If the NRA only knew...they would hand out chickens

This is the first blog post mention chickens, and you are guaranteed it won't be the last.  How did a little (not so little maybe 5'9") urban/suburbanite liberal volvo driving lady turn into a gun-toting rural farmer?  It was not a slow slide, it was a 6 flags rollercoaster screaming ride into insanity, with all the adrenaline and hormones and maternal instinct and Ima gonna git you sucka mentality of a Charlton Heston meets Steel Magnolias movie, soon to be made, titled "I Did it for Takesha". 

The first chickens arrived 20 days after closing on our first farm.  The little peeps were an "ornamental layer mix" from McMurray Hatchery and were loved, and cared for with great abandon and total incompetence.  The ones surviving the incompetence were all of distinct breeds, easy to name and discern from each other with crazy hairdos and colors and tons of attitude.  Did you know that premium electric chicken fence will not keep young or old chickens in?  I didn't.  If they are young enough not to fly, they walk through the openings, if they are old enough to fly well, they fly over it.  I can say I and my family have extensive chicken chasing, catching, tossing, and corralling skills. We gave up and pursued our dream of free range chickens, much to every damn varmit in a 10 square mile area's delight.  The fox-weasel-racoon-skunk-coyotes blessed our presence, rapidly procreating on our back doorstep knowing that the young-uns would be well fed.  Needless to say we now have one, yes one, rooster left from the initial lot of chicks.  After the first lot of needless death, I asked my father it he knew of a good varmit hunting weapon.  I left my suburban childhood home armed with a .22, and a bit more introspection of my upbringing.  I recall, DC in fall, no not that poetic, anti-gun marches are always DC in July.  Who marches? Pa (Honey) saddle up the volvo, we are going to the mall, the green grassy one, to march in 100 degree weather with people who abhor the NRA and deodorant.  Bring the kids!!  I, kid, remember the marches well, guns bad, very, very bad.  All of the really cool, odoriferous people know that to be true.  Yet lurking in the basement, yep the unspoken .22.  Glad of that fact now, yet it still bring childhood into a dramatic refocusing, (applies deodorant and keeps writing).

London's ring of steel leaves much to be desired when compared to the Fort Knox security now maintained on our quaint homestead.  We have a .22, a few bows, a shotgun, a muzzle-loader, a 120 pound and still growing Great Pyrenees, and miles of electric fence.  We are currently in negotiations with the squirrel union over which very tiny tactical assault rifles they wish to be issued. I am a hen/rooster/guinea hen/turkey linguistics expert.  I can discern from a dead sleep on the second floor of my house a "that's my hen" call from a "take cover it's a hawk call".  I can hear fox-skunk-weasel-raccoons at 200 yards in the night. I have become a farm fixture in my bathrobe and muck boots with whatever deadly object comes to hand.  I chased a fox down in 2 feet of snow and made him spit out my rooster and spent 2 hours giving mouth to beak resuscitation.  He survived.  Oh, it's personal now. 

There you have it, it is not sane.  I do raise meat birds.  I not only eat my chickens, we process them here.  We kill them, right here. So it really comes down to possession and control.  Oh that is so ugly, so un-karma building.  But there it is.  I love our chickens, we kiss them, we cuddle, we have house chickens.  We have come to the realization it is not good enough to buy young chickens, we want all of our chickens to enjoy a natural life, one that begins with a broody mama hen and enjoys her tender ministrations, and then either ends up food or laying hen.  Hatcheries be damned, mama hen is better than a brooder lamp and a fussy woman. 
If I have a new fox purse for Christmas to go with my coon skin cap, I will be delighted.

If the NRA had a clue to the power of poultry, they would send peeps out like junk mail, their agenda would be mightily served.  Shhhhhh......

Let's talk Turkey

We, the Marezydoats team, have been turkey enthusiasts from the time we welcomed our first poults in late spring.  To be honest, the young ones, a variety pack from McMurray hatchery were so ugly you would have to love them.  It was quite deflating to see how vulnerable they were to sudden and not so sudden death.  I was committed to a school function only days after they arrived and one white one was so ill I took it with me to the school cradled in my sports bra for the afternoon as I operated a tractor.  It didn't make it, but I felt it had known a mother's love.  Past the three week point, they were the last crew in the brooding room and a delightful bunch they were, little peeps, hardly any mess or smell, eating and drinking 1/2 of what the heritage chicks ate and less than a quarter of what the broilers consumed.

They soon found their way outdoors and grew with wild abandon, yet never turned their turkey paddock into a muddy mess as the chickens do.  Within 7 weeks of age they were avid flyers, especially the black spanish, and were free ranging of their own accord, roosting on the deck in the evening and being herded home at night.  The irregular and ill-advised early morning flying lessons soon led to the Great Turkey Massacre of late June where 4 were eaten in a morning by presumed coyotes.  Thus the Great Pyrenees puppy, Yedi, joined our lives and militant measures were taken for the protection of the remaining crew.  The new turkey house was engineered and constructed by hubby Joe in a weekend for under $150.00 and a new set of poults arrived ordered from Strombergs hatchery this time.  These poults were as vigorous as the last were sickly and brought new hope, we chose our breeds this time; Black Spanish and Standard Bronze.  The hope is to have turkeys breeding next year and let the mothers raise their own babies, eliminating the need for brooding.  We also lucked into a local turkey source thanks to Craigslist and scored 4 White Standards (and 4 guinea hens).

The flock is truly accepting and they watch each other closely, the babies are wild and footloose under the care of Ezmerelda, the eldest Black Spanish.  We were delighted to acquire a breeding pair of Narraganssett and their three offspring as well, these are the supermodels of the turkey world and are prized by chefs for their flavor.  Something to keep in mind with the heritage turkey venture is they can fly, not across the patio, but think the 747 of the poultry world.  Low, loud, full of fuel and something you would rather not come into velocitated contact with.  The turkeys remain easy on the land, free ranging, smart and a real lover of garden treats, especially rotten tomatoes.  Driving up the drive one could be discouraged by the appearance of being assailed with the rotten fruit, but then upon second glance notice the flock of 20 pound birds heading in one's direction and take note to spare offense.

We have the sincere hope for the continued health, happiness and vitality of the current flock and the hope they find each other wildly attractive in the carnal sense.  Mr.Smithers, our eldest N tom and his mate, Agent 99, are confirmed progenitors, we wish them the best, with privacy, ambiance, and we are in no way opposed to liqueur if that brings more poults around.  We will have several birds for Thanksgiving, some are promised already, as well as birds for Christmas.  The rest, well, live it up my loves, life is a cabaret old chums....

The First Blog (ominous music in the background)

And so it is and so it shall be.  Rainy and tropically depressed in PA, I find myself pondering religion.  This is not a norm as we are not really the church going type around here.  The church of Carlinism? Keep your laws off my garden? Right to farm? I want to slaughter my own meat without government intervention and by the way present health care is a joke?  So we ponder on the foundation of our principles and how to keep from sounding anti-American, yet still put together a positive, cohesive life message that will speak to people without the guilt and smiting.  Ok, maybe some smiting, if you are really a jerk, smite yourself good.  The new interest in becoming a church has much to do with the impending and existing government restrictions on local meat processing, seed patenting and the possible microchipping of animals.

  Basically I am trying to protect my family's sustainability and our nation's food supply from the growing movement of nonsensical centralization.  To do that, I feel that religious exemption will be the solution.  Carlinism is very appealing, 10 commandments boiled down the demi-glace of "Don't be an Asshole."  You just can't argue with that kind of logic.  However, shall we interject a bit more forward thinking?  Where are we going in the future if this religion, yet unnamed, takes off, what forward virtues do we espouse?  How about, please think soundly before acting, please love deeply and often, generosity and hospitality are of the highest vibrational level?  How am I to sneak thou shalt not microchip mine chicken into these broad beliefs.  I see a very lengthy, outline form sneaking on to my horizon with great seriousness, it was once a joke.  Sadly necessary, yet exciting to see it take shape as a reality, maybe there is practiced religion for the good, a worship that will benefit the planet, not just mankind.