Sign the petition and please consider donating. I cannot believe this level of government sanctioned cruelty and ignorance is happening right here in my province.

SAVE OUR SHROPSHIRES

Our first year having layers, we kept them in our small barn and let them out into a static yard, with permanent fencing.  Quickly we learned that regular fencing is simply a suggestion to chickens, who even with clipped wings, will just flap harder, and opt to roost ten, twelve feet off the ground.  Since they turned their lush grass yard into a dust bowl within a matter of weeks, they also chose to clear the fence, to eat the green grass on the other side.

We then moved to the small portable chicken tractor, designs of which are innumerable via Google, and it housed half a dozen birds easily and happily.  Our grass was greener, the chickens were happier, nobody had to open their front door and step into a fresh pile of shit.

We’ve increased our number of laying hens, and required a bigger coop at home.  We had a variety of structures to chose from, and converting my garden shed seemed like the best route.  I purchased PoultryNet from Premier (whose catalogs have inspired, thrilled and educated me for years now) one roll of 48″ x 164′ netting and a solar energizer.

Craig Colquhoun of Hosbilt went about building me the Hen Hilton.  A coop beyond my wildest dreams.  Classic yet inspired, and built to last.

Here’s a picture of the chickens out in their yard.  We will rotate the position of the netting as the hens mow it down.  So far, nobody has realized they could fly over it, and it delivers enough of a wallop to keep them off of it.

The interior of the coop is exceptionally pleasing.  Branches were used for the perches and the roosts.  Very natural, and enjoyed thoroughly by persons and poultry.

Very proud to have a Hosbilt chicken coop!

The MLS # is: 410716000311100

I have had so many wonderful experiences at this farm.  It truly is a magical place.  Please someone I know buy it, so that I can return to it on occasion to get my fill of its splendor.

I had placed an ad online, heard back from a farmer with hens who were to be a year old in June, asking a good price, within reasonable driving distance.  Off we went.  Turns out his birds are “cage birds” (his words).

We enter his barn (dark and smelly, two things barns don’t need to be, the contents of which I will not elaborate on, or I’ll be typing forty pages instead of four) and he’s got hens there for me, crammed into cages, hanging above a cattle pen.

Their toes are hanging through the wire, they can hardly move in their cages, and despite having had the ends of their beaks trimmed off, they have had nothing to do but peck each other.  And have been doing so.

I didn’t set out thinking I was on a rescue mission, I set out thinking “EGGS!  YUMMY!”  I would never have bought hens in such bad condition at an auction, but I couldn’t leave without them.  He assured me they were not even a year yet, that they were laying well, and tells me that they would have been getting put in the stew pot soon because they were starving, eating each other, suicidal it was time for the next cycle of birds.

So I paid and thanked the farmer (a man hardly older than myself), and took the hennies home.

There is no reason for this.

Just because chickens can survive horrific conditions and still produce an egg, doesn’t mean they should.  Just because that was the way it was done before, does not mean it’s the way it needs to be done TODAY.  That latter part is what I wrote to the farmer, in a very polite, but very clear email.

Because it’s just the herd, following nose to tail, not paying attention to what is really going on, that creates this situation.  Because stepping back even an inch, from the sphincter ahead of you, would reveal that the situation is not reasonable.  Heck, it’s not even CHEAPER.  I laid out the case for giving the hens more floor space, feeding them kitchen scraps and allowing them to be live in composters, because guess what?  They’ll lay eggs productively for more than one measly year, because they won’t be starving and eating each other.  Better for the chicken, better for the consumer, better for the pocketbook.

It’s not rocket science.

The chickens, once let out of the crate, immediately began scratching, pecking, and wobbling around the coop.  It was like they had sea legs.  Took them two days to figure out how to navigate the hatch and ramp to go outside (where the waterer is) and most of them understand that the nest box is the best place to lay an egg.  Their shells are still quite thin, I would imagine this is because they were nutritionally deficient (starving).  They have free access to food, and heaps of scraps, as I am egg sharing these hens with another family, who arrive laden with nibbles for them on a regular basis.

Their eggs taste like thanksgiving.

It’s a great thing to receive.

Last January was rocky, and regularly unpleasant.  The start of 2012, by comparison has been as light and easy as the fluffy sheep who are my temporary charges.

Our family has taken up with the Bourgeois, who own Philosopher’s Wool in beautiful Inverhuron.  We are farm sitting while they take some time to themselves to travel.  We are staying in the Guest House, an incredibly beautiful structure, which has in floor heat (practically heaven) and character pouring out of every beam and nook.  The children have learned how to weave on looms, I am learning to knit again and am working on mastering the art of sock darning.   Life, despite having two houses to mind, is radically simple.

When they have been home, our hosts have been an inspiration, a source of guidance and a huge support.  Ann and Eugene are in Costa Rica at present and my kids (and I) are wondering WHEN, OH WHEN are they going to come back.

We are here until about March, and are taking advantage of this little adventure to purge at the Duncan Farm, and do some light renos.  Seeing as we moved The Essentials into the Guest House, that what remains at the Duncan Farm is largely expendable.  I am hoping to move home to a simplified home, which will be easier for me to tend to.

We learned a big lesson in 2011, in business that bigger is not always better.  I have taken that to heart.  I need to tend the family, friendships, the flock, the farm and the finances in a more focused and specific way.  I need to continue to chase after personal happiness, and not worry about those who are on a different bend.

Seed catalogues have arrived and I am beginning to plan 2012′s garden.  Bob is burning through his grade 1 curriculum and Mags is reading already.  I am lounging on luxurious woolens, keeping an eye on the children and the chicken coop and am being reminded regularly what a hunk of a husband I have.

Right here, right now.

Chewing over resolutions.  Mine usually involve fresh determination to keep our books in good order, nagging less, making new cheese.  These resolutions are light, and self effacing.  Life, land, love. Whatever hippy sentiment and sap I am rolling about in rises up and produces a tidy little list that I share here, as a reminder to myself to stay on track.  I do love a good list.

This last year has been one drain after another.   Shitty situations fueled by shitty people, steeped in greed, dry rubbed with dishonesty and peppered with politics.

Never again will I let people get close to my family, hug my children, receive our precious time, while singing and dancing tunes of hatred, while plotting betrayals, and other self aggrandizing acts of fuckery at our expense.  No longer will I dismiss gut instincts, be polite, or make excuses for what I know is shit.  Those days are done.  If you don’t deserve it, you won’t get it.  And if you DO deserve it, don’t bother watching your back like I should have been watching mine.

Never again will I patiently abide poor decisions based on greed.  Figure you’re going to bigger your money on my sacrifice?  Not without blood shed.  Our fight against Samsung has been wearing me down.  It consumes an incredible amount of my time and has been one depressing turn of events after another.  The applicable colloquialism here is “getting kicked while you’re down”.  And I am really sick of taking it.

Every shock, every disappointment, every time I’ve heard a municipal councilor say the phrase “our hands our tied”, the countless times I’ve listened to these slimy puppets avoid answering a single question, the fury has stayed inside me.

In 2012 I am going to use the rage that is poking at me underneath my skin.  That sucks the smile from my face, that taps me of the energy it takes to play along with social graces.

There is no time to lick wounds.  Life is now.  2012 will be the year I pull the knife out of my belly and use it.

Fuck you.  Fuck you.  Fuck YOU.

Thanks for reading.

Bob is rocking the home school monkey.  We covered everything set out in his Kindergarten curriculum, so I bought a Grade 1 work book and he’s been doubly keen to do his work.  Meeps has had a recent burst of interest in reading, perhaps inspired by her big brother.  If you were to ask them today what they wanted to be when they grew up, Bob would tell you he would like to own his own construction business and Meeps has would say she would like to be an ‘ice cream girl that sells ice cream she makes in the weather when it’s not cold out.’

I have to keep up with them.  It’s pretty good stuff.

My update on the farm is that we aren’t going anywhere.  Not yet.  Not until we’re driven off our land or buried in it.  This is based solely on emotion.  When the apocalypse comes, our decision will be justified.  Until then… not so much.  If you care to read one of about one hundred reasons why we should move, please read this study on infrasound problems for people living in close proximity to industrial wind turbines.  Even the researchers got sick.

Acousticians confirm Wind Turbine Syndrome.

And besides, if I move, where will I be able to wear all of my highly fashionable farm clothes?

Thanks for the photos, Amina.  We’ll see you again soon.

There is a line run, at last, to our property for high speed, but it’s not due to be connected until 2012.  Until then, we surf the internet like it’s 1994.  So, no video for you.  But I do have pictures, because my husband and I have finally caved and joined the modern world.  By getting iPhones.

I am now going to inundate you with joyful pictures of my gorgeous children and gorgeous farm taken on my iPhone.  (Phones.  Taking PICTURES.  Good ones!)

Are you ready?

Scott and I are heading out tonight to eat, drink and be merry at a local single malt tasting.  I don’t taste, I sniff, and Scott gets all the spoils.  Our table will be filled with friends, and there is no malaise that cannot be cured by a nice warm plate of haggis, neeps and tatties.  Every time I watch my tartaned husband give the address to the haggis, I fall in love with him just a little bit more.

I plan on wearing this green dress, which last accompanied me to Montreal.

I hope your dinner will be as enjoyed as mine.