To Save The Garden

I feel like The Little Red Hen. Only in my story no one asks for food, they just come and help themselves. So, I called in the garden cops to save my vegetables for the rightful owners, us. I employed six Australorp hens, a large cat, and two strands of electric fence. Wish us luck. The enemies out numbers us by the thousands.
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Grasshoppers descended upon us by the droves to feast upon the leaves of everything but especially the potatoes plants and so we kept driving the chickens in that direction. Chickens don't herd so we had to wait for two weeks until they made their way over to the plants. Meanwhile, I stewed and photographed the infestation.

Now, its hard not to mistake the plot for a weed patch. The potatoes are safe in the ground. I hope, for what lurks below the surface is beyond my view.


Is there enough plant to support growth? I don't know.

The hen's job was tripled when the flea beetles showed up to devour the broccoli. Then these ghost gray colored beetles arrived to eradicate the spinach and part of the beets. When an eighth of the patch was gone they disappeared. That makes me nervous. When or where will they pop up next?

The six pullets can't keep up and I should bring more home but it probably won't get done. I'm afraid that an increase in pullets right now would mean that more than my peas will be trampled. The vegetables are so closely planted that the chickens have trouble navigating. During the heat of the day, they rest under the tomatoes and since the peas are nestled up close, they have been smashed. Next year, I will arrange my garden with them in mind. The grasshoppers are forcasted to return.
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A few rabbits have snuck in and who can blame them as the carrots and lettuce in comparison to the barren dry prairie has to be irresistible.

Reginald, our garden cat, takes care of them. A couple years ago, when we were in a terrible drought, he caught up to three a night.
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As if that wasn't enough, the deer came in. The electric fence was up but the solar powered charger needed a new battery. I was gone on vacation with Dad and my sisters and Kirk hadn't gotten to that project before the deer sauntered through the garden tasting the wares.

Luckily they only had a chance to taste before Kirk ran them out.


Green beans is one of their favorite treats.
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After the deers visit came the howling wind that busted off some of the tomato plants and toppled a number of their cages over. One landed on the electric fence and grounded it. In came the deer once more.

As night is fast approaching, I had better go pound a couple fence posts in and string a rope through the cages to upright them so the electric fence is free to do its job without interference tonight.

Father & Daughters Trip

Sorry the posting is late. Okay, not really sorry, just kind of sorry. I don't want to disappoint you but I was having a wonderful time. This is our father and daughters trip that we take once a year and spend three or four days together fishing, horse back riding and piling on as many bodies as we can fit on Dad's four wheeler to explore the alluring dirt two-track roads. Our aging knees and tush get a bit sore but it's our jaws that get a real work out as this slumber party is a chance to discuss politics, livestock, children, exchange recipes and lie. You heard me - lie. My sister, Lana, and I insisted that we were in Mexico and went about the huge ranch to prove it to anyone dumb enough to believe us.


We took pictures of a small Corriente herd of a Mexican breed of cattle that supplied roping calves for the family that manage the tens of thousands of Angus beef that roam this ranch.

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and we snapped shots of the ...

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two burros that are pastured next to the ranch house

along with the ...


wild horses ( okay they're the ranch horses). It's obvious they're too well bred for the scraggly mustangs I'm familiar with. Unfortunately, the barbwire fence does give an air of domestication but I did try to exclude it from the picture. I even stood on the four wheeler but wasn't high enough to shoot over the fence.

What was our older sister doing while we were busy lieing - laughing. She's a lousy liar. Probably comes from being a school marm. Dad said he couldn't believe he'd raised such big fibbers. Yeah! Well, who told us all those whopping fishing and hunting stories when we were a child?

So, why he was caught off guard when he asked,"Let me pay for the groceries. What did they cost?" and I replied,

"Don't worry about it. Groceries are cheap in Mexico."?

There are a few pictures we need to hide until we're ready to fess up to not being in Mexico. This one for instance. It pins us down to being in Wyoming. We grew up in the Big Horn Basin on the other side of the Big Horn Mountains and never knew the county extended this far, interesting.


Now this picture I'm not so sure about since Dad and I are from Wyoming. We could say we were sneaking back across the border, Wyoming border, when we took this picture. And, we were. Only it was from Montana that we had slipped into, not Mexico. My grin that's contorted into a grimace was because concentrating and smiling at the same time was just too much for me. I was trying to figure the angle, like a pool player with a tricky shot, for the camera was in my outstretched hand aiming back at us.



Other photos weren't such a challenge to take. It's hard to make this country look bad.








It was tough but we had to look at this scenery every time we stepped out of our bunkhouse.



Then when we rode horseback or with the four wheeler along the river we had to look at this...


and this ...


and when we got a close up this is what we saw.



One morning, Dad took off with Shane, the rancher, and we grew bored. Bored children get into trouble. We stole Dad's four wheeler. It was his fault, he'd left the keys in it. Now, we don't know anything about running ATV's but, if you leave the three of us alone... We didn't come back for hours. It wasn't long before we began to call Lana, Creamy - as in,"Come look at this Creamy." Only because she was squooshed when we went up or down hills like the cream in an Oreo cookie. Dad eventually came looking for us just like when we were little. He knew in which direction we'd headed and unlike when we were young, we didn't get in trouble, he just grinned from ear to ear at the sight of us smashed together on his four wheeler.

I did say we went fishing but Dad's the only one that caught any fish. My sole fish got away and Lana's fish just nibbled at the grasshopper her big sister, Susan had caught and put on her line. She wouldn't hold a grasshopper but, she wanted to find a rattlesnake to kill herself.

A short distance from the bunkhouse Dad had killed one with a stick the night before. It was so badly beaten it wasn't worth photographing and all but one rattle was missing. Not much good to hang on your board by your desk and I guess a grasshopper wouldn't be as impressive. So the brave girl, who wouldn't handle grasshoppers, held a rock in each hand whenever she left the road so she'd be armed and ready to kill a snake.

We found one dead on the road. It too was missing most of its rattles. It's a dangerous place here in Mexico.

The only thing I've failed to show you is a picture of us on horseback. Susan caught a shot of Bess, my horse, and I coming up the road but, Susan's not available for this blog. So you'll just have to wait and see what a potato looks like on a horse another time.

Thanks for your patience in the delay and I'll be talking to you in a couple days.

It Just Isn't Right

(Three posts this week If you've missed The Facts Of Life you should back track. You might of missed something.)



It just isn't right. The corn is up to my waist and tasseling. That's why I'm not smiling in the photograph. My garden needs some warm weather and I don't think we're going to get much.

I took this picture to emphasize my point. That is tomatoes behind the volunteer corn stalk. The seed brand touts that it is a good cold emergence species. That looked pretty good to me when I ordered a pound from the seed company and it did well last year passing in height my five foot seven inch frame. But obviously, emerges well in cold soil and grows well chilled are not synonymous.

This year, Kirk's folks planted corn eight days apart and the second planting is twice as tall as the first. Just for those asking how come, I'll explain what I've learned. The experts say that shade, length of daylight hours, and temperatures effect the length of corn. In other words, they need enough shade to cause them to reach for the sun, lots of water, and plenty of hours of sunlight to grow in, plus warmth - lots of warmth. That's what we've been missing this summer is warm temperatures. Also, timing is everything. If your corn has five visible leaf collars then that is when corn elongation begins. Prior to that the roots are the ones mainly growing. Cold weather hit us at this vulnerable stage and you can see what happened.

I think I'll do what Kirk's folks did and plant part of my corn a week apart. In this county, one if not both of them is bound to hit a cold spell but then again one can always try.

What bothers me most isn't the height but the promises of seven to eight inch ears that isn't going to happen. I've never had short corn and big ears. Is it possible?


And, as if cold weather isn't bad enough, I found Smut in the middle of my corn patch. Remember the facts of life I told you about? Well, I left out the dirty part. Here it is. The nasty fungal infection called Smut destroys ears, stalks or stems of your corn and it is all because of that grasshopper in the upper right hand corner of the picture, almost. Insects, hail, dry weather (which we just had a bout of) and corn planted in lots of manure are the cause of the fungal infection that plagues corn.

There doesn't seem to be a cure for Smut so I cut out the unsightly growth. If I leave it, it will rupture spewing spores that can remain viable for five to seven years. About as long as the news reports say we're to be tormented by the grasshoppers.

It is said that Mexicans think this growth is a delicacy to eat, tastes like mushrooms. Sometimes, I think people will eat anything.
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I'm pretty clear on how to handle Smut but the corn suckers pictured growing out the sides of the base of the corn plant I'm not convinced the experts know what they're talking about. We live in a part of Wyoming where the soil is poor and the University page I referenced said leave them because they won't do any harm. But, I question do they do any good? My corns having a hard enough time gaining any height without feeding them too. Should I pluck them or shouldn't I? Maybe, I should take a poll or is there an experienced gardener who's reading this blog and can direct me as to what I should do?

The suckers on the tomato plants on the other hand I know what to do with - get rid of them. They use up nutrients your tomatoes need and block the sunlight from reaching the center of the plant.

I prefer the types of tomatoes that naturally don't have suckers but aphids destroyed the plants I started in the house. My choice that day in the commercial greenhouse was Big Boys or Big Boys so, I bought Big Boys. Keeping a third of the plant trimmed out while fighting the suckers makes these plants very needy and I'm a lazy gardener. They also aren't loaded like my Roma's have been in the past. I don't think they'll be back next spring, unless they volunteer. I'm a sucker for a volunteer.

Note the sucker in the fork of this tomato stem.

She Crowed

Disturbed from my slumber, I looked about confused. The bedroom was dark and I rolled over to look at the alarm clock, 4:45. What had awoken me? I lay still listening to the night's sounds through the open window waiting for a clue. Cockadoodle doo... 'Oh, great! Don't tell me that's coming from our backyard.', I thought as a mild panic raced through me. Cockadoodle doo... 'That is coming from our backyard. We've put a rooster in town. Our neighbors are going to love us. (sarcasm) It has got to be that white hen.'

Amazingly, the two dogs in the houses next to us weren't barking, like they do at all hours of the night. Their howling doesn't seem to bother our neighbors but I don't think they'll be as tolerant of a rooster crowing waking them at dawn. I slipped on a pair of shoes and quietly stole out the back door for an exploratory round of the backyard. The sun was just a blush on the horizon but there stood the white hen in the bean patch, her head thrown back crowing. 'I guess that clears one matter up.", I thought. It's not a hen as I had figured.'

The strange looking chicken had a thick neck, big round eyes - larger than any chicken I'd seen before- a pea sized comb, and a hen's hackle. I didn't know what it was, but through the process of elimination, I figured it must be a white Wyadotte hen. I'd ordered two Silverlaced Wyodotte hens from the hatchery and I had only received one but there was this white chick without an identity and so I deduced that they must have substituted a white Wyadotte for a Silverlaced. Wrong!

Staring at my hen crowing I figured, 'I guess this settles when I'm butchering chickens.' Then began to formulate a plan for my day that included the three roosters at the corrals. They were a little small but, since I was making the mess, I might as well do them too.

Once again, I wasn't about to pluck chicken feathers by myself for in that task misery definitely needs company. My family baled on me years ago when the stench of hot wet feathers and warm guts was too much for them and turned their faces green. Shortly after that, my husband made a bargain. He'd skin and gut the wild game if I'd do the chickens. The process of dipping chickens in hot water to remove their feathers, that I'd learned as a child, went out the window and I decided to try skinning them like you do pheasants. After all, we don't eat the skin anyway. Chickens were easier than pheasants and I haven't plucked one since.

I'll give you a walk through the process. I've tried to sensor the pictures but I am butchering a chicken so if this is a bit too REAL WORLD for you then stop at the picture of Jackie's rooster that came over to visit our corrals and don't continue on.



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Once I've killed the chickens, I haul them home to the kitchen sink where I...


make a slice through the skin in the leg joint while the chicken is laying on their back.

Hold one hand below the joint and the other above and snap the joint open. You can then use a knife to slice through the joint removing the lower leg.


Then I make a small slice above the tail and grasping the skin on each side of the slice I rip, pulling apart the slit to expose the breast. Pull as far as it will open.

Then work your fingers around the leg while holding the upper section steady with the other hand and pull the skin off the leg. Repeat on the other leg and pull the skin away from around the breast of the chicken toward the spine, running your thumb along the backbone to release the skin. This is the only spot where the skin is attached to the meat and resists being separated. Then repeat the leg process with the wings. We do not like the tips of the chicken wings so we cut those off and save the limb nearest the body. The chicken will be left with the tail and feathers. That I slice off also. It's just fat.

This can be done before or after you make a small slice above the tail on the breast side.


Pull as you did with the skin to reveal the insides.

During the fifteen years we home schooled butchering chickens became Chicken Biology 101 with our children crowded around the kitchen sink watching. (Without the smell of hot wet feathers the process isn't half as odoriferous.) We have witnessed an egg from when it is just a yellow dot of yolk to when it is fully formed and coming down the oviduct. (That particular chicken we thought had stopped laying and it had but it started up again on that fateful day.)

The insides can be removed with your fingers and then all that remains is a good washing with cold water to clean the bird and cool the meat for freezing.

If you desire you can cut up the bird into legs, thighs, breast etc. I'll cover that process when I have a full sized bird to process.

The Facts Of Life

Didn't your mama tell you about the Facts Of Life? Mine either, just a bunch of pamphlets and videos but I'm going to give you the full scoop. Well, as far as I know it. Some of it I just figured out this morning.

Like this is a female squash flower


and this is a male.

Can't tell the difference? Look carefully at the center of the flower. The female is like a girl and the male is like a boy. Still don't get it? Go ask your mother. I'll bet she can tell - after all, she had you.

Or, if you can't do that, do what I did. I looked for a flower that had a baby buttercup squash growing at its base and figured a male blossom from a female blossom pretty quick.

Now that you know the difference, you can snip off some of the male blossoms and stuff them for supper. What do stuffed squash blossoms taste like? I don't know. Remember, I just figured out how to tell a male from a female this morning. I do know that sometimes a number of male blossoms show up before the females arrive. I know this because a couple years ago, I read about it when I was questioning why my squash blossoms weren't developing any babies. Just as the book said they eventually did.


And it's not just the squash that has caught my attention this year but one stalk of volunteer corn over by the tomatoes has me fascinated. I check it out each day to watch it's progress. The female part of the plant wears a silky number


and the male section is a crowning tassel.



The female corn silk must have had a wild Saturday night because from that day forward her tresses were no longer spiked and the tips became a flattering beet red similar to a blushing new bride. Sure enough, a little research on the internet today revealed she'd been twitterpated. You heard me. She was smitten and after three or four days of inhaling that passion pollen she is preparing to give birth - to a full ear of corn, I hope.


The male section had changed also and he now looks a bit frayed. His flowers are open and releasing pollen.


One thing our wind is good for is matchmaking as it carries the pollen to the silks. But what do you do if the wind is asleep? (What would that be like?) You can assist by hand pollinating. Just walk through your corn and give each stalk a good shake. Sometimes you have to stir things up just like any good matchmaker. It will release the pollen into the air so it can drift down to the silks. Each kernel is attached to a strand of corn silk and so it is critical that there are no wall flowers in this waltz or you'll have missing kernels on the ears of your corn.


Beans on the other hand are very private vegetables and do everything behind closed doors until it's time to show off the offspring. The anther ( the male) and stigma ( the female) are cozily pushed up against each other in the confines of the flower pedals. You know what happens next. Cuddle long enough and yup. The anther releases its pollen the evening before the flower opens.



Peas don't play the field either. Theoretically, it is possible that peas could be cross pollinated since the stigma opens before pollen is ready, but it rarely occurs. The reason is because pollination has already taken place before the flower opens. This makes beans and peas a good first seed saving project.

As I walked through my garden this morning discovering the facts of life and watching the insects carrying pollen as they played matchmaker, I realized just how romantic a garden really is.

They say, "love is in the air", in the summer time. Could be pollen is passion powder in disguise. I think I'll take a stroll through our garden with my hubby tonight. Who knows what might transpire. Then again, he might just sneeze.