Raindrops fell into the dewy grass and created a quiet hush in the early daylight. Or at least it was hushed until I brought my tired baby and rambunctious kiddo kicking and screaming out of the house to wrangle some birds before 7 am.

Our pastured poultry are raised in pens that we rotate over fresh grass at least once per day. These pens provide plenty of space to forage grasses and grubs, focus the nutrient-rich manure, and most importantly provide safety. Our birds live out their days happily without a care in the world. That’s usually what happens. After having cattle with these pens all summer, our docile mama cows decided they wanted to rip apart our pens, push around the frames and become chicken bullies. 

A few days prior to the general destruction we noticed the girls slightly rubbing and nudging the pens. We attributed it to curiosity and decided to keep an eye on it. Costly mistake.  After wrangling nearly 100 birds, two times before noon I decided the remedy was happening that afternoon once the hubby dearest came home with the pick up. We moved pens, chickens, ducks and kids back and forth across the road countless times.

Bed-time seems to be something normal families do for their children, but as a full-time mama dragging children around as I go about my lady-farmer business there seems to be a trend of working until dark and throwing multi-grain cheerios or Graham crackers at them for a snack. Hubby Dearest helps where he can, but often times that means we are working to dark as a family unit. 

Thus we were moving chickens, ducks, and pens at 8.30pm with kids starting to fuss (Cue more Graham crackers) and the sun starting to sink beneath the treeline. 

As I start to feel the season change from summer into fall I am anxious to see what the peak of our season will bring. I know we will have over 300 broilers, 8 pigs, our first sow, 13 cattle, an incredibly handsome horse and handful of laying lady ducks/hens in September into October. It may not seem like much, but it’s our biggest year yet and it has me giving pep-talks to myself and self high fives on the daily. So many unknown trials, adventures, tantrums, animal escapes, and special moments to come.

Getting pumped for the peak of our 2017 season. Bring it on fall. 

(Smiling instead of getting frustrated)

Sun peeked over the tree line, through the fog and made the chickens seem to glow against the glistening grass. It was cold enough to give me a little pep in my step as I ran out in my pajamas to let out the chickens and check on the broilers. The cows bellowed from the next pasture over, apparently recognizing my half skipping gait, and as I turned the door knob to follow my toddler inside, I ran into a locked door with my face.

Bless her heart toddler Q had deadbolt ed the door and locked me out. One of her many skills that she’s acquired at the ripe age of 2.5 going on 13, her door maneuvering has made it tricky to contain her or for me to get back into the house if I forgot to pocket the keys. 

This morning as I sat down to nurse little man J, she ran out to ‘rescue a chicken’ that had flown the fence. The chicken was fine, but she was out of the door lickity-split with bright purple shoes and no pants to rescue the chicken formally known as the New Gramma (because old gramma had an accident with a predator this fall.) True to form Q picked up that chicken and waited for me to open the gate which proved to be difficult since I was chasing her with shoes half on and a baby half asleep on my hip.

It’s easy to be energized on sunny spring days. To dream, and scheme and marinate on what the sunny months will bring. Today was a day for magical moments, toddler gallavants, childhood memory making and laughter as we did chores for 2 hours when they should only taken 20 minutes. The daffodils are peeking through green buds while the song birds chirp with the afternoon sun and I let the energy of these days motivate me for the hectic season to come.

This weekend Hubby Dearest flew off to a conference for work and I along with sweet baby Q were left to our own devices. The first morning after his departure we woke up to farm animals yelling for attention, fog horns drifting in along with the morning mists, and chicken sh*t getting dragged into the house on Ted’s paws.  As a mother of a blossoming baby who’s goal in life is to put everything in her mouth, the chicken poop had to stop NOW.
After completing the circus of bringing Q into my office for a morning of emails and paper shuffling we continued our journey of errands. I’m not sure I will ever be able to replicate the packing of t-posts, fencing, pig food, groceries, and day – job paraphernalia into my little SUV cross over. Baby Q was thrilled with all the new “toys” shoved around her carseat and giggled as she poked at melting ice cream on the way home.
We arrived on the homestead to find the warm coastal sun cooking the chicken doo onto my front porch. I attempted to dodge and weave the land mines and pooping chickens as I unloaded the car – strengthening my resolve to eliminate the poop on my porch for good.

Thus, I strapped sweet baby Q into the back pack and began fence construction.  I pounded t-posts, I put up fencing, I cleaned the coop, washed the baked butt juices off my porch and wrangled chickens all the while my sweet little babe slept peacefully. 

Needless to say when my chicken run was complete I felt pretty bad ass.  A temporary solution until we move the coop across the creek, but well worth the few hours of labor to keep my baby from ingesting chicken sh*t as a snack.

A special happy birthday to Frank with all his grace and dignity.

At times it is hard to drag myself out of bed when it is still dark outside.  My sweet baby sleeps sprawled out over the entire queen size bed, the heater is on, and the pillow calls to me.  Alas, the dog’s tail is thumping against the wall as he asks to go out, I can hear the chickens waking up just waiting until the first rays of sunshine peek over the trees to start screaming how hungry they are, and the pressure to feed miscellaneous other creatures before work starts setting in.

This morning, just as I masterfully extracted myself from the blankets without waking the baby, I stepped on my husband’s sock drawer (that he forgot to push back under the bed).  True to form, I begin to fall reaching for my faithful dog Ted who jumped out of the way –uncharacteristically agile – as I bit the dust into the desk chair.  That sweet sleeping baby turned into a screaming ball of fury.  Thank you hubby dearest.

So sweet baby Q and I proceeded to feed our little farm one-handed, in the rain, and in our jammies.  However collecting eggs with one hand can be tricky.  It involved me holding the nesting box hatch door open with my foot, leaning baby Q away so she doesn’t get chicken goodness all over her and reaching into the nest box to pluck each egg out to delicately drop onto the ground.  Not sure if any of you have seen this 6ft mamma in athletic shorts and barn boots completing this charade, but I think I make it look good.  You may be asking, “ why doesn’t she devise a clever hook to keep the nesting box hatch open?”  Good question and yet I seem to forget. Every. Time.

It can be a pain in the tush to complete the farm-feeding-fun at the butt-crack of dawn in soggy jammies, but the pasture-raised eggs, the free range pigs, the hormone free beef are all worth it.  I am able to feed my family, my friends, and the community.  It is a blessing I am privileged to take part in.

The rain always seems to stop as soon as I am done with chores and today was no exception. The sun rays began to pierce the fog to create beams of warmth and rainbows.   The trees dripped rain drops onto the pasture to create percussion beats to the songbirds’ sweet melody.  I nursed sweet baby Q, ate my ridiculously delicious eggs, looked over my little farm and thought good morning Melville.