from fossil fuel to sun or wind. The farm is a dream as well. I always thought a farm was in my future, I just lost hope for a while. For now, there will be chickens, and lots of them. Out of the birds we grew this spring, we carefully selected four boys to continue on and help us breed up a bigger flock come next year of both layers and meat birds. I'll introduce them to you now - they have no names yet, only personalities:FIrst, The Bully. A Cuckoo Maran who has only one real wife, but given his size will be allowed to help me build meat birds from some of the other hens. He's got an attitude, and goes after other cockerels.
Next is The Wimp. He's a Blue Jersey Giant, although more Splash in appearance. He's only got one true mate as well, but we'll mix him with some of the bigger hens for meat birds as well. He's the boy the Maran goes after the most often, and he screams like a girl when he's caught.
Then there's The Jock. A Black Dorking cockerel, also with only one real wife. He's smart as a whip, fast on his feet, predator saavy at a young age. He never sits still.And last but not least, The One Who Slides By. I am not sure why. I can't figure out if the other boys don't know he's a boy or what, but somehow he manages to not get into fights, not mix it up with the other boys. He's a Black Australorp and he's got a bunch of wives.
My eternal thanks to Sandhill Preservation who have once again outdone themselves with these birds. Although I've been largely unmoved by the Rhode Island Reds - and this is due in large part to a deep RIR bias I developed in the first year of our chicken growing adventure - all of the other breeds that came in our box have proven to be amazing. I feel so good about these birds. If you're thinking about chickens and live in a place where you can grow out cockerels, I can't recommend Sandhill enough. Al their chicks are straight run, which means boys and girls. I believe a rooster is good for hens, and everyone who has birds should, if they possibly can, have a boy around the place. I also think chicken sexing (yes, there is such a thing) is pretty inhumane, and not something I personally choose to support. I'd rather grow them out, make my choices, and put the boys I am not keeping in my freezer. It feels better to me that my boys are used for something, not just killed at hatch for having the wrong chromosome. Anyway...
Come spring we'll play mix and match, breed up some "true" chicks from the three who've only got one wife a piece, and some "mixed" chicks for meat. We are now, in my heart, officially a poultry farm. The state won't believe that until we do a lot of paperwork and sell $1,000 worth of eggs and honey. I can wait. It's enough to have it in my heart. It makes me so happy, so very happy to see this coming to fruition.
Now, don't tell Mr. Wonderful, but I have another little plan in mind. Just a small thing, really. Not a big deal. I thought a couple of these, maybe 2 of these and one of these to watch over them. This may take more time. But no worries. I can be patient. If I can wait 42 years for a farm and 34 for solar, I can wait a couple more for sheep!

Stupidity, Thy Name is MMO

How hard can it, be, really, to steal honey from bees? Bravely we went to the hive, late but not too-too late. We put on the confuser board, and 24 hours later we retrieved "our" honey. They think it's theirs, which is a nice idea, but since I'm the one buying the hive parts and making the sugar syrup in cold weather, I have a different opinion. Share and share alike, I say. Some for me, and enough for them for winter. After a phone call or two we found a beekeeper very local to me who had an extractor he was more than happy to lend. I drove off to retrieve it, coming home with the extractor and a bonus - two whole fleeces from two sheep by the names of Emily and Olive. They're lovely black things. They'll never win a ribbon, but for a good serviceable worsted weight yarn, they're perfect. Eventually they'll be carded and spun in the grease I think, in keeping with my plans for their futures. I may blend them. But I digress. About the bees, and how I can be so painfully stupid it results in disaster.
Mr. Wonderful made sure the extractor was on a stable base of pallets, just as our new bee friend had advised. We set up the extractor in the garage. Alone yesterday and a bit bored, I excitedly began uncapping my whole 4 frames of honey. Good, the local beekeeper said, for a first year. Twelve pounds or so of fresh honey, he thought, would be the yield. I put the uncapped frames in the extractor and began to crank. This was when I saw the yellow jacket, but I thought nothing of it. The extractor came apart, and I stopped to fix it. A bumble bee wandered in. Still unfazed, and utterly too excited, I cranked on. When the extractor came apart a second time, I paused as I began to fix it, aware of a subtle but loud hum. Nay, a buzz. In fact, a buzz that seemed to be intensifying in both urgency and volume. Well, fool, I thought. The garage door is open. I closed the door and resumed my cranking, ignoring the 30 or so bees intent on getting "my" honey. The buzz got louder. Much louder. The extractor failed a third time, and as I raised my head I realized that I was in a large cloud of bees. We don't use the word swarm.
These images were taken about 3 hours after the initial arrival of the bees to reclaim their larder.
A swarm is a specific thing and has to do with bees leaving home for good, and is not a word that should be applied to any old gathering of hungry, active bees who've just hit pay-dirt in the form of a free meal. No conversion necessary, just grab the honey and take it home and store it for winter. What could be better, if you're a bee? These bees smelled honey, and they wanted it. But I'd shut the garage door. How could the numbers be increasing? I called Mr. Wonderful as I yanked the frames from the extractor, ducking and dodging as I went, grabbing the cappings and anything else with honey on it that I could reasonable and safely get my hands on, dumping it all into a covered bin. By now the air was thick with bees.
"Did you close the window?" he said. I turned and saw the window wide open, bees pouring in like rain. Opening the garage door to affect my escape, I discovered a waiting mob intent on entry.
I raced to the house with my covered bin of honey products. Some bees followed me, and spent over an hour at the front door of my house waiting for entry. Others discovered that the solar guys had left the basement door open, and gained entry that way. The extractor and it's contents were a total loss. There was simply nothing I could do to get them off of it, to get it away from them. Moving the glass bowl that had been placed beneath the extractor to catch the honey was impossible - then honey would just flow onto the floor and we'd never be able to clean it up. Closing the gate on the extractor was impossible. They covered any and every surface on which honey could be sniffed out. Watching from outside of the garage, I saw bees dying, hundreds, coated in honey to thick to allow flight. At one point the bowl was nearly full of bees.Some just got their toes wet, drank their fill and headed for the hive. Others stuck deep in it, drowning in the wealth of their own labors. The idea that they are "just bees" was impossible to seat in my mind. They were dying, thousands of them, and it was my fault. Stupidity and inexperience led to disaster. Eventually I was able to get the bowl full of dead and dying bees out from under the extractor and throw a towel over to to protect the remainder from their own eager industry. I covered the extractor as well. There was nothing I could do about the gate. They just were not going to give up.
Mr. Wonderful came home to a garage full of bees. Over the course of the evening as the temperature dropped he swept away the dead, and encouraged the live to move on. When I came home from work we moved most of the extractor into the basement bathroom, a very enclosed and generally bee-proof space. This morning I extracted the remaining honey from the uncapped frames.
It's beautiful. It smells like summertime and wild things. I adore it.
The two jars I ended up with are not nearly what I could have had if I'd thought a bit longer about bees, pollen flow, and the survival instinct of the natural world.But I am happy with it. Fewer bees died than I originally thought would. I am hopeful that in the next weeks they can hatch enough bees to bring the hive to a strong level. Pray for sunshine!
Lesson learned. Lessons learned, really. I promised the bees that if they live through the winter, I'll do better next year. I hope they trust me.

July, With Added Poultry

Someone said they thought it had rained at least once a day for 27 days before the sun finally burst forth on July 3rd. I would believe that. It's not unusual for weather in New England to be occasionally obstreperous. And spring is about rain, even if it's a little late to the party. Regardless, the endless dreary days were beginning to wear a little, and I was heartily glad to see the sun.
If you look to what in the photo is north, you'll see the unmistakable billowing of a thunderstorm. It missed us by mere miles. We watched it go, holding fast to the deck in the firm belief that it would pass us by, and it did. I knew it would. See, we'd had plans.
Mr. Wonderful had managed to score tickets to the Vermont Symphony Orchestra concert in Grafton, Vermont. The concert was to follow a day of arts and music in town. It was to be held in an open field and was to be followed by the ubiquitous fireworks that generally accompany such performances in early July in America. We were quite excited. After endless days of rain, to sit in the grass, picnic, sip wine, listen to good music, cuddle up for fireworks - what could be better, right? But this is New England, and plans are often made to be changed. Glancing at the radar and predictions for the Grafton area romantic picnics in the park were not going to be on the menu. The concert would take place indoors. Fireworks would be canceled. I would stay home. Don't get me wrong - I adore music. I adore small towns tucked in the middle of almost nowhere. What I couldn't fall in love with was the idea of sitting indoors listening to rain on the roof of a high school while thunder crashed loudly in opposition to cymbals and drums. I just couldn't do it. You see, the forecast for my area indicated that the storms rolling in were going to skirt our house to the north. Mr. W. seemed pretty dejected about the loss of the ideal of the picnic in a sunny field idea as well, so home we stayed. There was a brief hour of pouting, but we pulled ourselves together and headed out to buy something to slap on the grill instead, abandoning the open-air picnic dinner in favor of the more traditional potato salad and steak. Still in the open air, just quieter than a field full of romping kids and cuddling adults. We worked around the yard until evening, then took up our positions on the deck; dogs at our feet, wine glass in my hand, and something in his hand; I don't remember what. It worked. It worked for everyone apparently. The bees are very active the minute the sun appears. They race around wildly gathering pollen and water for the hive. They like our deck as there's often a glass of something forming condensation on the table, where they can easily gather water.We stuck to that deck like glue until dark. I said it worked? It more than worked. It was really quite perfect.
Now about those babies. Remember the cute little fluff-balls I showed you a while ago? Well, time has a way of bringing changes to even the smallest members of this little corner of the world; or maybe it brings the most change to the smallest among us. They're all about the bling.I herded them into a corner so you can get an idea of their sheer mass. This is about half.They are, of course, Disney fans. They really enjoy the contrast between the color of my foot and the clog and spend a lot of time pecking the tops of my feet through Mickey's head.They are very curious about their environment. There's a lot of racing, running, jumping, flapping and sqwaking as they learn to be what they already are.There's even some indications of nesting instinct, which will be handy in the future. This is a Marans. She looks the spitting image of my old Marans hen Eleanor, who loves nothing better than a pile of eggs and a quiet nest box.They are very social, as this little Red Sussex demonstrates. There are a few, 10 or so, who don't just come running. They will, if we squat down, jump right up on hands or knees or anything else they can find. There's a few that love to be petted and held.Insatiable curiosity is the order of the day. The red beam on my camera is a source of intrigue.But what they really love more than anything else in the world is to eat.Do you know how humans in their adolescence will eat any and everything that comes into their path? That's what this is all about. They're consuming as much food as we can give them, putting on grown-up feathers and a nice layer of fat.They're going through 70 pounds or more a week, and 35-40 gallons of water, and that number is increasing dramatically and exponentially.The weight and heft of each chick is noticeably greater on a daily basis. Very soon two things will happen. They will be let out of the house for the first time into a fenced yard. I am looking forward to this because I cannot clean their house while they are still in it; I need them to not be underfoot and escaping out the front door. They'll also start getting "extras"; tops of radish and such from the garden, the grass clippings from mowing, anything that we're not going to eat, they will.They can eat me out of house and home for all I care. They bring more than enough fun to my party to warrant a few bags of grain and buckets of water!