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Old-Time Ritual: A Real Egg Hunt

April 20, 2011

A long, dense hedge of potato vines encloses two sides of my perennial garden. The vines are a thick mass of woven stems concealing a four-foot pasture fence. In the pasture, a small flock of ten hens roams freely. Eight of them are young, in their first season of egg production. Recently, when daylight stretched further into evening they started lying regularly. Then without notice, the number of eggs decreased from five – seven to two or three per day.

Since the weather had been inconsistent and hens need 14 hours of daylight to keep producing, I hadn’t given the matter another thought.

A few days later, when I was in the garden, I noticed a hen walking on top of the potato vines. Immediately, I told her the rules—NO HENS ALLOWED IN THE GARDEN—then shooed her over where she belonged. Hens are grub connoisseurs. They can’t resist enriched soil with wiggly worms and insects. But hens don’t give a hoot about plant care. They love to nibble away new shoots and carelessly rip up small plants as they forage for food.

Everyday, I kept a lookout for hens on top of the vines or in the garden. One Saturday morning, when I was cooking breakfast, I looked out the window and spotted a hen walking—head bobbing—on the vines. Joe went out to shoo her away. Just as I flipped a pancake, I heard him holler for me. I turned off the burner and hurried outside.

“They’re laying eggs in the vines!” Joe said, excited. “There are at least a dozen eggs.”

I grabbed the egg basket and together we searched for nests. When I spotted one, I carefully spread apart a thick weave of stems and leaves. Inside was a cozy cave filled with brown and green eggs. I felt like ten-year-old Mary Lennox in The Secret Garden when she opened the hidden door to a world of wonder.

That morning we found 5 nests and 20 eggs (one was broken). I didn’t expect to participate in an Easter egg hunt this year. The egg hunt wasn’t a traditional hide-and-seek quest for Easter baskets, chocolate bunnies, and hand-dyed hard-boiled eggs. But the incident certainly felt like an old-time ritual. Copyright © 2011 Dianne Marie Andre

Happy Easter to Everybody!



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The Awakening

April 4, 2011

After what seemed like an eternity of rain, sunshine has been a welcome change. The lawn is still soggy and the dirt is wet ten ladders deep, but Ralphie and I don’t mind. We are grateful to have our knees and paws caked with mud and our bodies filled with rays of sunlight.

I’ve been gathering debris, plucking a few weeds (where the soil is drier), and inspecting plants in the perennial garden and veggie patch. To appease Ralphie, I mosey through the green pasture toward the winter stream. Ralphie follows in crazy-quilt fashion, bouncing here and there as if playing hopscotch. Should I spy ducks hunkered down between grass blades at the water’s edge, I divert Ralphie toward another direction, not that he could apprehend a fleeing duck.

Whatever outdoor activities we engage in, sunshine and passionate work or play has a way of making our appetite for life explode.

It’s nearly 7:00 p.m. on a Sunday evening. Supper has been prepared and consumed. Beyond the window, past the keyboard where I am typing, the sunset throws a last bit of drunkenness on swelling vineyards, tender willow buds, and a spread of brilliant white chrysanthemum paludosum. Ralphie is sitting at the other windowsill, to my right, watching the hens peck at the dirt before retiring to their perch. The windows are closed. But like me, I’m sure Ralphie can smell the clean wash of recent rains. The wet dirt mingling with gentle temperatures. The awakening of springtime. It’s a welcome change. Copyright © 2011 Dianne Marie Andre

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Pet Lover’s Vacation Sites

March 7, 2011

It’s time for spring break and vacation planning. The March-April issue of Via AAA Traveler’s Companion shares readers’ favorite places to visit with pets. If you don’t receive this magazine, here’s the listing:

Mendocino Coast Botanical Gardens, Fort Bragg, CA.  www.gardenbythesea.org

First Awakenings, Pacific Grove, CA.  www.firstawakenings.net

The Forge in the Forest Restaurant, Carmel-by-the-Sea, CA.  www.forgeintheforest.com

Fort Funston, San Francisco, CA. www.sfdogparks.com/Fort_Funston.html

KC’s Downtown Grill, Windsor, CA. www.kcsdowntowngrill.com

Mill Creek Canyon, Salt Lake City. www.fs.fed.us/r4/uwc/recreation/wcnf/trails/slrd/dog_trails.shtml

Moss Beach Distillery, Moss Beach, CA. www.mossbeachdistillery.com

Tahoma Meadows B&B Cottages, Tahoma, CA. www.tabomameadows.com

For a Pet Packing Checklist and other tips go to: http://www.christinecolumbus.com/Petchecklist.asp

If you have a favorite pet-friendly vacation place please leave a comment. We’d like to know about it.

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Second-Time-Around Chicken Soup

March 2, 2011

There’s something about homemade soup that reminds me of country living, unassuming moments and earth friendly produce. Even though I’m just an okay cook, I make a mighty-fine pot of soup. Most soup recipes are my concoction, a mingling of day-old goodness in the CrockPot with two purposes in mind:  using leftovers and preparing an easy meal.

I’ll look for any excuse to make a quick and simple dish, like when I thinned a few carrots from my crop. Rather than wasting the immature carrots, I decided to use them in homemade soup. These tiny carrots are tender and yummy and swim beautifully in a palatable broth amongst other vegetables.

Hot soup on a cold, wintry evening is the perfect solution to warm my family’s bodies and appease my laidback cooking preference.

Here’s my Second-Time-Around Chicken Soup recipe. It’s simple but mouthwatering.

Ingredients:

Note:  Feel free to substitute any of the vegetables below with your favorites—day-old or fresh.

2- 32 oz. organic or homemade chicken broth

1 packet McCormick four cheese sauce mix

2 cups cooked extra wide egg noodles (or leftover cooked rice)

1 cup each petite peas and corn

2 cups cooked chicken, shredded or cubed

1 cup cooked carrots, sliced thinly

Optional:  Celery, petite onions, petite black beans, sour cream for garnish.

Instructions:

Note:  Although, I prefer using a CrockPot a large stove top pot is adequate.

  1. Pour broth into pot.
  2. Add cheese sauce mix and blend with a wire wisp.
  3. Add above ingredients and heat thoroughly. If using a CrockPot set to least cooking time (mine is four hours). Check in two hours. If hot, keep CrockPot on warm until ready to serve.
  4. Garnish with a dollop of sour cream (optional) and serve your favorite fresh bread.

Makes 8-10 servings

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The Morning After

February 26, 2011

In spite of the outdoor mess, I do love the morning after a storm. When the sun first emerges and calm whispers across the rolling hills every speck of foliage sparkles. Late winter, droplets cling to barren branches pushing out tiny buds wet by rainwater. On mornings like this, the air smells like the waterfalls of Yosemite, fresh and clean.

My house is positioned east and west, so I have the advantage of watching the sun escalate then later slide below farmlands and vineyards. After a rain, in the dawn sunlight, everything shines. But this morning the pasture grasses, perennials, and lawn blades are touched by frost—so much for raindrops on branches and buds. I didn’t expect to see frost but there it is white and cold, clinging to every available surface. And here I am looking from the inside out of my warm and cozy house. This is why I chose a house plan with lots of windows, so I could enjoy the view without getting cold.

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Rain, Wind, and Domestic Work

February 26, 2011

 

What a storm. Pouring down rain and strong winds practically all day, and then sun–beautiful sunshine kissed by blue skies and frothy white clouds. I hope those without power have it soon, but I know from listening to the news many won’t for two to five days.

In the past, I’ve lived powerless longer than five days, had rain fall through the ceiling, attic pipes burst, and power surges execute most of my appliances. I always feel blessed when my lights work and I can use the computer, cook a hot meal, and look through the windows and see all the trees standing tall after a storm. Out here in the sticks, we don’t have neighborly buildings as windbreaks, just a barn or shed. Limbs and debris fly like paper but never beyond my landscape where clean up is a day’s work.

I took advantage of today’s lock-in and became a domestic diva with duster and mop in hand. Knowing there’s a mess outdoors it feels good to be in a pristine environment. The fireplace is roaring, hubby and Ralphie are playing indoor catch, the storm has calmed, the clothes dryer is humming, and I feel like baking a cake. This country estate is still standing—rubbish littered, muddy and wet—but safe and warm. So cake it is. After all, there’ll be plenty to do outdoors, tomorrow, to work it off.

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I’m not a Tree Hugger! Just a Sentimental Fool

February 9, 2011

My husband, Joe, and I own the private road alongside the easterly edge of our property and the trees growing beside it. There are several oaks and one old fig tree adjacent our driveway. For years, the fig tree has remained fruitful and last week tender shoots emerged for yet another season. Then, the neighbor’s ranch-hand chopped it down without our permission or knowledge. All that remains is a stump and a few suckers that he staked after Joe had chewed him out.

I had a deep affinity for the old fig tree. It provided habitat for wildlife and served as a reminder of earlier days when we moved here with our two young sons, J.J. and Jason, and Shelby their Labrador puppy. Now, all but a skinny stock is left of the fig.

Like a grieving widow, I’m concerned I’ll soon forget the physical details of the multiple-branched structure, rough hairy foliage, and the droop of ripe white figs. In time, gone too will be the deep sentiments that rushed to mind when I drove past the fig tree.

When I looked at it, I thought of Shelby and the fallen figs. Although Shelby is gone, memories of her returned each spring when the tropical looking leaves clothed naked branches and later when fruit formed.

I would walk with Shelby and my sons to the fig tree so Shelby could enjoy nature’s sweet treats. Labradors are known for their big appetites and Shelby was no exception. If I didn’t walk her to the tree, she’d head out on her own. During fruit-bearing season, I could always find Shelby beneath the wide-spreading leaves.

Standing there watching her scarf down the fruit, I’d think about picking enough to make jam. Now, I’m glad I didn’t. The taste and smell of fig jam would have added to the loss of an old fruit tree that provided shelter, food, and branches suited for songbirds, and raising young children and Shelby.

I thought my fig tree would live forever. Copyright © 2011 Dianne Marie Andre

 

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Full Moon

January 20, 2011

Yeah for yesterday.

First came the sun, then the moon, full and bright.

What will today bring?

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Gathering Eggs

January 19, 2011
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I put on my coat, just before sunset, and went to the henhouse. As usual, the evening air was cold so I hurried to secure eleven hens and one pet turkey for the night. Standing outside the running pen, I locked the hatch then opened the coop door to gather eggs.

Inside, the free-ranging Rhode Island Reds, Ameraucanas, and Barred Rocks were on their perch, some purring a serene earthy song. In the distance, owl hoots harmonized with croaking frogs and chirping crickets—a soothing ballad that refreshes the soul after a hectic day. I’ve been gathering eggs three or four years now, and it’s a gentler chore in comparison to other farm tasks. I never tire of reaching into the cozy nesting boxes for brown and green treasures. Unlike the eggs from caged layers, my eggs require no cleaning. The shells are as smooth as silk.

Although I was moving quickly to get out of the cold, I slowed down to peek into the nesting boxes. The first box cradled two brown eggs, the second box had a green egg, the third was empty, and the fourth (this reads like Goldilocks) held an unusual surprise, one XXL-egg, and one XXS-egg. As I held the two oddball eggs, one in each palm, I smiled then chuckled. The exaggerated sizes were as laughable as looking at a Great Dane and a Chihuahua standing side-by-side.

After I said good night to the hens, I returned to the house with three normal-sized eggs and two abnormal ones. Once inside, I measured them. The XXL-egg was nearly four inches long by six-and-a-half inches in diameter. (Ouch!) The XXS-egg was three-inches around and only one inch long—not exactly edible. However, the larger egg will make a mighty fine omelet. What better way to start my day than with a meal packed full of organic goodness. Likewise, the quiet gathering of eggs is a perfect threshold to the passing of a day.  Copyright © 2011 Dianne Marie Andre    

 
 

 

Left to right: XXL, Normal Size, XXS

 

 

 

 

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Twitter

January 11, 2011

We’re on Twitter!

Join us at www.twitter.com/dianneandre

and start twittering!

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