Sugar Creek Farm

You are so not going to believe this story, but I swear, it’s all true.

Last week a gal from a PR firm in Los Angeles called. They’d found our blog somehow. They’re doing publicity for the DVD release of the movie Chicken Little, and she wanted to know if we’d enter their “Search for the Real Chicken Little” contest. All I had to do was measure our smallest adult chicken and email her a picture. Today she called to say we’re one of two finalists in the contest.

All I could think was, “I hope nothing has eaten Silkie Chicken since I was saw her yesterday!”

So we’re all flying to LA – with Silkie Chicken – next week. Had to take Silkie Chicken to the vet today to get her health certificate so she can fly on the plane.

I told you it sounds made up.

When I walked in the vet clinic, the vet was on the phone with the state veterinarian and I heard him say, “I’ve got this chicken going to Hollywood… No, really!” When he got off the phone he said, “They didn’t believe me!”

So Monday they’ll bring us – and Silkie Chicken – to Burbank for the publicity event. They’ll have a runway set up, and they want the 2 chicken contestants to walk down the runway. They’ll be filming all of this.

Wait. It gets better.

Also on the scene will be 100 stunt chickens. And their trainers. I don’t remember stunt chicken trainer being on the list of career choices my high school counselor gave us. Who knew?

So wish us luck. It will be quite the experience. While we’re out there they’re sending us to Disneyland, so looking forward to that. So many things to do before we leave. Like give Silkie Chicken a bath.

Hollywood, here we come!

Sitting on the downhill slope to a creek, as we do, means some wet conditions come springtime.

It starts in our neighbor’s field to the east…

Continues on towards the barnyard…

Right through the middle of the cattle yard…

And on into Sugar Creek…

These pictures were taken last week. Now we’re under a winter storm warning for the next 24 hours, expecting up to 10 inches of snow to drop. Then we’ll start the melting all over again.

As you drive down our road, the prominent feature of this farmstead is the house. Walking around the “backend” of the farm, I realized I hadn’t really looked at it from this perspective before. From here the dilapidated machine shed is most prominent. It really needs torn down, but then where would the things we store in it go? The tractor, the wagon filled with corn, a few round bales. No money in the budget right now for a new shed. So we cross our fingers that it holds for a while.

Despite a couple of 50-degree teaser days last week, Old Man Winter reminded us today that it is still officially, according to the calendar, his season. Sometime in the middle of the night last night I was awakened by the plink, plink of small hail hitting the windows and both girls rushing into the bedroom to find out what was going on. Everyone went back to sleep, and when we woke up it was snowing with 35-45 mph winds blowing everything around. The girls went to school and were let out an hour later.

But still, spring seems to be creeping in, even if the only indicator at this point is the egg count. Over the winter the 45 hens averaged 15 eggs a day. The last couple of weeks that’s crept up to 24 a day. Their internal clocks seem to be telling them spring is coming, despite the weather telling us otherwise.

I got my seed starting trays and cell packs washed and sterilized yesterday, but haven’t yet started anything. Hopefully this week I’ll get some things going.

There’s a new blogger on the scene. Wildrose is off to a good start at Over the Garden Gate. Check her out. I’m so excited, she’s got Muscovies and I’m going to buy some off her for fly control around here.

Finally, I wanted to re-post a comment left over the weekend on my steam engine show post from last summer. He added a lot of interesting information about the steam engine shown in those pictures. Thank you!

Thanks for putting these pictures on the web. I am one of the the 2 engineers required to run this engine. I’m the one standing on the steps next to the tank on the engine. I’m also the fireman and my job is to maintain the proper water level in the boiler and fire the boiler to make steam. The engine is rated at 140 horsepower and was the largest cross compound engine that Reeves manufactured. We think this engine was built in 1911 or 1912 and weighs around 26 tons. Because of the size of this engine Reeves included power steering to aid in turning movements. We burn coal for fuel and operate the engine at 175 pounds of steam pressure. We pull 14-14 inch wide bottoms and the engine was rated to pull 20 to 26 bottoms depending on the soil conditions. This engine is the only surviving 40-140 Cross Compound Reeves left that is still in operating condition. I have had the privilege of operating this engine for the past 8 years and am looking forward to many more.

Have a good week, everyone!

Rafe Henry is four today. Four. I almost can’t comprehend it.

He loves to make people laugh. He’s always made us laugh every day, but now he’s aware of it. Now he’ll do something and ask, “Is that funny?”

He’s (finally) starting to care (a little) about good behavior. When he’s done something he knows he shouldn’t he’ll say, “Are you happy, Mom?”

Like his mama, he’s not a morning person.

He’s starting to write his name. We still don’t know if he’s right or left-handed. He’ll start out with his left and write R-a-f, then switch to his right to finish with the “e”.

He doesn’t walk anywhere. “Everywhere I went, I was running.” From the house to the car. From the living room to the bathroom. From the downstairs to the upstairs. (Extra credit to those who can source that quote – Matt & Rod are not allowed to play.)

He doesn’t care much for coloring pictures, but loves to have books read to him.

He loves preschool.

Having two older sisters, he can be quite dramatic. “What-ever!”

He has quite the imagination. Lately his favorite toy has been a pair of kitchen tongs. Those tongs have been a robot, a crane lift, a boy with long legs.

Happy Birthday, dude.

Love,
mom

The official start of calving season (9 months after Matt turned in the bull) will be upon us in a couple of weeks. Most of our current group of calves are 11 and 12 months old now.

Petey then…

…and now

Socks then…

Fudge then…

…Socks(l) and Fudge(r) now

While Jimmy is the lone Buff-laced Polish here, we have 3 or 4 Golden Polish hens. Here’s Olivia modeling with one of them, while the hen looks at her as if she’s crazy.

I don’t know that the Polish chickens are good for much, practically speaking, but they sure do bring variety, beauty and entertainment to the farm which is just as valuable to me as egg laying.

Just a little brag on my hometown here 🙂

Last night in Cedar Rapids, the Osage wrestling team won the 2A State Dual championship.

Also last night in Mason City, the Osage boys basketball team won their sub-state game and will be playing in the state tournament next week.

And the Osage High School Concert Band was once again named top 2A concert band in the state. It’s really cool that some of those varsity wrestlers, basketball players, and cheerleaders are also band members.

We have some really talented and hard-working young people in our community, and it says a lot about the teaching and coaching staff that these students can not only participate in multiple activities but excel in them also.

Jimmy at Sunup

Jimmy at Sundown

I could never have imagined, in my pre-chicken life, that one could become so attached to a fowl. But Jimmy is my favorite.

He’s much smaller than the other 3 roosters and stands 3rd in the pecking order, just above the Salmon Faverolle. But he’s got the confidence of a rooster on his way up the ladder, er, roost. He’s a roo with style about him.

There have been some tasks around the farm that I’ve had to, well, psyche myself up for. For example, the first batch of baby chicks we got freaked me out. I don’t even know why. It was just something about how little and chicken-y they were, with their beady eyes, pointy beaks, and little chicken feet. Matt unpacked that entire box of chicks and I didn’t touch a one of them. But once I finally got up the guts to pick one up, I was hooked and I’ve done every so-called nasty chicken job since without flinching. From cleaning little chick butts when they paste up, to pulling twenty-some chicken corpses out of an overheated shed, to gutting the freshly-butchered.

Well another one of those tasks came up this week. On Monday at lunch Matt informed me that I was going to check our sow, Sara, for milk. We’re expecting her to farrow any day now. And a visual check was not going to cut it. He wanted me to squeeze her nipple. Uh-huh.

Matt’s advice? “You can’t just go up to her and squeeze her nipple. Girls don’t like that. You’ve got to talk pretty to her first.”

You’re telling me?

So I requested a demonstration. And then refused to try it.

Which later led to one of those husband-and-wife discussions, lasting until well after midnight, over whether we’re going to keep at this or throw in the towel.

But today I did it. I got in the pen. I called Sara outside. She was talking to me in that woofy way sows have. I talked woman-to-woman with her, and I squeezed her nipple. But she started walking away just as I did it, so I couldn’t tell if any milk came out. I really thought I saw a drop, but Matt checked her again after work and didn’t get anything. Bummer.

Matt scolded me for not taking my mitten off before I groped her headlights. My feeling, having had a yearly exam for the last 20 years, was it doesn’t much matter what the groper is wearing on his or her hand.

And the outcome of the discussion? Yeah, we’re still here. Farm on.