Friday, July 24, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
It’s official. I’m losing my job. I sort of can’t believe it took this long, frankly. I signed up for a five-month gig nearly three years ago and well, I’m still here, putting together stories on lawn alternatives and editing The Top 10 Seaside Hideaways. Until August 6, when I am kicked out of the cozy nest that is Sunset Magazine (yes, people really do drink wine at lunch and subsist on organic produce).
Except for the whole eating canned beans for every meal part, I am kind of looking forward to my life as a lady of leisure. I’m hoping it will give me time to decide what to do next. I feel a big mid-life crisis coming on. I want a new career. I want to move. I want to reinvent the rest of my life. Magazines don’t hold the allure they once did (they are sort of like the 21st century buggy-makers--soon to be obsolete). Plus they are never actually written for people I believe exist (if you coordinate your table linens to the season, buy $5,000 purses, or consider $250/night a bargain hotel, feel free to alert me to your existance).
I was thinking of becoming a nurse midwife. I’ve always really enjoyed all that pregnancy, vaginas, lactation stuff. But then I saw this horrible You Tube video of a pelvic exam and decided maybe it wasn’t for me. I had no idea it was going to look so rubbery.
Aside from my interest in hoo-has, I also like books, gardening, fixing up furniture I find on the street, travel, being my own boss, not sitting in an office, photography, laughing, staring off into space, overeating, drinking too much wine, reading Dr. Seuss books in funny voices, analyzing other people when they are not in the room, walking, sailor pants, watching So You Think You Can Dance, sunshine, babies, and the planet.
Unfortunately I have no mind for making money. None. I haven’t the foggiest ideas how people make money. But if all of my interests happen to coalesce into the perfect career in your entrepreneurial mind, please do let me know. Sugar daddies also welcome.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
You know how we thought Tilly might be a rooster? Well, she’s not. She’s just large and manly and no-nonsense, in the tradition of Julia Child and Sally Ride. But, rest assured, she is all woman.
Ollie and Maggie have not yet given up on the idea that she might actually be a Billy instead of a Tilly. When my brother was visiting they tried to convince him of Tilly’s maleness by holding her up by the neck and squeezing until she uttered a strangled and pathetic little squawk. “See,” they said proudly, “she’s cock-a-doodle-doing.”
I assure you, she was not.
Other things our chickens don’t do? They don’t come when you call them (I use “chick, chick, chick, chick” because although it is completely useless, it’s fun to say). And they really don’t LAY EGGS.
Nary a one. I know they are still adolescents and have not yet reached reproductive age (my brother once described the difference between fertilized eggs and non-fertilized eggs as the difference between “eating a chicken abortion, or a chicken period.” Appetizing, I know), but we’re getting a little impatient. We want them to mature quickly and be productive, like little avian Doogie Howsers.
The gals are going on 14 weeks this Friday. They look, act, and sound like full-grown birds. But they are useless. Elizabeth Jardina calls it the “eat and poop and wait” stage.
They could start laying anywhere between 17 and 22 weeks (stay tuned for the guess-the-date-of-our-first-omelet-contest).
In the meantime, they poop.
I had no idea how much chickens poop. Chickens poop like they are getting paid for it (and they would be if Sloat would cough up some of the revenue from the $7/bag chicken manure--suckers!). I would estimate that your average chicken drops a load about every 10 minutes. Maybe 15 if they are feeling backed up.Which is fine, and good for the garden, and basically not that offensive as far as feces goes. Except that that’s ALL THEY DO. They eat and they poop. Oh, and they eat dandelions as long as I pull them up first and deliver them to the coop. Little divas.