Additionally, we raise our birds outdoors from the day we get them. They are on grass and dirt (and straw. and under a heat lamp) from the day they show up at our long-suffering post office. We think that a heritage breed on soil and grass is unmatched from an animal welfare and a taste perspective.

However, there is a downside.

They get out.

All. The. Time.

You know 1″ poultry mesh? So do they. They like to go through it. My theory is that the squeeziness is reassuring to them. Temple Grandin is with me on that one.

Excuse me, I need to collect a chick.

Lest you think that’s a rhetorical device, I assure you that I just stepped away from my computer to collected a panicked, five-day-old chick. What does this look like? Let me show you.

Yep, it's a hat full of five-day-old chicks.

This is not, I confess, the chicken I just went to collect. She was only a single escaped chicken and the ones in the photo and my hat are the chickens that escaped when I was at our other farm, dealing with our other chickens.

Lauren’s dog is, in general, an amazing animal possessed of a tremendous amount of mothering instincts. Seriously. I’d sooner trust her with a newborn than an electric mesh fence. She has been a tremendous asset in identifying and locating escaped chicks this year. She’ll hear a distress peep long before we do and zero in on the poor little peeper in the way that only a critter with ears that big can do. Good girl.

But she’s bored with it by now.

What? This is a hat full of chicks. Seriously?

I’d like to have a really awesome punchline right now… Something that just drives this whole anecdote home… But I don’t, so I’ll leave you with the thought that I’m currently wearing a hat full of baby chicken poop.

Our shiny new cultivator!

We took a day “off” this weekend (Visited farmer’s markets and farms around Chimacum. And shopped for hay.) and headed up to Port Townsend. We perused an antique store and found a perfectly functional corn planter and a brightly painted Planet Junior-type wheel hoe. We’d been eyeing these tools for years but could never justify the price for a new one. However, our valuable antique cultivator was priced at about a third the cost of a new one. A bargain!

The antique dealer, however, seemed a mite confused that we were evaluating his antique with an eye toward using it in our garden. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that his antique was, in point of fact, a thrifty and useful tool.

It wasn’t as awkward as the time Lauren had the following conversation about an antique egg scale:

“So how can it accurately weigh eggs with this sticker missing?”

“Well, you are just going to use it for decoration.”

“No, I need it to grade eggs for sale.”

“…”

PEEEEEEEEEP!

This is what a baby robin looks like.

Note the more-than-superficial resemblance to a baby chicken, like one of the three that used to be able to get out of the coop.

Now, imagine that Oscar (Note to readers: Oscar is my dog) finds such a baby bird, partially feathered out, behind the coop. Imagine how concerned both you and Oscar might be that such a critter has escaped both its housing and my notice. Terrifying.

And I had no idea what species the poor bird was. Turkey? Chicken? How old? Which of the seven flocks does this critter belong to? Very stressful.

Until, of course, after much chasing through blackberries, I manage to pick up the critter. At that point, the mouth gaping behavior presented a clue that this might not be a domesticated bird. The second, and more definitive, clue was when at least two robins began tripping their shit and dive-bombing me while emitting emergency bird distress calls.

I took their point and set the chick down and wished them all the best.

Fortunately, she doesn't specify successful or competent farmers so we qualify.

Of course, I still hate rototilling and want to find an affordable, labor-efficient, and less intrusive method of soil preparation.

However, we’re also animal people and we need to refer to our various groups of animals as something, so they evolve names. We couldn’t remember the name of the breed “Wyandotte,” so our first one was referred to as Wilhemina (We’d been reading the League of Extraordinary Gentleman), and the Black Austrolorpes as “the Octothorpes”. The Khaki Campbell ducks have generally been referred to as “those fracking ducks.” They are not my favorite animals to work with but we’ve got the new ones this year known as “the ducklings” or “those misbegotten creatures.”

Our new chickens this year are the Ameraucanas (who lay blue eggs) and four new Wyandottes.

Pretty, aren’t they? So they reminded us of the humanoid cylons from Battlestar Galactica. Did I mention we’re nerds?

There are many copies. And they have a plan.

In deference to my previous career as an alt country musician, the Ameraucanas are referred to simply as Uncle Tupelo.

The two that hate each other are clearly Chicken Jeff Tweedy and Chicken Jay Farrar. Chicken Jay Bennet is playing a guitar solo in Chicken Heavan.

I like compost, soil likes compost, worms like compost. Everyone likes compost. You know what I don’t like? Pathogens. Pathogens and weed seeds that show up in uncomposted manure. At last year’s Tilth Producers conference I attended a workshop on static aerated composting given by Scott and Amy Turner of Blue Dog Farm. (Actually, I’m not positive it was both of them presenting because that’s not in my notes)

At any rate, there are rules governing the spreading of manure on Organic farms that specify a certain window prior to harvest (90-120 days, depending) but, once you’ve composted manure, it is no longer manure, it’s compost. However, I could not find a reliable source* for when manure counts as compost. And it was a tricky research problem especially for someone who doesn’t read legal writing particularly well. The Wisconsin State DNR links to the s. NR 502.04, Wis. Adm. Code [PDF 194KB] Compost Performance Standards which includes the following paragraph alluding to a national standard:

(h) Materials resulting from composting shall be:
1. Stabilized to eliminate pathogenic organisms and to ensure that the materials do not reheat upon standing.
2. Free of sharp particles which could cause injury to persons handling the material.
3. Free of toxins which could cause detrimental impacts to public health or the environment.
Note: Pathogens are defined in ch. NR 204 as “disease causing organisms, including but not limited to certain bacteria, protozoa, viruses and viable helminth ova.”
Appropriate methods for pathogen elimination during composting are specified in 40 CFR, Part 257, Appendix II, Section B:
1. For in−vessel or static aerated pile composting, maintain a continuous minimum temperature of 55° C, or 131°F, for a minimum of 3 consecutive days.
2. For windrow composting, attain a minimum temperature of 55°C, or 131°F, on a minimum of 15 days, which are not required to be consecutive, and turn the windrow a minimum of 5 times during the high temperature periods.

The document referenced at the state level is40 CFR : Protection of the Environment, a monstrous collection of regulations that the EPA has thoughtfully put online (Good jobs, folks!). The section relevant to reducing pathogens in compost states the following:

Composting: Using the within-vessel composting method, the solid waste is maintained at operating conditions of 55 °C or greater for three days. Using the static aerated pile composting method, the solid waste is maintained at operating conditions of 55 °C or greater for three days. Using the windrow composting method, the solid waste attains a temperature of 55 °C or greater for at least 15 days during the composting period. Also, during the high temperature period, there will be a minimum of five turnings of the windrow.

So, as I read the codes, manure qualifies as compost then the following conditions are met:

Also, let’s take a moment to thank the EPA and WDNR for doing such a great job indexing and making available these documents.

Edit: After going through all that, I found the composting page at extension.org which states the following:

The interesting thing is that I misread the regulations. I assumed that both a windrow (long stack of material) and vessel (big box) needed to stay above 131°F for three consecutive days and that composting in a bin also required turning. I was misinformed. Or, more accurately, I misinformed myself. Curiously, the federal standards are less rigorous than my own, personal standards.

My compost pile with the temperature around 155° F. ZOOM! say the bacteria.

*No, my recollection of a conference session is not reliable.

The result is that we’ve got a mess of tomato starts potted up in 4″ soil blocks and a shortage of space in the greenhouse and a spare chicken tractor. In the best idea I’ve had in a long time, it occurred to me to remove the blue tarp covering the tractor and replace it with clear plastic. Ta-daaa! Instant greenhouse.

In use, the tractor is partially covered with a blue tarp to let the ladies to get out of the sun or rain, depending.

Because of the poultry cloth on the tractor we couldn’t clip the plastic to the PVC hoops as is our usual custom. Instead we attached the plastic by laying it on top and zig-zagging twine over the plastic in the manner we learned during the Tilth Producers farm walk at Terry’s Berries. This has proven to be faster and more reliable that the clips with the added bonus that the greenhouse can be vented by sliding the plastic up without fiddling with any clips and potentially tearing the plastic.

So, yeah, I’m pretty pleased with myself.

Here is the tractor greenhouse with the plastic fully deployed for maximum heat.

Here is the tractor cum greenhouse with the sides pushed up for venting. Noticing how much easier this is than farting around with clips?

Look how happy the tomatoes are in their roomy new soil blocks. I'm pretty sure we started them too late but, you know, first year farming.

My duck. In a box.

It’s official. Oscar and I are the only males left on the farm. And I’m the only one that’s, for the time being, unfixed. Mr. Guy went to his new home today, ingloriously swaddled in cardboard. He was not pleased with that but I think he’ll enjoy his new home. And our ladies will enjoy the respite from his attentions and, hopefully, will re-grow some of the feathers on their butts.

Farewell Mr. Guy! May you molest only the correct species in your new home.

Mr Guy Loves the Ladies

This is a great, common sense piece of legislation because, if small-scale chicken operations don’t require WSDA inspection, why should other poultry? Conversely, if other small poultry require inspection, why don’t chickens? It’s just inconsistent. The only reason I can think of is that, when the legislation granting the exemption was originally written, they simply overlooked other meat birds. This has now been corrected. Our regulatory apparatus for food is seriously and epically flawed–I won’t argue that–but this is yet another example of how I’m seeing our state-level regulatory bodies doing a great job of improving things.

So, if you want a turkey or a duck or a goose for the holidays, let us know. We’ll see if we can raise one (humanely, happily, cleanly, and deliciously) for you. It’s legal now!

On a similar note, I posted another rant about regulations here at the Civil Eats food policy blog. I’m kind of pleased with it so I’ve reproduced it below.

“As a farmer and an eater, I believe very strongly in regulation. I just believe in good regulation.

Despite the poorly written and ill-conceived regulation that are coming out at the (usually) federal level, there are some bright spots in food safety. One example with which I’m familiar is the Washington State Department of Agriculture who, from the ground up, are coming up with some very sane regulations that both ensure safety more effectively (in my opinion) and are more small-farm-friendly than the cumbersome and prescriptive regulations that we love to complain about.

For example, at a Tilth Producers conference a couple of years ago I attended a session on small dairy certification hosted by a farmer and a representative of the WSDA. The farmer indicated that one of the challenges of certification in Washington is that the regulations specify *results*, not methods. It’s left to the farmer to figure out how to meet sanitation goals, not how to pay for the specified equipment. As an eater, I don’t care how far the domestic animals are from my greens, I care that the result of the handling is food free of contamination. A small farmer can spare the attention to detail to manage handling as intensively as a small farmer must manage production.

An example of WSDA’s sane approach to regulation is that, when a farmer found the requirement for a commercial dishwasher too onerous, he was able to demonstrate to the local inspector that a consumer model dishwasher offered the same results as the commercial dishwasher at a fraction of the cost. Thus, the inspector was (rightly) satisfied, the farmer was able to produce dairy at the appropriate scale, and the consumer was assured of a clean and wholesome product thanks to the active, critical, and results-oriented involvement of the agency as well as the diligence of the farmer in researching the problem instead of being forced to focus on regulations.”

Remember folks, good government matters and small changes can make a very big difference on the local level.

It's a Futurama joke. Sorry

Unfortunately, our straw bale root cellar failed miserably. While Throwback built her cellar in the barn we, sadly deficient in barns, built ours under the back porch and stretched a tarp overtop of it. End result was that critters and water got in resulting in the food and straw bales being eaten and rotted respectively. Bummer. But live and learn, food storage is a skill and, despite losing about 30% of what we stored over the winter I think we did alright. Mostly we don’t want anyone following our example thinking it’s a road to success.

And the great thing about gardening is that, even when food goes bad, it’s not wasted. It’ll either get fed to the poultry or composted. Either way it turns into healthy soil and healthy food. It’s just a matter of time.

SKIL 7&1/4 $19.99 Needs a Blade Guard Spring

I dislike power tools as a rule. The don’t do very many things, they cost too much money, and they break. Plus, any tool that’s designed to cut, abrade, or scrape wood in any way conjures up images of just how similar wood is too bone and flesh. However, expedience demands power tools and the compromise I’ve reached is to buy used power tools. This one is a saw from Hardwick’s, the greatest hardware store in the world for a mere $20. A saw with similar functionality purchased new would cost $70-100. My 24v cordless drill cost me $27 at a pawnshop in the Most Miserable Place on Earth. Certainly I feel I’ve gotten my money’s worth even though I don’t expect the tools to last me for the rest of my life. Being as most tools nowadays are built of semi-disposable plastic parts, I don’t think that’s much of a sacrifice.

There was an ad for a Farmall Cub tractor on the Craig’s List but, due to a typo, it was listed as a FARMAL CUB. So I clicked through based on equal parts fondness for tractors and amusing typos and what did I find? The following.

It's a Farmal Cub

Or the full ad:

Not to be confused with a baby elephant.

So that’s kind of weird. That someone would typo Farmall in such a way that it sounds like they’re selling a baby farmal. It does sound very cute. I want a baby farmal! And then the next day the following shows up:

Note the text. “Today’s ad should include a picture of the tractor instead of the baby elephant picture on yesterday’s ad.” Why!? How did this happen? I’m haunted. I don’t understand. And yet I love it. I love the tiny farmal cub.

*Have I lately mentioned how glad I am to not have that job anymore? Seriously.

And then I found a new blog and ran across the following post about growing your own corn and turning it into tortillas. Man, I’m jealous of that climate. Where we live, corn is pretty hit or miss so growing our own isn’t a reliable option.

But in the meantime, I’ve got some beans and a beanpot waiting for that tortilla press to arrive. I love my beanpot. Also tortilla. And beans.

Pot O' Beans.

Stolen shamelessly from the Smithsonian.

The short hoe is a particularly brutal piece of equipment that forces a farm worker to bend double in order to use it for weeding.This offends me on a number of levels.

As a gardener, I’m pissed off because Cesar Chavez’s hoe (the one shown above) is a piss-poor design of a hoe that’s no good for any sort of weeding. As a human being, I’m pissed off that someone would willingly force their employees to use a tool that is so debilitating and cruel. What do you think is going to happen when you force a grown person to work bent double all day? And that’s an agricultural day, not a white-collar day.

I remember when I did two-and-a-half years of a four-year stretch in Walla Walla (what others would call my undergrad) and I saw farm workers bent double in the fields cutting asparagus. I have never since been able to eat asparagus without thinking about the labor that it takes to bring it to my table. And I’m extremely privileged. I don’t eat asparagus until it’s locally available and, in all likelihood, harvested by a hard-working upper-class graduate of Evergreen University’s excellent agriculture program. But still…

In our neck of the woods, the farmers’ markets have started handing out bumper stickers that read “No Farms, No Food” which is absolutely true, but at the last Tilth Producers of Washington conference I saw a bumper sticker that read “No Farmworkers, No Food,” which might be even more true. We owe the food that we eat to the mostly Mexican, mostly immigrant people that labor for our food. The business plan that Lauren & I have right now doesn’t involve employees, but if we do have to hire someone it’s going to be a real challenge to do right by her.

• A 55-gallon compost tumbler
• A smallish garden cart
• Six greenhouse table tops
• 12 brackets for building tables from 2×4s
• A hula hoe
• 12 large seed-starting trays
• Six tomato cages
• A mess of domes
• A billion seed flats
• A mess of small seed-starting trays

All for the princely sum of $87. I am awfully pleased with myself. In the spirit of giving back to the gardening , I offer up the following jpg.

Sources close to the Obama administration assure me that this is Tom Vilsack's own farm in Iowa.