First real harvest

The meat chicks are now considerably larger than the layer pullets. They have developed their couch potato habits, dividing their time between lying around and eating. The layers and the turkeys run around more. 

Turkey standing at the right, meat chickens lounging on left

All of the chicks are getting wing feathers and tail feathers. Here is a Barred Rock (black and white) and the prettiest of the Americauna. We might call her Cleopatra the Second because of the black eyeliner. Cleopatra the First is going to Freezer Heaven in the fall.

Barred Rock in front, Cleopatra the Second behind her

Jane saw somewhere that a truck full of Leduc’s blueberries and Georgia peaches was going to be near Elgin last Saturday. The fruit was expensive, but we figured it was cheaper than driving to Paw Paw.

Leduc's--the best!

I went down early so we could do our shopping. One of our stops was at Lowe’s, where there was a sign above rolls of grass that said, “Farm-Raised Sod.”

“And that would be opposed to free range sod?” I asked Jane.

“Do people think they go around cutting it out of people’s lawns?” she replied.

We got to the fruit truck just before they opened at noon. There was already a big line, but it moved quickly. We were relieved that they didn’t run out before we got there. They had a lot of boxes packed in that truck! As we were paying, one of the workers was explaining to another customer that they only source blueberries from Leduc’s now.

“They’re the best,” I said, “We used to pick blueberries there when I was growing up in Michigan.”

“That’s cool!” the guy said.

Leduc’s blueberries tasted exactly as I remembered, and that is better than all other blueberries. I bought two 5-pound boxes and froze most of them for the winter. The peaches were still hard and green. I planned to make a blueberry-peach cobbler for Sunday. Alas, the peaches did not soften overnight in the paper bag. I had to use them anyway and was pleasantly surprised that they still tasted great!

And now a little rant: I only make blueberry muffins in the summer. They are a special treat. Using frozen berries makes the muffins green (due to the pH sensitivity of the blue pigment). Making muffins with out-of-local-season blueberries from halfway around the world is ridiculous for a number of reasons, first and foremost because they don’t taste like much. Fruits have seasons, people. Respect that.

Blueberry muffins should only be made in the summer

For unknown reasons, the female flowers on the zucchini developed ahead of the male flowers. If a female flower is not fertilized, the fruit stops development at about 3”. If I don’t pick it in time, it rots. I can tell which ones are virgins because the tip of the fruit is pointy, whereas the fertilized fruit is rounded. The male flowers are coming along now, and I don’t expect this problem anymore.

Last Saturday, I harvested the virgin zucchini as well as a few new potatoes and spring onions. Sure, we’d had lettuce and kale from the garden, but this was the first meal of the season that was mostly home-grown. I put the potatoes and onions in a foil pack with butter and tossed the zucchini in olive oil and salt. It felt so good to be rubbing olive oil on zucchini again. This is why I garden. Farm to table every night. I defrosted the 2 filets we had leftover from the Fourth, and turned everything over to the Grillmeister. Terry cooked everything perfectly.

Mostly home-grown food--foil pack potatoes with spring onions and grilled baby zucchini

Dinner was delicious, but the rain gods were not pleased by our virgin sacrifice. This morning a very promising storm was headed for us, but it broke apart—AGAIN—before we saw a single drop of rain.

The corn is beginning to tassel.

Corn tassel

My restored wetland is limping along. Blue vervain showed up this year.  We really need to burn it to clear out the reed canary and other invasives.

Blue vervain

We have a new feral cat this summer. Terry calls him Bart. I got this picture of him staking out the ground squirrel burrow. He’s made the rounds twice this morning. I tried to get close to him by walking slowly and talking quietly. He would have none of it. I backed off when it looked like he was going to run off. I didn’t want to interfere with his hunting. The squirrel population seems to be shrinking. Thanks Bart!

Bart, this summer's feral cat

Sunday was Game Night. In the course of conversation, Terry got started on a story from his youth that involved his cousin Harry, a few other friends, and a keg of beer. They went on a camping/fishing trip down by the Missouri River. “And Harry was being an asshole, so we burned his pants.”

“You burned his pants?”

“Yeah! He deserved it! See, he caught 30 walleye, while the rest of us combined only caught 6, and he just wouldn’t let it go. When he went to sleep, we burned his pants. It was hilarious! So he went around the rest of the weekend in his long johns. We called him Long John the rest of his life.”

 I think it is important to remember that alcohol was involved. Also, that these were young men. Women would never leave for a weekend with one pair of pants.

“But he was telling the truth about the fish?” I asked.

“Wull, yeah! But it just was because he had the best fishing hole.”

“My point is,” I clarified, “that is if he was telling the truth, his pants should not have been on fire.”

The game went on. At one point, Terry was treating us to a drawn out stream-of-consciousness regarding his next move including a statement that just didn’t make sense.  

I pointed out the logic error of his premise, but he clung to it tenaciously.

“He’s just being an asshole,” I said.

“We’re gonna burn his pants!” Pat said. And we dissolved in laughter. I had to wipe my eyes. For the rest of the evening, I was overcome by giggles at regular intervals. I suspect this phrase may enter the lexicon of my social circle. It’s one of those phrases that makes it impossible to have a serious argument. At some point, someone is bound to say, “I’m gonna burn your pants!” And that will be the end of it.