Tuesday, September 18, 2007


Yesterday morning I got a call, the last call, from my neighbors. Who told me they were done with my chickens getting into their yard. Something that used to never happen and now happens all the time. As the girls got more and more brave and used to their yard, they started wandering off into the barn area, then naturally ended up walking into the green lush grass of my neighbor's place. They're nice enough people, but if you're not into poultry you don't exactly want to wake up to Kevin the silkie rooster screaming in your yard. And it's not just the black kids; William is relentlessly brave and has taken them everywhere he can see, So the birds are getting a little to far into the fields, woods, and neighbor's very pretty lawns. All of these places dangerous and thriving with coyotes, eagles, replublicans and dogs.

So, it was time. I had to build a fence.

Last night Diana came to the rescue. I drove home with her and Bruce to Floating leaf and helped with their nightly chores. Their calf Kingsford is adorable, a month old and solid milk chocolate. I try not to get to attached to them because in a year hell be a side on their china (thus the food-related names this years slaughter calf is called Mac), but damn they are cute when their babes. I collected eggs and we moved a giant hamster wheel shaped hay feeder closer to the red barn. By the time we were done the timed lights were coming on in her three chicken houses. It was getting dark and we were just starting to load up the truck with fenc building gear (Post holers look kinda dirty). We drove across the lake back to my farm and by the glow of the truck’s headlights we used a post holer to nail down five t-posts. Last we hooked up livestock fencing and then moved in the coops. It felt good to work with my hands and make something that produced an actual result after a long day of staring at computer screens. The night was followed by wine and pizza, which was well deserved.

Now the birds are kind of contained. This morning when I went outside Emily was already out and looking for her two male escorts that were too scared to come out and face William. Mary Todd Lincoln went AWOL and flew out over the bars (but everyone knows she’s crazy) So there are “adjustments” to be made to this whole fence thing, but it’s up and the neighbors can handle a few days of ironing out the kinks and escape routes. Or if anyone out there wants to buy me one of these, that would be great too.

Monday, September 17, 2007

pumpkin loaf

This recipe is easy to make and I suggest keeping it around for pumpkin carving time when you have no idea what to do with your jack-o-lantern guts. But that's no excuse to wait because it tastes great with canned pumpkin. The recipe can be whipped together from scratch in about ten minutes, and it has received rave reviews in the office here. You can make it into cupcakes, cake, loafs and anything else your heart desires but keep an eye on it if you're baking something less dense then a standard loaf. It's done when you stick a scour in and it comes out clean (which for a cupcake might be 45 minutes, not 75). Also, the smell of baking pumpkin bread might be one of the best fall smells you can start bringing into the house. Taylor, you'll be eating this and drinking cider in a few weeks.

Homemade pumpkin loaf

1 3/4 cups flour
1 1/2 cups sugar
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 table spoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1 cup canned or fresh pumpkin
2 big eggs
1/3 cup water
1/2 cup veggie oil

Combine all dry ingredients in one bowl, and all wet in another. Mix wet into dry and whip with a wooden spoon into a wet batter. Bake in a greased bread loaf for 75 minutes at 350 degrees. Sprinkle powdered sugar on top after it cools, or if you want to make it amazing, spread a hearty layer of creamchesse flavored icing on top. Which I recomend.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

Raven Soap

Now in the Etsy shop and just in time for Fall. The same mint, beeswax and goatsmilk blend from before but in a snazzy and seasonal creepy shape. A raven hunched over pumpkins, now whats more classic then that? It's a third larger than the other bars which are roundish. Looks nice in the hay or in your bathroom. And all proceeds go to chicken feed and dogfood, so shop darling, shop.

Get your soap here.

Friday, September 14, 2007

my empire of dirt

The following article and video are from the most recent issue of New York Magazine. A Brooklyn family man takes his 800-square foot backyard and makes it his soul source of food for one month. He spends his whole summer (march-August) making his home and yard into the smallest farm in New York City. It is fabulous, frustrating and inspiring. He’s doing exactly what the book I’m currently writing is trying to help persuade people to do (only, more fun and less crazy… he’s trying to accomplish in one summer what I want to accomplish in ten years) The entire several-page article talks about his experiences with planting, rabbits, chickens and other things I myself have grown pretty familiar with. With the “localvore” movement building, it’s a really fascinating read. You can read a blurb below and follow the rest via the link at the end.

"A farm essentially is... Dirt. Death. Sex."
-Manny Howard, The Farm Project


At 6:40 a.m. on August 8, the tornado hit my house in Brooklyn. Most people viewed it as a snow day in summer, a meteorological oddity. Not me. After a sleepless night listening to the wind and the rain intensify, I watched the sky turn green, then heard the hemlock tree in the yard next door split in two, clip the gutter on the third floor of my house, and bounce off the roof of what used to be our garage and had come to be known as “the barn.” As the wind torqued up even further, the limb of an oak torpedoed the most productive quarter of my vegetable garden, smothering a thicket of tomatoes, snapping the fig tree, pulverizing the collard greens, burying the callaloo, and splintering the roof of my main chicken coop.

That’s right, my chicken coop, which happens to be in my tiny backyard farm—800 square feet of arable land.

A tornado hadn’t struck Brooklyn since 1889, when Flatbush was farmland; this one laid waste to the lonely little farm that I had planted in my backyard and that, within days, I planned to rely on as my sole source of food for an entire month.

I started my farm, hereafter referred to as The Farm, in March, with my eye on August as the month I’d eat what I had grown. It was, in original conception, equal parts naïve stunt and extreme test of the idea that drives the burgeoning “locavore” movement. According to this ethos, we should all eat food produced locally, within 100 miles—some say 30—of where we live, so as to save our planet and redeem our Twinkie-gorged souls. Now that the “organic” label has rapidly become as ubiquitous and essentially meaningless as the old “all-natural,” the locavores have established a more sacred code, one meant to soothe our anxieties about what goes into the food we eat.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007


When you bake your own bread, churn your own butter and get eggs fresh from your own chickens you will discover that French toast has hit a new plateau you had never dreamed of. Surely if you visit you will try this. Unless you’re one of those people who prefers pancakes or omelets or some other lesser breakfast eatable. Which I will also make for you- but will do so silently judging.

Monday, September 10, 2007

farm update

People ask me if I have any pets and I answer something like “Oh yeah, I have chickens and a hive of bees and some rabbits” and I completely brush over the dogs. Not because they’re forgettable but because Jazz and Annie aren’t pets. They are Roommates. They aren’t some creepy stand-ins for children, sub human buddies, or something I dress up for kicks, they’re just “Jazz and Annie”. I come home from work, dump my bag by the coat rack and start telling them about how crappy or dreamy things are at the moment. So I feel weird calling anyone I talk to regulary a "pet" This morning before work and after our walk Annie and I sat on the couch and watched an episode of Gilmore Girls with really really strong coffee; jadeite in my right hand and scratching her head with the other. Warm under a wool blanket. It was nice.

Okay. If reincarnation exists I want to come back as a rural vegetarian’s chicken. They live in such ways you and I could never dream. They spend their days laying in the sunshine or chasing grasshoppers around the lawn. They have a nonstop buffet provided for them. They are on no particular schedule, and have no real threats. And if the ladies want to sleep in while William patrols, they do. I’ve gone outside and met William in the driveway, said morning, and walked around to the coop only to find all the other girls still nestled together on the roost asleep. Probably dreaming about what all women dream about (Oprah and unicorn rides). Yes, these are happy birds.

The bees are in push time. Thanks to my shoddy landscaping there is a wild array of non-mowed wildflowers and weeds producing pollen and nectar. I'm really hoping they keep up the good work, because they are the underdogs of the farm. They practically were goners when they lost their queen, then they were nearly overtaken by yellow jackets, and after that the drought made water supply at the creek almost non-existent. But they are still keeping on, and they might just make it through the winter yet. We’ll keep rooting for the home team, and this winter I’ll keep shoveling them out. I am a very exciting young person.

I’ve learned that rabbits are a love/hate relationship. Generally, I like them. They are quiet, pretty and eat very little. Like everything else that lives here they require minimal attention. But they stink. I clean out their cages every three days and they stink. I come back from the rabbit hutches and the dogs go retarded convinced somewhere on my person is a delicious meal. Anyway, the Angoras and the Lop (named Fumiko after a friends’ grandmother) are hearty guys. I’ve now sheered the angoras three times and sold most of it online at Etsy. There’s a big market for pure angora (Angora goats don’t offer angora, they offer mohair) I’m a very very very small part of that market but it’s still nice to know that they pay for their own food and supplies and I get to hang out with a rabbit in my lap on occasion. Which at campfires is nice.

So we’ve got a coyote named August, which you know about if you’ve been reading dogcoffin. He's doing well and patrolling daily in the back fields. But there’s also a Doe and her fawn that have taken up residence near the house. I named them Gwen and Oscar. Sometimes I’ll be doing dishes and catch a glance of Oscar running by the kitchen window and then Gwen will step over the chickens slowly and saunter by behind him. I like those two, they liven up the place. No moose have moved in from the bogs yet but I hope to see some cow/calf pairs by October. There’s a big coven of ravens that live in the aspens and a mated set of bald eagles too. And then there was this weird Saturday morning when I looked outside the front window and saw a turkey hen and her chicks (turks?) waddling along the driveway.

I have to go out and cover everything now because night temps drop into the 30s. So last night I was outside coving the gardens with 4mil plastic in an attempt to keep my lettuce and broccoli kicking into November if I can. So far, so good. Eggplants are coming in late, so are the peppers but I have high hopes. Tomatoes, they will slaughter the kitchen soon.

That's pretty much it. This is the home stretch till the first snow. Then everything shuts down and all i do is cook, bake, bitch about fall being over and play music. Which I enjoy doing, every one.

Friday, September 7, 2007

garden is still truckin' on

Friends and readers, let me tell you something that I am unequivocally certain of. No human family needs more than three zucchini plants. They. Just. Keep. Coming. I started getting zucchini the size of my forearm in late July, and now after frosts and rain and dead leaves the vegetables keep growing. I have made zucchini bread. Zucchini cookies. I have stir fried and grilled it. I have added it to soup and chopped it into salads. I have done nearly every goddamn thing a girl can do with zucchini (don’t be dirty) and it still keeps coming. When I show up at parties or to watch a move at a friends’, I bring zucchini. I’d be beside myself if I had this much luck with broccoli, but a person can only take so much zucchini. I’d stab my left hand for an eggplant.

Christ, just wait till all those tomatoes come in… The tomatoes pictured above are just the first of over 300 ripening others outside the front door on my 4 giant plants. Bruce and Diana are going to see me show up with two giant shopping bags and we're canning marinara all day soon. In case you were concerned.

And those little gourds. How about them, huh? Are they strictly decorative or can i make pumpkin recipe stuff from these, Heather? I ask you because of your intense history with compost pile gourds.


Thursday, September 6, 2007


Making pasta is pretty simple. All you need is eggs and flour. And it takes less time to make and cook from scratch then it does to cook dry store bought noodles. All you need to do is this. Put a pot of water on the stove and put the heat on high to get it boiling. While that’s heating up, break an egg or two in a bowl and whip it into a yellow goop. Add flour a half cup at a time and mix it until you have a non-sticky dough (maybe a cup and a half tops?). Roll it out flat as you reasonably can with a rolling pin over a floured surface (so it doesn’t stick) and then also sprinkle flour on the top of it. Then roll your flattened dough up into a long rod (think of how cinnamon buns look in the mall before they slice them) then slice thin circles and unwind them into long pasta strands. Lay them out on a floured countertop or hang them from a coathanger while you work. Last, All you need to do then is put them in boiling water for 3 minutes and then (and this is the secret) mix the fresh noodles with a ¼ cup of butter, ½ tablespoon onion powder, and a ¼ garlic powder) serve with fresh basil and plain marinara. Get crazy and sprinkle cheese on top.

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

night mares

One more tired thing,the gray moon on the rise
When your want from the day makes you to curse in your sleep at night
One more gift to bring. we may well find you laid
(like your steed in his reins)
Tangled too tight and too long to fight

Friday, August 31, 2007

four day weekend

I'll be away from the internet for a few days. Starting tomorrow I'll be on a small vacation. I'm planning on watching lots of deadwood and gilmore girls, writing, baking, and playing music that annoys the dogs. Maybe I'll smash Lookout Mountain but I'm not making any promises. You kids be good.

Thursday, August 30, 2007


Some day, when I have a dozen Suffolks in the pasture I'll have a border collie. And that border collie will be a working dog that shares my home with the no-good rebellious sled dogs. I have already decided his name - Saven. Which is the 6,000 year old Scottish word for Halloween. He'll have yellow eyes, an all black coat, and putz around the farm with me. I can't have a third dog now. I can't have a third dog so much that I turned down a malamute/wolf hybrid puppy a few weeks ago because I know what I can handle. Yes, Jenna Woginrich turned down the chance to have a pet wolf. But I know what I can deal with - and a third big dog can't fit in a subaru, and I can't walk three dogs and stay in control. Jazz and Annie are everything two housedogs can be, and recently came back from their annual check up with rave reviews (minus Annie needed to drop 6 pounds and Jazz needing some dental work). But as far as overall health, they're gangbusters. More dogs means everything gets a little thinner, less attention and personal care. Adding a third dog to the family would make things too hard on me and the Siberians. Who wouldn't understand why Saven got to run outside off leash? And Saven wouldn't understand why Siberians are allowed to jump into a packed car with the sled tied to the top and be outside all day in the winter while he stayed in...

Oh, dogs. If you only knew the half of it this week.

But yes, Saven will be the border collie I hope to share my life with when my life is at a constance. Border collies seem to need more routine and solid ground then Jazz and Annie do. Or maybe I just have decided that a herding dog deserves a herd and I can't offer it to him yet. (I realize that boder collies as pets do not need sheep to be happy, I just want mine to have sheep) But I can offer trails and snow to the dogs in my life now. Maybe I can marry a hobby shepherd and wreck all his plans with dogsledding races and trips to Ireland. If you know this guy, tell him I make great pie.

Monday, August 27, 2007

mountain music for the masses

There are two things necessary for my mental stability - hiking and making music. I need to get outside and walk a few miles every now and again. And I need to be able to pick up an instrument and play it until my fingers hurt. It’s not so important how hard the hike was or how complicated the music gets. What’s important is the self-reliance of creating your own adventure and soundtrack when the mood strikes. If you’re into hiking too, and possibly interested in homemade music (but are convinced you can’t ever learn the guitar, banjo or fiddle) have I got an old friend I’d like to introduce you too…

The Strumstick. It’s basically the love child of the mountain dulcimer and banjo. And it’s made so that every chord you play is part of a chromatic scale. It weighs next to nothing, sounds like something right out of deliverance, and costs less then taking you and a friend out for a steak dinner. I recently got reacquainted with it and have been having a hoot taking it with me on the road or the trail. It’s perfect for back porches, campfires, and the beach and can hold it’s own in a bluegrass jam. You can pick one up from the original creator here, or find a multitude of knock-offs that sound just as good and even look a bit more interesting.

Keep pickin

watch the flock

(sorry about the wind...)

Sunday, August 26, 2007


Meet William. He’s a one-year-old Welsummer rooster, and the newest addition to the farm. While chickens aren’t the most complicated livestock to raise, it does take a little management. Introducing a hard charger like him meant reducing the amount of males in the flock. Two of my silkie roosters found new homes on other small farms. So even though I am adding a new animal, I am now down to fewer birds then when the fair started.

So, William… William was the first place rooster at the fair. His owner, a sweet woman named Judy had a sign on his cage saying he was up for adoption. That he was a little to rough. We talked and decided to trade males. My silkie roosters are good guys and extra calm and gentle. We swapped last night and ended up with guys that better complemented our natures. I figured I could handle and appreciate William just fine. After all, my idea of a great time is being pulled over by wolves with robes. Oley!

After the fair was through, I packed him into the backseat of the Subaru with the help of Judy. When we arrived back at the farm shortly after, I had to decided what to do with him. Generally with hens, I wait till dark to put them in the coop with the others. They are too focused on roosting and going to sleep to care about another chicken cooing next to them. Kinda like if you’re staying at a youth hostel and you’re too exhausted to care at 3 Am if some random kid from Amsterdam rolled out a sleeping bag next to you. Anyway, come morning the new girl learns the routine the others created, and walks out into the world with them. I decided this is what I’d do with Will. While the other girls were scratching about the yard I placed him in the empty coop at dusk. He hated this. He carried on and flapped around like a crazy person. He didn’t understand why he was inside and locked in a coop when it was still light out and all those ladies were walking around free. But I was worried he’d be too confused about the farm to settle in. What if he panicked and headed for the coyote fields? Or worse, ran for the highway?

I decided to just let things happen how they would. Roosters aren’t new to the world and he probably had a plan of action set since I turned into my driveway. I opened the coop door. William flew out like a swan and landed like a Czech gymnast. I was in a bit of awe. Within moments Mary Todd Lincoln was dashing for him. Like her long lost lover showed up out of nowhere. So how about that for a welcome wagon? Within three minutes of landing on green grass William was having sex, dancing and singing. Something few of us get to do within the first moments of moving into a new house. Needless to say, William was a happy guy. The girls were man-starved and followed him around like groupies. William ate, drank, got laid and when the sun came down trotted right up into the chicken hutch and went to bed. Hell of a day.

Friday, August 24, 2007

fiddle sacks also in dry goods

Tired of those clunky, pretentious, over bearing music cases? Sure they’re great for long-term storage… but when you just need to take your fiddle with you to a festival or campfire, bring it in down-home mountain style. Made to fit your fiddle, mandolin, dulcimer, or other small instruments. Freehand embroidery of your name or phrase, patches of your own or of our collection. Handmade of sturdy fabrics (denims, ducts, cords and such) tied up with a string. Has a sling for carting all over creation.

Click here to order!

Thursday, August 23, 2007

Soap is back!

I sold out of my last batch, but soaps back in the store again! Homemade blend of goatsmilk and beeswax, no artificial anything. I add a little home-grown mint tea to it for exfoliation and to give it a little kick. High beeswaxs content, which is a smell I adore. Only a few dollars a bar, long lasting, and has an insect on it. Which, you you just don't get enough of with soaps.

Also available are handknit hands, photo and design prints, tea, wool, and more to come later in the week.

Click here to order!

stove top cider

We're getting just a few weeks from the equinox, so start celebrating early. If you're lucky enough to have a cider mill in your neighborhood (My folks live 20 minutes from a farm with an apple press) make the trip to pick up some all-natural, unprocessed, fresh pressed cider (Take that Louie Pasteur!) If you don’t want to do the legwork, or don’t care, go to the grocery store and get some.

If you're feeling really industrious, and have some extra gusto and cash. Buy one of these homepresses, and spend an afternoon with friends and family at a U-pick orchard. For a ridiculously cheap amount you can collect all the bruised and clumsy apples they won't sell and make enough cider to last a nomal person through late fall and me about 2 weeks. This is much easier to do if you live near Washington State, or in the Northeast. But you'll figure something out no matter where you reside if you're clever. Or have a phonebook.

Stove Top Cider
At home get out a medium sized pot and fill it with about 5 cups of cold cider. Put the range on a medium low heat and stir occasionally with a wooden spoon. As the cider warms up, add a teaspoon of cinnamon and a sprinkle of clove (not much, just enough to make it woodsy). Keep stirring so that the cider doesn’t rise or curdle. When it’s at a comfortable hot-chocolate temperature serve in a hearty mugs with an optional cinnamon stick. Do not use a microwave. It never heats evenly and is also horribly tacky for such a sacred task. Now go outside on the porch with a blanket, pet your dogs (or cat, or rabbit, or lover, or borrow someone else’s) and enjoy. Invite over a friend. Serve a slice of applecake (not pie).

This is the as good as it gets all year. Satiate.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007


Sorry folks, my chickens didn't win anything. I can't say I wasn't a little sad. But I cheered myself up buying some baby alpaca wool I'm knitting with these fancy circle needles. Anyway,as for the silkies morale, it's much higher than mine was. Fair life seems to suit them well. They looked fine this morning when I went in to check thier food and water. I'll be posting a sign letting people know what birds of mine are available for sale and such. Maybe I'll find a home for a few of the roosters. Shucks.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

rain and snow

After weeks, strike that, MONTHS of dry dusty god-awful sunshine - Idaho is finally starting to feel like the Pacific Northwest again. I love precipiation. I missed it. I'm happy to announce the past few days have been chilly, windy and rainy. Clouds come down from the sky and rush through the mountains, It looks like racing ghosts compared to the static hang of the smokies. Got to love cloud athletics. I took the dogs out two nights ago and the wind whipped my hair everywhere and the rain fell sideways and it was still warm enough to just need a fluffy sweater. Crisper. Tighter. Damn that's good weather. The need for soup and blankets makes this girl giddy. I celebrated by drinking hot cider and watching Cold Mountain with the dogs. There are more perfect evenings, but not many.

As far as mountain music updates go I've learned the lonesome song "rain and snow" on the fiddle. It matches the weather perfectly and has an almost Irish flavor to it. It's one of those songs you can play a hundred different ways. I get a real kick out of it. I'll try and record it for you, or some fiddle music soon. I also just got my psaltry in the mail from Wood-n-Strings in Tennessee. I need to either fix the broken strings and bridge (thanks UPS) - or get a replacement. Kind of a let down after wanting to add it to my repertoire for so long. If anyone knows how to fix a psaltry, be a friend.


I went to the fair to see how my birds did, and no updates yet. The doors were closed in the poultry section (I assume they were judging) and they were handing out rabbit ribbons in the front. Maybe after work I’ll be able to check and see. Since I was already at the fairgrounds, I thought I’d watch some of the livestock showing. I walked over to the children’s sheep qualifiers. These kids looked like little ranchers with gorgeous ewes in their arms. I had never been so envious of a fourth grader before. It’ll be years before I have sheep and a rumpled border collie. Years. And that’s if I’m lucky enough to be able to find and purchase a bit of land someday. Well anyway, I hope to post again soon with info on how Emily and Moon Rooster did at the fair. Y’all take care.

fair morning

The Bonner County Fair is situated right between my farm and work. Every morning for a week I’ll be stopping in the sunlit and dander filled barns before I head over to work. As an exhibitor, I have to stop in twice a day to check the water, food and health of my birds. The judging is going on this morning while I’m designing emails, but come lunch I’m excited to go over and see how we did. The black silkies I raised since they were two days old. I've hand fed them, watched them grow up, and built their coop from scratch. So regardless of what the judges think, I think they are beautiful little accomplishments that run around my farm like tiny dinosaurs. I’m glad to show them off to the public for a week at the fair. And who knows, if I’m lucky I might find a home for some of my spare roosters. Wish us luck. (That goose waldo hissed at me this morning. I don’t think he cares for this kind of thing.)