her able hands

Yesterday was the kind of one step forward, two steps to the side, three steps backward Barnyard Dance day that makes me want to pluck my eyes out of my head and throw them at my kids, yelling “Do you see how much harder you are making every little thing I try to do?” But that would be gross, and irreversible, and, well, abusive I suppose, so I don’t. But Jeebus on a stick, what a day.

Every third movement was interrupted in order to flick a spider off of the slide, or to wipe the sand from between the chubby toes of the stubbornly bare feet because God Forfend the child should wear shoes outside to play in the sandbox. The teenager needed to stop my flow by ignoring me repeatedly for close to an hour when I asked him to please shut off the computer, put on some day clothes, and get his pasty winter white self outside to give me a hand with some of the heavy work. The ignoring prompted louder requesting on my part, which prompted his mumbles, groans, and snarky explanations of why he needed to stay online playing Rune Scape for the rest of the day so he could be part of the Easter Celebration going on there, and maybe become an egg.

Right then. O-kay. This bit of information, I’m ashamed to say, prompted quite a lot of yelling, guilting, and putting the teenager in his place by the martyr mother, all done in front of his friend who is spending a few days of his spring break with us. Pretty ineffective parenting, that. But the whole day was headed down the road of ineffective anyway, so what the hell.

The boys finally made a short, attitudinal appearance and helped move some lumber from one end of the property to the other, then begged for a break, and schemed their way out of the rest of the day’s work by asking to go hang out with another neighborhood friend. Good riddance, at least for the rest of the day I only had the toddler to grind my ass to the bone. She intermixes her whining and tears with adorable ministrations, kisses planted all over my face, bouquets of daffodils pillaged and offered with the widest of grins.

The teenager returned with one more teenage boy than he departed with, and they took over my living room with their funky boy smells, and cracking voices, and giant feet. Tyler, was all smiles and thank you’s and “Wow! What are you writing Mom?”

My Manifesto for a Child-Free Future.

I’m already up against some challenges with my newer projects because we’re not home everyday. I’m thinking a true homesteader doesn’t ever leave their home for more than a couple of hours unless they have somebody there to manage things for them. Just the cold frames alone will give me a stroke if the nights don’t warm up around here soon. On a 65 degree day, you have to put the lid up, but if you’re not home before the sun’s gone behind the tree line, then you’re closing the lid on a cold box, and adding stress to the struggling seedlings. Maybe I’m worrying about nothing, and they’ll do just fine, but I feel all dramatic and panicked to think that we could lose those luscious greens because of a scheduling conflict. I want my damned salad. Just look at the color on the Merlot Lettuce babies there in the middle. Scrumptious!

In spite of the frustrations of the day, I managed to accomplish a few things. I made a 5-foot long lasagna bed in front of the chicken tractor and transplanted my Comfrey into it. The young, tender leaves of Comfrey make a highly nutritious supplement to chicken feed, once a week or so. It’s ultra-rich in a ton of vitamins and minerals, and strongest in allantoin, which aids cell proliferation and helps immunize against infective diseases, both in humans and livestock.* It’s my apple a day keeps the Avian Bird Flu away theory. I pinched off a few handfuls of leaves for the biddies and they lost their minds when I tossed the greens into the pen, joyfully clucking and pecking. They’re starting to make so many different sounds now, losing their peepy-squeaky-chickness and flinging themselves headlong into their futures as full-fledged hens. Come on, eggs!

After that, I moved the compost bin from its unwise location right outside the back door, to the far north side of the circular garden bed, soon-to-be medicinal herb wheel. This will hopefully help cut down on the houseflies. Last year it was Amityville Horror up in here. I dug as much of the sod out of the kitchen garden as I could manage, trying not to swear out loud at the insolence of the damned grass that pushed up through the layers of newspaper and straw I put down to kill it last year. Insolent plants! Insolent kids! Enough! Alternating with straw, sod, kitchen scraps, chopped leaves, all of the bedding from the bins the chicks lived in last month, and the partially decomposed compost that needed relocation, I made a nice full bin that will hopefully cook down quickly and make some herbs very happy this summer.

I’m clearning out the kitchen garden mess and turning that into a cutting flower garden. I dug up the Chives, Garlic Chives, and Summer Savory and moved them to the well-mulched area between the cold frames, then deep mulched them with golden straw and soaked them with the hose.

One more thing I’m looking forward to: Summer Savory snipped with scissors and tossed with chopped, fresh Black Prince and Juane Flamme tomatoes still warm from the garden, shaved Parmesan, a little minced garlic and shallots, then drizzled with olive oil, cracked pepper and sea salt. Oh, and a fork. I’m just saying.

* From the wonderful book LINK Chicken Tractor: The Permaculture Guide to Happy Hens and Healthy Soil by Andy Lee and Pat Foreman.

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