I love to follow other peoples blogs. Some more than others. I especially love this one http://disasterfilm.blogspot.com/   Although I ask you please do not follow or comment on his blog as this fellow is well known for stealing all the comments from all the followers in the land. He is one big comment hog. I mean he says "Rainy today in the village" and he gets 100 comments. (Happy Birthday anyway John Gray)

Anyway, on his blog I don't want you to see, he has this great pic of a chicken staring right at you. I have been wanting to recreate that shot with our own poultry for awhile. Today I got down on the ground and gave it my best attempt.

Yeah they got the nice feather thing going. My hair would look good too
if all I had to do all day was eat bugs and worms.

Now keep in mind, I am not a chicken chic. I do not normally attach myself to birds. I find them dull and very dull. I appreciate them for the eggs they produce and the chicken caccitore I have consumed. I do not name them. Well except for this little Banty rooster a friend gave us last week, maybe I'm a little attached to him but it doesn't count as he's not a real rooster.

Anyway, I'm on the ground and they start to notice me a little. Suddenly I have a flashback to 1993 the year Keith and I were married. I ventured into the barn after work probably still in my 2 piece suit with peplum skirt no doubt, to say hello.  He was milking a goat and I see the cutest little fluffy yellow baby chick on the ground next to him. I scoop it up and before I can say Kentucky Fry this, I am attacked by a flurry of white feathers. Some crazed chicken is going for my head ! I pull the chick closer to me to protect it and the hen intensifies her attack. Keith is no help as he has now fallen off the milking stand as he rolls with laughter. He's trying to say "put the chick down" but he's laughing so hard he can't speak. Finally this Chicago raised bride figures out the nutso hen just wants her chick back. I put it down. I may not be very smart but at least I'm slow.

Anyway, back to the present. I am getting nervous. I'm vulnerable down here. They seem to sense this. They begin to move in.




Face to face with Birdzilla, I begin to wish I had fed them more corn and less
of the organic raw milk.

I hunker down behind my camera and try to look less threatening. I make nary a sound unless you count the minor incontinence I am experiencing. I always lose a little control when I sense my eyeballs are soon to be pecked upon. I wait them out. They send in backup chicks.

"To me she looks harmless. Lazy and
unmotivated, but harmless.
What do you think Esmerelda ?"

Still unpecked, I decide to go even closer. I came for an awesome chickie shot and I am going to get it. I zoom in. What happens ? Some Rooster Boy decides to get all cocky with me.



Get back girls, Midlife Farmwife is all mine.

I reach for my cell phone, I'm not above calling for help. After all these bird things can get out of control so quickly. One minute you are admiring a couple of lovebirds in a cage chatting it up with a hottie named Mitch and the next minute the freaky things are dive bombing you at the filling station and your whole backwards town goes up in flames. But before I can flip open my cheap Tracfone to see I am out of minutes AGAIN, Mr. all full of himself takes a sharp right and strikes a pose. Vogue.

Anyway, I never got the shot I wanted, but I did bond just a little with the egg squaters. Still, I'm not naming them and you can't make me.

But if I was...it would be Marsha, Jan and Cindy. The blond in front would of course be Marsha.
Marsha, Marsha, Marsha.

Knock Knock...its me, opportunity.



The Critically Endangered Red Wattle Hog. To save
him is to eat him

So I'm sitting on my very comfy couch  in my sorta red but not quite cinnamon colored robe, reading the latest edition of Scientific American  thinking how happy I am that it is Wednesday and I do not need to go anywhere thank the heavens because even though it IS only Wednesday we've already had this really really crazy super busy week with too many meetings and too much rain which caused all this mud that makes doing chores that much harder, when I hear knocking on the door.

I will admit...I considered pretending I wasn't home.

The knocking continued. I stood up and plodded my way to the kitchen door. There was friend and fellow farmer Kim Snyder of Faith's Farm. She was very excited. " 175 pounds...They called...dropped out...farmer...they need another pig... you have  pig ?!?!...A heritage hog...its big really big... going to call right back...its big this thing...gotta know now...big...Keith said you to talk to.."

After throwing enough ice water in her face to get her to complete a  few sentences,  her phone rang.  "Yes Michael, she's right here."  (See, the ice water worked. A common misconception is the need to slap a hysterical woman. I find that action to be overkill and not as much fun as the shock of the ice water trick.) Back to the phone. Enter Michael Sullivan  AKA  The Reverend of Fat. Really that's what he said his name was. Turns out he was one of the coordinator on this years Cochun 555 event , THE pork event of the year. Read more here http://www.cochon555.com/  Briefly the event involves 5 top chefs, 5 heritage hogs, 5 top wines, tons of media and lots of fun.

I knew nothing of such an event. Never even heard of Mr. Cucucachu or his 555 porcine friends. Turns out though that our friend Kim knew about it as she had been asked to deliver one of her heritage hogs for the event. This morning after dropping off that hog at the Chenoa locker she dropped by our house to buy some milk. As she was leaving her phone rang and a very upset and worried "Reverend" called to tell her one of the other farmers who was supposed to provide a hog for the event was suddenly unable to and, here's the really good part, did she know anyone else who raised heritage hogs ?

That is why she turned back around (livestock trailer and all) and ended up banging on my back door at the crack of  dawn . (8 am for me is indeed the crack of dawn. I may be awake at 6am but I do not begin to compute until 10 am and the coffee pot is sucked dry)  So, long story abort...I agreed to the request, honored to be asked even if we were runners up. Keith and I went to the barn , picked out the perfect hog with nice wobbly wattles and a "winning !"  smile that would make even Charlie Sheen proud, and escorted him onto the trailer.

The weird thing was, this Red Wattle was in a pen with 20 other hogs and when we came into the barn he just walked up to the gate like he was happy to be Dead Ham Walking. We opened the gate, he sauntered down the barn aisle and even took enough time to pause at the end of the trailer, turn and wave to his friends left back in the barn !  I told you it was weird.

The Spirit of Christmas

Chicago is two hours north of our farm but as we deliver more frequently the drive seems shorter and shorter. Last weeks deliveries were about the same as usual. Dead hog in the back of the Ford Transit Wagon, he and I singing along to all the Christmas tunes on the radio, lots of traffic, congested alleys, etc...etc...

I like my delivery days. Usually Keith goes with me but last week so much was going on here that we opted for him to stay home. Fences to fix, repairs to make to the second upright freezer to go into our store, and the endless chores of feeding and watering animals. I don't mind the traffic and I like the alone time. Time to reflect on what is important this time of year, to think about ways to better spread the joy. And in the midst of all these thoughts I look up and there he is...the spirit of Christmas.

                                          The Twisted Spoke.  Bar and grill at 501 N. Ogden  Chicago


I almost rear ended the car in front of me.