This weekend we knocked some chores off of the “Honey-don’t-want-to-do list.”  Here’s a quick summary, in no particular order…

We shampooed the carpet and furniture, scrubbed the back decks off with bleach water (I’ve never wanted a pressure washer so much in my life!)


replaced a warped board, replaced screws and treated the decks. I’ll have to put another coat on tomorrow.


Since moving into this house we’ve been missing a railing post between the dining area and the living room. Because the house was built in 1986 we had little hope of finding a matching, turned post.  Serendipitously, I came across several identical posts at a garage sale for only $.25 each!  One needed to be cut to the correct length, but we now have a complete railing without any gaps.


I made three batches of jelly with the plums we got from Freecycle.  We also harvested our first zucchinis and peppers for the year.


One of my DH’s co-workers recently had his chickens butchered so he sent one home for us.  This was Gilbert.


Gilbert must have been a *Bantum because he was tiny. He was also tough.  We stewed him until he was (almost)  tender then served up Gilbert and Dumplings.


The little girl from next door was mortified that we were eating something that had once been alive and named.   Apparently she leads a sheltered life and doesn’t know the origins of her Happy Meals. My parents raised poultry while I grew up and my dad also hunted and fished.  We were pretty much middle class where we lived, it was just part of life out in the country. Even my suburban raised girls are savvy about what they eat so her reaction (she left our house very upset)  caught me off guard.  

I tried a new design on the shawl, but ripped it back. I’m going to try something different.


I finished the yarn from the roving that Cindy gave me.  It’s somewhere between a DK and worsted weight. I’m not sure of the yardage.


We also got A1 home from her Grandma and Grandpa’s.  We all missed her.  She helped them plant vines on some new cranberry bog.  The good news from up that way is that my Grandpa Porgy was moved to a different assisted living home and he is able to take off his neck brace.  Everyone has their fingers crossed that he’ll be able to go home again soon. 

This next week we have lots more projects planned.   The replacement glass for our front door should be in soon and we  need to replace our kitchen faucet.  The only other news here is that it’s hot. Hope everyone had a great weekend!

*For years I lived in sheer terror of a Bantum rooster we had named Arnold. That darned chicken had red eyes and he was light enough that he could fly in and out of the chicken pen at will.  He would lay in wait for victims in the bushes or under cars. His favorite mode of attack was to run up behind people, then fly up at them flapping his wings with his spurs kicking.  I kept long sticks next to the front door and near the edge of our yard so that I could make it to and from the bus stop and still be able to fend off the nasty rooster.  He sometimes trapped people in their cars by sitting on the hood and flying at the windshield. Arnold also knew to NOT pull any of these antics around my ax-wielding father.  One day he spurred my Grandma Eva and she ended up in the hospital with an infection. Arnold particularly had it in for my Grandpa Porgy. One day while Grandpa was welding Arnold came running up behind him in attack mode. Grandpa heard him so he picked up a rake to “shoo” him away.  He must have shooed too hard because he ended up knocking Arnold upside the head and killing him.  Nobody was upset about the loss of the demon chicken, but that didn’t stop the family for teasing Grandpa about it for years. We called him”Chicken George.”  (Porgy is just his nickname, he’s really George).

That felt cathartic! I may have to unload childhood baggage more often.



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7 responses to “Whew!

  1. How are you feeling? Did you do alright with your fast and restricted diet?

  2. My middle brother decided to raise chickens when I was twelve and he was 23. The rooster had it in for me, and every time I would go out to feed the horses, he would attack. My oldest brother went out with me one day, armed with a broom, and hid around the corner of the barn. When the rooster came for me, I ran like beezus around that corner, and my hero brother caught that bird spang in the chest with the broom. Then he chased the devil bird all over the field, and about every five steps, whap! the rooster got batted into the air again. The evil critter never went for me again.

  3. knitwonpurltoo

    People seem to think that farm animals are cute Fischer Price animals. My Mom had a ram that butted her constantly. She wasn’t terrified of him, but he sure did irritate the heck out her. They are domesticated to a point, but still can be ornery and unpredicatable. Your deck looks lovely ,as does the railing. You are quite the clever kiddo!

  4. Your rooster story is so familiar to me! We had a Rhode Island Red named “Sucker” (as in Sucker for punishment). He would wait outside the backdoor and attack people as they came out. My dad put on old golf club he had by the back door and we’d play rooster polo on the way out, automatically swinging the club as we walked out the door. Sucker would tumble end over end and wait until we went back inside, then would get up and stagger back to the door to lie in wait for his next victim. Hence his name. A weasle finally got him and no one mourned – in fact, out of all the chickens that bit it that summer, he was the only cheer raised when we found his headless body.

    And we ate our named animals, too. I can’t count how many times Mom would send us to the deep freeze to get a “piece of Hogan” (or whatever that year’s steer was named) for the next night’s supper so it could thaw out. I even made a friend mad at me one time. She wanted to get a pet pig and asked me my opinion for a name. I said “Ham Hock” and she asked why. I said “Because that’s what he’d be as soon as he were big enough if he were my pig.”

  5. Gillian

    I took a school group on a tour of a small chicken abbatoir in the country while we were on camp and then we took some back to cook that night. One or two chose not to eat it but the rest tucked in with gusto. The real shindig came from the parents when we got back to school. They wanted me punished for tarnishing their innocents’ ignorance and said I should have gone to KFC.
    Cheers Gillian

  6. That’s a lot of work! I’m tired just reading that… as to the animals…
    I am an absolute animal lover (and have to admit they are tasty too) but I grew up in a family of hunters, so any squeamishness I had was lost early. I now help the hunters butcher the meat when they come back from the hunt. My dad started hunting with a new pack of friends a few years ago, and you should have seen their face when I showed up at butchering time, ready with my knives (my dad of course, just smiles proudly)
    I am also in a terrible habit of naming things we are going to eat… mostly fish. I don’t believe in hunting purely for sport, but if you are going to eat it, that’s cool.
    My grandparents had a Merino ram, very similar to your rooster… though not quite as evil. I couldn’t go out to the barn without a very large stick, otherwise I’d get butted… hard enough to knock you over. I don’t think it was malicious… I think he thought it was a game

  7. Friend of ours has horrible childhood memories of chickens. He particularly enjoyed one rooster on his dinner plate. Bet you can figure out why.

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