Tag: homesteading

The Slow and Steady Kind of Hope

~ Crystal Sands ~ 1 Comment

Today, I worked a little and then took a break in the middle of the day to clean the chicken coop. It is so overdue for a cleaning. My poor chickens. The coop is so beautiful now, but I let it go too long before a good clean.

October 2026 was life changing. In the middle of it, I would have said that it changed my life for the worse. But, on Sunday, I felt it ease up, and ever since I have been reflecting deeply on last month.

The month started with a visit from a dear friend I grew up with as a child. We both survived some rough upbringings in a small community that pretended to be kind but could be very cruel under the surface. In high school, I admired her greatly because she was one of the coolest girls, and she was always kind to me, even though I am more introverted and was definitely pretty awkward in high school. Then, even though we had a little age gap, we ended up at the same university in Texas at the same time. We took many classes together. My favorite was summer French sequence we took together by accident. We were glad to see each other in the class. We sat by each other, and she, because she’s all bright and shiny as a human, made French class so much fun. After graduation, we stayed in touch a bit, but then life happened. We both got divorces, got remarried, had more children. I didn’t see her for about 25 years. But her work sent her to Boston, and she wrote and asked if we could get together. I said, “That is a must.” We had a profound visit, and it was so good to connect with someone who has known other versions of me and loves all of them.

We were worried a bit about my friend getting our family sick since she had to travel, and we have terribly damaged immune systems, but we did not get sick from her. Ironically, while she was still here, my son picked up a cold from his girlfriend. And, around here, colds make you relive COVID symptoms. It’s like having the worst flu of your life every time you catch a cold. It is maddening. It is depressing.

My son was sick for almost the entire month of October. I was barely getting over a COVID crash from some work stress in September, and I was so scared of getting the cold. I could see my son was very, very sick. He crashed hard, and I knew, if I crashed, there was going to be trouble.

You see, Ron, my husband, started having some kind of immune system issue in September, the man who used to have an immune system like Superman, and he was unable to move his hands at all. He could not help with the house or the farm. Thankfully, the garden was mostly done, and the only things we had left to process were pears and apples, but it was hard to lose him as a worker because we have a lot of animals right now, many awaiting processing.

It was so important that I not get sick that I started eating vitamin C like it was candy. I didn’t know if it would save me, but it was the only thing I knew to do besides drink elderberry syrup, which I did. But then we were out, and since I was taking care of every living creature–both human animal and other animals–I didn’t have time to make more. Of course, I got sick.

To top it off, the day I started feeling sick finally, I also had a kidney stone. Apparently, if you take a lot of vitamin C and also are not drinking enough water, you can get kidney stones. It’s not for sure that this caused this, but I am going to say that I wish I had taken the time to research more about the consequences of eating vitamin C like candy for like 10 days straight. It was stupid of me, but truly, when you have long COVID or any other kind of autoimmune issues, getting sick gives you freaking PTSD. I was terrified, especially given the situation. That kind of fear makes you act irrationally, I have found.

I went down hard with the sickness. At the same time, I was dealing with the pain of the kidney stone. At the same time, Ron was making some progress but still couldn’t do much, so I had to keep going despite being sick. I had to keep working at my job because I am an online teacher, and it is not easy to leave your students in the middle of a semester. It takes work to leave work, so there was that. And Betty, our kitty, got sick with crystals in her bladder and had to go to the vet. And, Samhain, our little mouse, got very, very sick, and our vet said they don’t see small mammals. And I had to go to the doctor because pain from the kidney stone was so bad. I had almost no voice from being so sick and had such a hard time at the doctor. And I had to take my son to the doctor because he got so sick one night he couldn’t stand. And Ron was able to take himself to the doctor on a better day, but after that declined rapidly. And we waited on the results from all the tests on him. And he still didn’t have any medicine. His doctor prescribed some meds, but so far, no one knows what is wrong with him.

And my son got better enough by the end of the month to be on television–twice–for his music. Because, somehow, in the middle of all of this, my son manages play that cello and is starting to get some attention for it. For the first program, the television station came to our house. I had to clean this house like I have never cleaned it before. I was late on my grades for work that day. I had a bad dream I got fired from my job.

One night, I was outside at the very back of our property closing up the meat birds for the night and bringing in the feed, and I felt so alone out there in the dark. I felt so scared that I couldn’t keep going like this. I looked at the ducks, who had gone wild as a flock because of one new duck (I hope I can tell you that story later), and I wished for help. I came to deeply understand that Ron and I were going to have to downsize or specialize our farm/homestead in some way, that things have changed. I have no idea what that looks like yet, but it hit me hard that night that this much work is just too risky to our health at this point. My heart felt so, so heavy.

And then, out of the dark, I saw Boudicca’s fluffy white face, old and beautiful, coming toward me, and she came up to me nudging me to pet her, which, of course, I did. And I put the chicken feed down, and I hugged her and I cried and cried, but like the good cry, not the bad cry. I was so thankful she knew I needed some help. She stayed with me as I finished the rest of the night chores.

And then I decided it might be okay to ask for more help.

And the help came–and kept coming.

Our neighbor made us so much delicious food, and she and her daughter picked the last of the garden for us and cleaned out the garden. Our neighbor even made a beautiful, giant salad from our garden that we were able to eat on for days. Her daughter made candied peppers from our peppers and shared them with us. They were so good. Another neighbor made us some fire cider. My son’s girlfriend came to help and was the one who took me to the doctor the day I finally went. I forgot my wallet, so she paid for my visit and my medicine.

I felt so much kindness and love and hope that I was changed as a human by it. Ron was also being changed. He can never ask for help. Ever. He also felt the kindness and love, and he says now that he had no idea I could do what I did. He has always been a kind, respectful human, and I am thankful to be married to him. Now, however, after dealing with his own anguish and pain while also learning there are those who love him enough to help him when he needs it, he totally has Dalai Lama vibes.

I was just starting to process what all happened to our family, and I felt a lot of my worries for the world start to fade. I felt this slow and steady kind of hope growing inside of me. The other night, I had an epiphany that, one day, maybe not in my lifetime, but sooner rather that later because the earth is forcing our hand, kids are going to be surprised that we ever got electricity from fossil fuels–just like I can’t imagine a time when everything ran on whale oil. It used to bother me a bit that this may not happen in my lifetime, but it didn’t. I just felt hopeful that humans as a species will surely see this. I felt hope that humans are going to survive the obstacles we are currently facing, and I have come to this place where I believe that is what is important. I wish to see it, but just knowing it will come is enough now. Having that kind of hope is really helpful to me as a human.

I ended the month by traveling to beautiful midcoast Maine to see a dear friend I try to see at least once a year. We have the deep conversations, like meaning of life kind of stuff, most of the time. She has wrestled for many years about whether or not she wanted to have children. On my visit, she told me she is having a baby, that she and her husband decided to become parents. Unlike so many of her peers, she got pregnant quickly and without fertility treatment, and she was grateful for that. In all the years I have known her, I have never seen her so happy.

On my long drive home, my mind went to an apocalyptic movie I saw a long time ago about a future where everyone was infertile. In the story, the main character had to help a woman who was pregnant because it was such a miracle that a baby was going to be born. I can’t remember most of the movie, but I remember the baby is born, and the world understands the miracle and has hope.

My friend’s baby is a boy and is due around my birthday next year. I realized this means, around my birthday next year, I will get to hold a little baby. I haven’t held a little baby since my son was a baby seventeen years ago. I am very excited about this. I do not want grandchildren any time soon, but I will be very, very happy to get to hold a little baby. I am going to whisper into his ear all the wisdom I have, just in case it helps him later.

Then, of course, yesterday happened. The election. I figured it was mostly going to shift, but I had no idea that a seismic shift was coming. I know we have a long way to go. I know much still hangs in the balance.

But, friends, I feel a slow and steady kind of hope starting to really take hold.

photo credit: Esteban Albasa, Unsplash

Plus 14

~ Crystal Sands ~ 2 Comments

For my birthday in May, I paid an astrologer to give me a reading for the year. She asked if I could have children. I said I could not, that I was too old for that. She looked puzzled, so I asked with some worry if she meant grandchildren. Thankfully, she said no but kept her puzzled look. “Well,” she said, “I just see a lot of fertility around you for this summer.”

I just figured she was wrong. I love astrology but remain skeptical because it is my nature. I want to believe, but I have to question a lot. That just kind of summarizes who I am in so many ways.

Two days later, Maggie, our sweet turkey, hatched three eggs. It was on Mother’s Day. Maggie looked confused and kind of scared and was truly looking to me for help. The turkeys deeply understand we are the helpers. It’s very cool. In the moment I realized Maggie needed my help, my mind went to the astrologer. Truly, I had this deep feeling in my bones that raising baby turkeys was going to be more work than I thought it would, even though we had a mama.

Even the worried feeling I had could not do it justice. I had no idea what I was in for.

Friends, it was the summer of fertility, and I am exhausted.

It all started with Maggie. She looked really worried right away, but when she lost a baby in the woodpile the first night (we looked and looked but couldn’t find it), I knew that baby turkeys were not nearly as self sufficient as baby chicks and that Maggie, as a first-time mom, was going to need a grandma to help her. So I did my job. I was grandma to her babies. They knew they could come to me for help when they couldn’t find their mama, and it was pretty cool–but pretty tiring.

Our next hatch of baby turkeys hatched to chicken mamas, and they were more aggressive as mothers than Maggie but still couldn’t quite keep those baby turkeys in line. Until I finally found the hole in the fence (it was so tiny), I was running outside every hour or so and catching baby turkeys and putting them back into the fenced area with their mama. It took me well over a week to find the hole. That was a lot of running after tiny turkeys. When I finally found the hole, I literally jumped up and down and cheered. For a tiny bit, I got some of my life back.

But then our turkey, Athena, hatched some eggs. And then, like a person who is glutton for punishment, I ordered four baby runner ducks in the mail. We lost so many of our ducks this summer due to old age that I couldn’t imagine my life without ducks. One of those ducks is a beautiful little terror, which I will tell you about more later, but you get the idea that I have been very busy raising babies. Some of them difficult.

A couple of days after the last batch of turkey eggs hatched, I noticed one of the babies was falling over a lot. It could see it wasn’t going to make it. So I scooped it up and intervened. I learned it had “flop over syndrome.” The only research I could find on this condition was related to the poultry industry. I read that it is quite common in baby turkeys and that it is neurological, but I couldn’t find any good information about whether or not it was treatable.

I kept searching and found that someone had mentioned it in a farming forum, and she wrote about what worked for her. She said, if you can just hand raise them for a little over a week, making sure they are constantly cared for, they just outgrow it and can live a long and normal life. I was getting pretty tired at this point, but what are you going to do? You are going to hand raise a baby turkey.

For eight days, I raised a tyrant of a little male turkey. He went everywhere with me, and everyone thought he was the cutest thing they had ever seen. And he was.

I would carry him around in my bra during the day and slept with him in a shoe box with a hot water bottle in it beside my nightstand at night. I hoped it was a girl because I fell so in love, but my little turkey was a boy, which I learned for sure on the last day he was with me. He started strutting. There is nothing cuter than a tiny tom turkey doing his strut. Truly, though I loved him, I was so thankful when he went back to his mama. He thrived, and just last week, he was chosen by a woman who loves turkeys and wanted her own flock as the one boy to go with the four girls she bought from us.

But even that wasn’t all.

After spending my whole summer herding and helping baby turkeys, about July, I realized we really needed a few baby chickens to add to our flock. We have some very old hens. About half are older than five, and a handful of them turned eight this summer. Some of them are still laying, but the eggs are inconsistent in shape, size, and viscosity. Ron makes breakfasts, so he spent much of his summer complaining about eggs from old hens.

One of our Cuckoo Maran chickens, Belle, went broody under the back shed. When I found her, she had laid and was sitting on nine eggs. So I drug her out and put her into a large dog crate and clean straw and fresh food and water. But she didn’t like that. She wanted to take her chances in the dirt and with the rats under the back shed. She didn’t stay broody, so after a few days, I gave up, set her free, and put her eggs in the incubator. Six beautiful little babies hatched.

Our notorious Kate was broody at the time, so I decided to try to sneak the babies under her the night after they were born. She was having none of it and abused them, so I rescued them from Kate, gave her some eggs from the flock to sit on, and raised Belle’s babies myself–first in the house and then they went to a crate outside. While I was raising these babies, Kate was cooking up some babies, and I thought this should give us pretty good numbers. I wanted to add about six to eight hens to the flock. We have no room in the coop for more than that.

In the meantime, our other Cuckoo Maran hen, Genevieve, went broody under the back shed, just like her sister. At this point, we did not need any more babies, so I did everything I could to stop her. I knew she had to be under the shed, so I cleaned out all around the shed and spent a solid week crawling around, both at night with a flash light and during the day, trying to find that hen. I never found her.

When I stopped seeing her show up in the mornings for breakfast, I knew she was either dead or going to show up with like ten babies. I crawled under the shed with a flashlight one more time, but when a rat ran right in front of my face, I was done. We had lost one of my favorite hens, Tuesday, when she went broody under the shed and something got her, but I decided that wherever Genevieve was hiding was too clever for me. She would have to take her chances.

About a month ago, Ron was out working in the garden when he said he heard classic mama hen talk and then cheeping. He went around to the back of the shed, and Geneieve appeared and then babies just kept coming and coming. That hen had fourteen babies in total! Two of them were in bad shape, probably from being born in the dirt under the shed with rats, and even though we certainly didn’t need these two extra babies, I scooped them up and brought them in to give them a chance.

The first day, I held them all day long, together, in my hands. One did not fluff out, so I found a soft toothbrush and brushed its feathers. It was a mess of sticky mud, but the brushing helped. The other one was fluffed out but had an eye injury. Ron thought it might have lost its eye, but I was hopeful there was an eye beneath all that swelling.

When I had to work or eat, I made someone else sit and hold them. I thought these babies might have a chance together, and on the second day, they were able to walk a bit more on their own and spend time under the brood plate together. It was while these two were still in the house getting ready to go back to mama, which they did, by the way and are thriving, that a life-changing accident happened.

Exactly one month ago today, I woke up exhausted–exhausted from a summer of hard work and babies. I remember getting a text message right as I woke up a little after 6:00 AM that my credit card had been hacked. On that note, I went downstairs to pick up the rat traps I had set out the night before. It is terrifying for me to hunt rats at night with traps while we have baby chickens and chipmunks running around during the day. I try to always get up so early when I have set traps and put the traps away before the chickens are let out and the chipmunks start making their rounds at the chicken feed bowls I set out for breakfast.

But, on this morning, I was tired and foggy. Kate was being Kate, which is also always very difficult. She was jumping up against her crate and screaming to be let out. I had three traps. One was flipped but had no rat. I went to find the other two and put my boot in them to release them. I didn’t check the first trap because it was flipped. If they are flipped, they are always released.

I opened Kate’s crate and went to pick up the traps. And then, behind my back, I heard a snap and a scream. The flipped trap had not released. For some seconds, my brain couldn’t even process what had happened, but there she was, a little black baby chick, just a few weeks old, with a broken leg in a rat trap. She was hysterical. Kate was hysterical.

As I freed the baby chick from the trap, Kate attacked my hands and my face. The baby flew into the flowers, and as I was trying to find her, Kate remained fully hysterical. Her other babies were also hysterical. The little white chick got stuck in the fence, and the chaos was overwhelming. Hysterical myself at this point, I ran to the house and asked Ron for help. He came and looked heartbroken for me as I explained my situation.

He held Kate back while I found the baby chick and scooped her up. Poor Kate was so sad when I took off to the house with her baby. In the house, I could see the baby’s leg was just dangling. It was broken fairly high on the leg, which I know is worse than a lower break. I have zero training in veterinary care. I am just self trained and internet trained. I held the baby and read and read about what to do.

I could feel the bones moving around. I was terrified of all of this. I sprayed the wound with antibiotic spray and then got the vet wrap, set the bones as best I could, and then made her a cast. I read that she had a good chance of dying from the infection and such a bad break but that youth was on her side. I used tiny drops of oregano oil in her water for infection and CBD oil drops for her pain.

For two days, I could barely function from my heartbreak that my mistake had caused this. The first night though I had a dream that I was seeing her healed and that she held up her leg for me to see and was so proud. She lived the first night and then the second night. I told Ron about my dream, and he said he thought she was going to make it.

Friends, I am sitting here writing this blog post with a little black chicken sitting on the pillow next to me. Her leg has mostly healed, and I will have to write about the whole process at some point for educational purposes. For now, I’ll end this long story of my summer of babies by telling you this: This baby living in our house now and running my life is Cora’s baby. Cora is Poe’s grandbaby.

This little black chicken sitting next to me is from Poe.

And, outside right now, Ron is bringing Genevieve and her fourteen babies some of his homemade biscuits. Genevieve has figured out that Ron will drop what he is doing and bring her whatever she wants. Ron feels badly for her because it looks like the majority of her babies are boys, and they are rowdy. So, at any given moment, when you step outside the front door, you will have a mama hen begging you for a biscuit while her wild babies have mini battles in the background. Of course, as soon as Genevieve tidbits to alert them to the biscuits, the brawling stops, and fourteen tiny chickens fly in.

I have no idea what we are going to do with those fourteen babies.

The New Duck Game

~ Crystal Sands ~ 4 Comments

This weekend, our sweet duck, Luna, passed away. She had turned eight in May, and I could see in the last couple of weeks that the end was near. She mostly sat around and didn’t hunt bugs all day like the other ducks. The morning she died, when I let her out of the duck house, she just went to one of the water bowls, took a drink, and stared off into the distance for the longest time. I knew we were in trouble when the turkeys just completely gave Luna her space in the morning. Turkeys are generally terrible at giving people their space. They knew something was up. Turkeys know things, but that’s another post.

This was Luna watching Erin French’s The Lost Kitchen with me.

I miss Luna so much. She spent about three months in the house with us in 2023 when Bairre accidentally ran over her and badly injured her leg. Luna loved to watch television with me. We watched all three seasons of The Lost Kitchen together.

And Luna loved to fly.

When she couldn’t walk after her injury, I would pick her up and carry her from her bin to the bathtub for tub time and then back again. It didn’t take long for her to make a game out of it. She would flap and flap her wings, and I would hold her like she was flying through the air. Pretty soon, she wanted to fly all the time, so I would just carry her around while she flew when she would get antsy.

I am so thankful for that time to really know her. I am so thankful she got three more years on her life. She lived the best duck life, truly, and eight years old is a really good run for a runner duck.

There is more bad news though. Anna Maria is winding down as well.

Anna Maria is the blind duck that I inherited in 2019 after she had been over mated on her farm and was seriously injured. This is quite common when there is not a good balance of males to females in a flock. A few years ago, she went blind from her injuries, and well, I am not going to lie: Her care has been a profound challenge over the years.

The reason it’s so hard for her is because she has very little skin on her skull from her injuries early in life, so even a mild amount of mating from our male duck can cause trouble. This spring, like every spring for the last seven years, I had to change my life to help Anna Maria heal from being mated. Usually, after some time in the house, I am able to let her spend her days with her people but then have to catch her every night, so she isn’t locked in the duck house with our male.

This year was a really tough year though. One day she was fine, and the next day she looked like she had lost her left eye, and I could see her skull. It took a long time to heal her–a really long time. Her body is getting older, and all the things that I had done before to help speed along her recovery just weren’t working. It broke my heart when she started hiding from me at night because she didn’t want to be kidnapped and kept separate from the rest of the ducks, but obviously, she couldn’t be left alone with our male duck until her head healed and our male duck got over his “spring fever.”

Thankfully, she finally started to heal, and it was a good thing. I was so exhausted from everything else plus healing an injured duck that I COVID crashed really, really hard. When you COVID crash, your muscles stop working. It’s from the damaged cells. With long COVID, the cells in your muscles sometimes can’t replenish their energy, and it becomes hard to move. I have crawled up the stairs of this house way too many times in the last two years, but one night after weeks of caring for Anna Maria and then my son who got sick at the first of June, I couldn’t even crawl up the stairs. I remember sitting there on the stairs wondering what was going to have to happen for me to get up the stairs to our bedroom.

I had been thinking of asking Ron about getting more ducks, even though we swore we wouldn’t. But I couldn’t imagine my life without those ducks. Still, sitting there on those stairs for those minutes made me realize we probably didn’t need more ducks.

I finally made it up the stairs with some will I didn’t know I had, and I told Ron about the whole story later–including the part about wanting ducks. It turns out he had been thinking about ducks too.

“The only big trouble the ducks have been have all be related to Anna Maria,” he said. “She’s not a normal duck.”

We both agreed that we would not do a thing differently, that we were both so thankful to know Anna Maria and to see her strength but that she was, indeed, an epic amount of unusual work because she came to us with such profound injuries that would impact her for the rest of her life. The other ducks were pretty easy, outside of some bumble foot, which I now know how to treat very well.

The next morning, I didn’t give Ron a chance to change his mind. I ordered four little ducks from the same farm in California that we had ordered our original ducks from years ago.

For eight years, every night, I have been playing the duck game with the ducks. Every single night of our lives, I fill a white bowl of frozen peas, cook them, add water, feed the ducks, and then chase them around the duck house until they feel like going inside the duck house. They love this game and shake their little tails at me. I can’t imagine my life without the duck game.

In recent weeks, I have been playing a different duck game though. Anna Maria isn’t coming for peas. She’s hiding in the corner of the yard. I know this is a really bad sign, and every night, I get the flashlight and go on a hunt for our little blind duck. I find her, herd her toward the duck house, and once she’s with her people, she eats some peas–until tonight.

I have noticed that Anna Maria hasn’t been eating duck food the last two days. I have tried everything I can. I keep putting food in front of her. I even distract the turkeys and take bits of her favorite treat–Ron’s homemade wheat bread. But she’s not eating that either. Then, tonight, I played my new duck game. I went and found her, herded her toward the other ducks, put down the white bowl of peas, and for the first time in the last seven years since I have been caring for her, Anna Maria did not eat any peas.

I am heartbroken.

I am relieved I have served that duck as well as humanly possible. I have given her a really good life. She has spent her years in a beautiful yard with a pool and peas and people she loved (I mean, not me but her people), and she had her needs met in every way possible. She did have to deal with a male duck, but I worked really hard to keep her safe from him when necessary. Plus, to be fair, Anna Maria has always been a terrible flirt.

And, even though she never forgave me for all the medical treatment I had to give her when she had to be rehabbed when we first got her, she would never want me to tell you this, but sometimes, when she needed help, she would come to me. I would pick her up, and she would put her little head on my shoulder.

Oh, I am heartbroken.

Strawberry Thieves

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

I spent this morning picking strawberries in the sunshine listening to Van Morrison coming from the house. The berries have been more generous than they have been for years, and I am grateful. The turkeys are also grateful. We had to put up a tall fence around the strawberry beds to keep the turkeys out, but when I pick, I share. Every strawberry that has been bitten by one of our strawberry thieves goes straight to the turkeys. This is quite a lot, as the Cedar Waxwings who have discovered the strawberry beds have been quite busy. I think we are losing about 10 to 15 percent to those birds right now, but I’m okay with those numbers because the little thieves are beautiful creatures–plus our turkeys get the leftovers, which they love.

Everybody loves strawberries, and I love bonding with those turkeys over our shared love of strawberries. This summer, I have bonded deeply with the turkeys, and I hope to be able to write about Maggie and Athena as turkey mothers because I have learned so much from watching how they parent. Domesticated turkeys are considered bad parents, but they are not at all. It’s just different, more wild perhaps and less conducive to the infrastructure we built for chickens and ducks. They have their own ways, and they want to have their own ways, and if you are wise and want to keep turkeys, you do what you can to give them their own ways as much as you can. But you can’t go too far. You need boundaries. Turkeys will demand the moon of you if you let them. We had to learn the hard way that the turkeys couldn’t get on the deck where we sit for morning tea and coffee. Last year, we let them share the deck, and they were like gremlins. They wrecked the placed!

So I was outside picking my favorite berries, listening to music, sharing berries out of my hand with the turkeys, and feeling so thankful to have had the experience. It has been a busy week, and my health has been struggling to hold up against my long COVID symptoms. I needed a slow, beautiful morning. It was restorative.

And then I thought about why I was there. This morning, it was because of the Cedar Waxwings. I had other plans for this morning, but those beautiful little strawberry thieves changed my plans. I had to pick the berries before those birds ate too many.

We have had a bumper crop of strawberries this year. I have been picking and picking, and struggling a little bit eat, process, or give away all of them. When the harvest starts, it starts, and it can be a challenge to keep up with it.

On the jam front, I have been trying so hard to make strawberry jam without pectin. So we have a wide variety of jam-like substances that vary between strawberry syrup and jam that is just a tad too thin. It’s been a challenge, but all of my failures are delicious in different ways. Still, to make sure I had gifts for friends and family, I made one batch with pectin and may try to make one more. I have to say that the jam without pectin is far more delicious than with the pectin, even though the pectin jam is very, very, very good. There’s something different about making it in a jam pot without pectin though, and I really like the difference. If I get it figured out, I will let you know. Plus, we have eaten bowls and bowls full of fresh berries.

With this kind of abundance, it only makes sense to share with the Cedar Waxwings, even though I know they are the guilty party in terms of eating most of our blueberries and elderberries the last couple of years. But how can I deny those little stinkers some of the berries? I mean, it’s their nature, after all. They are literally wearing little bandit masks.

I am so curious about all birds that I looked up to see why Cedar Waxwings have little bandit masks. I wanted to know what the evolutionary benefit is for those little masks around their eyes. It surely isn’t just because they are thieves. I mean, that’s just too much irony.

It turns out there at two hypotheses about why Cedar Waxwings have those little masks. I don’t know which one is most reputable, but I have my own thoughts. One hypothesis is that the little masks help with sunlight in their eyes, but the other one has to do with the social nature of these birds. The hypothesis is that the little black masks help emphasize facial features which helps with communication between flock members.

It also turns out that these birds are highly social. One of the coolest things I learned is that they steal berries and share among flock members. I read that it’s pretty rare in birds and in the animal world in general to see food passing in a species. These birds are essentially little Robin Hoods. How fantastic is that?

Of course, fantastic as they, there is a limit to my willingness to share with them, I suppose. Since the strawberry beds have been discovered, things will escalate in the next day or two. One time I read to tie balloons over the bed and to draw angry eyes on the balloons. It did help a little, so I’ll be drawing angry eyes on balloons in the morning.

In the meantime, I am enjoying this restful day I had today. I hope, wherever you are, you get some strawberries this summer.

Sending love from Maine.

photo credit: New Public Library

Happy Solstice!

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

Friends, I have been busy. I have been in turkey school.

I feel like I could write a book about what I’ve learned from having baby turkeys running around our here, but the two most powerful lessons are as follows: 1. About 15% of turkey babies hatch with a neurological disorder that, if you carry them around and feed them for about seven days, they will grow out of it. That’s definitely a story worth telling, but in summary, I have been busy carrying a turkey around and performing the duties of my life pretty much with one hand. Thankfully, said baby turkey is doing great and has been recently returned to its mama and sibling. 2. Turkey mamas are quite fantastic, just different from chickens, even though there is a lot bad press for turkey mamas.

I still have much to learn, but I am making great progress in my efforts to understand turkeys, and I have decided they are worth all the work, which is a lot. I am kind of in awe of them.

In other good news, maybe the best news, last week, I started seeing a lot of Eastern Phoebes around. They are always around, but suddenly, they were really close to the house. Then, this weekend, Ron said he found nest under the eave of the turkey house. I was so hopeful as I ran outside in my bare feet to check the nest. It was empty, but sure enough, it was an Eastern Phoebe nest.

I have been bene wishing with all my heart that Eastern Phoebes would come back to the nest on our deck, but every time I see them hanging out, either Bairre or Boudica accidentally scares them away. The Phoebes are all around us in the trees. I see the birds around every summer, but to get a nest right where I can see the whole process is a little bit of heaven to me. I will keep my distance, but last night, I went to check to see if the mama had started sitting on her second round of babies for the summer. I couldn’t tell at first, so I went to get my phone. The zoom on the camera allowed me to see in the nest without getting too close, and there she was! I am pretty sure I was jumping up and down with joy.

It has been a lovely Solstice for us. My son was hired to play his cello at a Solstice celebration at a local church, and it was beautiful. Then, when I got home, I picked strawberries from our beds and tried an old fashioned recipe for strawberry jam without pectin. It was a slow and lovely process. The jam is different but delicious, and I am hoping to make more.

I am also hoping you had a beautiful Solstice as well. Happy Solstice, dear friends!

Maple Syrup and the Good Life

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

I have much to report. We are on Day 7 with the Rhode Island Red eggs, and all seems well. Maggie’s two babies are getting big, and Maggie seems to be figuring out motherhood. Our little Salmon Faverolle, Prudence, has been sitting on seven turkey eggs. I candled them this week, and six are very well developed. They are due on the 29th. Please cross your fingers for Prudence and her turkey babies. We also found another of our turkeys, our fierce girl, Athena, was hiding 24 turkey eggs and sitting on them. It was Ron’s job to collect the turkey eggs, but he is fired now. I let Athena keep thirteen eggs that seemed to be similarly developed. I have broody mamas everywhere, I am their assistant. We are trying to raise a round of turkeys for food instead of pets. I am scared we are going to be in trouble, but we will see.

In addition to being a broody hen assistant, I told Ron last week that I am a hunter-gatherer of sorts. I am getting pretty good at finding local farms for things we cannot grow or raise or make ourselves, but after I hunt everything down, I have to connect with each farmer and then find times that work to meet. They are all so kind, and I appreciate that they all love what they do so much because I know the work is hard.

I often have great talks with the honey people, the beef people, and so on because they all care for their animals so deeply and care about providing good food to people.

But, today, I had my first long talk with the maple syrup people, and it was a treat!

This farm is super local. It’s in the same small town we live in, and they specialize in blueberries and maple syrup. Today, Ron made pancakes for breakfast, and we had so little maple syrup that we had to ration it. This is unacceptable.

I grew up in the south, and Ron grew up in the west. Neither of us had ever had maple syrup until we moved to Maine. I don’t know how I ever lived without it.

And I don’t want maple syrup from the store. I want it from someone in Maine who makes their living making maple syrup. It will be cheaper, better, and I believe 100 percent in supporting local agriculture. I don’t believe the global food system is going to hold up super well in the coming years. I want local to thrive as much as possible.

I went to the website to see if the farm store with the maple syrup was open today. They were not. They said they were busy getting ready for blueberry season but would take appointments. I texted the number, asked if the woman could meet me this afternoon. Thankfully, she could.

I met her right at 2:00 PM, and I went straight to the biggest jugs of syrup. I got three.

“You mean business about maple syrup,” she said.

I laughed. I hate taking up a farmer’s time unless they want to chat. I know they are incredibly busy this time of year. I am so thankful when they will make time to meet with me.

“Yeah, we love your maple syrup, ” I said. “We needed to stock up.”

Then, I told her about Ron’s waffles because they are the best waffles in the history of the world. They are so good we are planning to make them for friends and neighbors this summer.

“We figured out how to make sourdough waffles, and they are amazing,” I said, feeling the need to explain myself but also wanting to express my gratitude for sharing their good work with the community.

“Oh, do you make Belgian waffles?” she asked.

“Oh yeah,” I replied. “You gotta have the deep pockets for your delicious syrup.”

After that, it was on. She was telling me how you are supposed to eat waffles, and I was agreeing wholeheartedly. When it comes to maple syrup, she and I are on the same page.

As we were talking about how much we both liked maple syrup, she said some people like “just a little drizzle” on their pancakes or waffles, “but not me.”

“I have to make it so my waffle or pancake is so full of syrup it’s like a sponge.” I nodded in agreement. That’s how it has to be.

“But that’s not enough,” she continued. “I need some extra on the side to dip the sponge in.’

We were both laughing, and I was in full agreement. That’s exactly how I want to eat waffles and maple syrup.

We talked a bit more while she helped me get the syrup to my car.

“Really, pancakes and waffles are there just to give us a reason to eat maple syrup,” I said in conclusion, and she laughed and agreed.

As I was getting into my car to leave, she said something that really struck me.

“We’re living the good life, aren’t we?”

I paused and thought about that all the way home. Indeed, we are.

I am thankful.

photo credit: Nadine Primeau, Unsplash

A Rough Day 1

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

Today is Day 2, and it was a good day. Yesterday, however, Day 1, was the roughest Day 1 ever.

I did a thing. For my birthday, I finally ordered some heritage Rhode Island Red hatching eggs. I have looked for about two years for some heritage Rhode Island Red baby chicks or hatching eggs. It took me so long that, when I finally found some reputable breeders, I couldn’t find anyone willing to ship eggs instead of chicks, and I was too afraid, given the state of the post office, to take a chance on live chicks. I had just about given up until I found a little farm in Minnesota that specializes in heritage breed chickens.

The eggs were about $10 an egg with shipping, but that was a pretty good deal I thought considering a heritage Rhode Island baby chick can cost between $30 and $40. Plus, I wouldn’t have to worry about a baby dying during shipping. Plus, I have a really good incubator and have learned its nuances. The last broiler hatch I did, I hatched 39 of 41 eggs. That’s an amazing hatch rate! So, if I didn’t have a broody hen handy when the eggs arrived, I would have great chances with my incubator.

The lowest amount I could order was a dozen, which is a fancy birthday present for sure, but I told myself that I would probably never find this perfect deal again. I placed the order.

Shortly after I placed the order, I received a text confirming my order and explaining the process. The woman who texted me was very matter of fact at first, but when I wrote back and told her how much I loved Rhode Island Reds, it was like we were old friends. We texted back and forth a long time–both of us sharing stories of love for Rhode Island Reds.

On Wednesday, just a few days after my birthday, the eggs arrived. I had big plans. I have so many broody hens right now. We can’t handle 10 or 12 more chickens, so I thought I would just put 7 or 8 eggs under one of my broody hens and throw away the rest. But then the woman told me her hatching rate hasn’t been great and that she was sending me extra eggs.

With the low hatching rate in mind, it would be pretty risky to just put just 7 or 8 eggs under my broody hen. And I only have space for one broody hen right now because we have a turkey mama in one crate, a hen on turkey eggs in another crate, and we only have the three. Dog crates are so valuable.

Thursday night, I decided to try 9 eggs under a little Ameraucana hen who has been broody forever. She seemed to accept the eggs that night, but when I woke up yesterday and went to check on her, she was banging her head on the crate door. The eggs were spread around everywhere, but none were broken. Still, I thought this was not a good Day 1. I wanted to treasure every day of this 21-day process. These eggs are full of so much hope for me. Still, I had no idea what was in store for me just a few minutes later.

I decided to let my broody hen out of the crate and try another hen. The coop is full of broody hens right now, but I was a little disappointed because that little Ameraucana (her name is Priscilla) is one of my favorites. Then, I went to check on our mama turkey, Maggie. She has had a tough go being a mama, and I will try to tell her full story in a few days.

For now, I’ll tell you that she hatched four babies, but one just barely made it out of the egg and died within a few hours. Still, three babies seemed pretty good, and the babies were very difficult. Three seemed like more than enough to handle for Maggie and for me and Ron. This is our first time trying to hatch eggs with a mama turkey. The learning curve has been steep.

It was steeper than I could have imagined.

I thought Maggie was acting strangely yesterday morning. I opened her crate, set out fresh food and water, and she didn’t come out. I went to let out the chickens and started to have a really bad feeling. I had terrible trouble sleeping the night before. I felt unsettled. As I looked across the yard and saw Maggie still in the crate, the bad feeling grew stronger.

I ran to the crate and started looking for babies. There were only two. Two babies.

I searched in the straw and then searched all around outside for a little body because it had been so cold that night, but there was nothing. The baby was just gone, and Maggie wasn’t letting the two she had left out of the crate. It was all maddening and so confusing.

I thought we would never know for sure what happened, but my guess was that the baby chick wandered into the nearby woodpile and got lost in there. Later that day, I saw one of Maggie’s two remaining babies find a spot we missed after Ron and I spent the morning both searching the wood pile and then covering the wood pile to prevent any further loss. Maggie got hysterical when her baby tried to go into the wood pile, so I knew. I made sure I covered the remaining hole.

That kind of devastating loss is terrible for my long COVID. As I sat on the ground, worn from a morning of crying and searching, I could feel my body head toward a crash, so I tried to calm myself down.

“This is life on the farm,” Ron said. “We’re all learning. Maggie. Us.”

I knew he was right. I just had to pick myself up and do everything I could to make sure Maggie didn’t lose another baby and maybe try to find another broody hen for my Rhode Island Red eggs.

We have one of our Salmon Faverolle hens sitting on some turkey eggs right now (another long story), and she went right to it–no questions asked. So I thought I would try another Salmon Faverolle who has been broody about a week. I put her in the crate with the eggs, and she was having none of it. Sometimes, it can take them a bit, so I left her in there for a couple of hours. She said nope.

So I let her out and wondered who was next on the roster.

I had two hens left, and both of them were just barely broody for maybe just a few days. I decided to go with our little Welsummer because Welsummers are the second best chickens in the world. Plus, she is a bigger girl and could probably handle at least 10 eggs. Also, her name is Lilibeth.

I put her in the crate with the eggs, and she was not happy. I decided to give her at least an hour, but when I came back to check on her, she was sitting at the back of the crate with the eggs in the middle, acting like she didn’t want to touch them. I started to wonder if maybe the eggs looked or smelled funny. I have NEVER had broody hens reject eggs like this. Never.

I decided get an egg from the coop and sit it in the middle of the eggs to make it feel like these were our eggs. I grabbed a green one and sat in the pile. Then, Ron took me to our favorite greenhouse to buy some flowers to help cheer me up after the rough morning with Maggie’s baby.

“If that hen is still rejecting those eggs when we get home, I’m going to let her out and just use the incubator,” I said to Ron. “I guess I’ll just have to raise those babies myself.” It’s always better if a mama hen can raise babies, but I was beginning to think I wasn’t going to have a mama hen for this job.

We were gone a good bit. The owners of the greenhouse are our friends. They are from Ireland, and I could just sit and listen to them talk all day. When we got home with our flowers, I went straight to the crate. Lilibeth was still in the back of the crate, and all the eggs were gone except for the green one! It was sitting there all alone.

Then, I realized what happened. Lilibeth had rolled every single one of those eggs, except for the green one, across the dog crate and put them under her where she wanted them.

It was a rough Day 1, but in the end, there was hope.

Today, Day 2, was much easier. Maggie’s two babies are doing great, and Lilibeth is set hard on those Rhode Island Red eggs.

Schrodinger’s Strawberries

~ Crystal Sands ~ 3 Comments

I find myself pacing sometimes and thinking about the strawberry beds.

We haven’t uncovered them yet. It feels like it is so very much time to do so today, as it was 67 degrees, but we have a freeze coming in a few days. Ron says we will uncover them the day after. In the meantime, I have way too much anxiety over the strawberries.

Last year, after a fall planting the year before, the strawberries didn’t make it through the winter. Ron thinks he may have covered them too soon. I was devastated. Strawberries are one of my reasons for living. I am so scared he’s leaving them covered too long, but that freeze…

I know it seems dramatic, but last summer without strawberries was a heartbreak. You simply cannot find organic u-pick strawberries within an hour of where we live in Maine, and even the ones that are a couple of hours away are few and far between. We found an amazing farm outside of Belfast that had organic berries, but there was literally a line of people waiting for them to open on the few days they had berries available. We managed to get enough berries to make one small batch of strawberry jam, which I shared with people I love and then had one jar for myself. I told Ron if we wanted a farm product that might actually make some money, organic strawberries would be the way to go, but right now, I just want our three beds of berries to live and keep us supplied.

Since I finally managed to figure out sourdough bread, I have been longing for strawberry jam. To me, sourdough toast desperately needs strawberry jam. Thankfully, I found a lovely strawberry jam made in Maine from Stonewall Kitchen. It’s delicious but, of course, it’s not organic, which I prefer, especially for strawberries, because strawberries are notorious for hanging onto pesticide residue–it’s all those seeds.

So I am hopeful but scared about our strawberries this year–and doing a lot of pacing and thinking. I cannot go another year without strawberries. I have been so down about the world. I know you probably have been too, so we gotta have the little things like our strawberries.

I am afraid to go look because, if I go look and the plants are dead, well, I don’t know what I’m going to do. So, right now, the strawberries may be alive. Please cross your fingers for me. I’ll keep you posted!

And what do you have that keeps you going right now, that brings you a bit of joy?

A chicken in the house and other stuff…

~ Crystal Sands ~ 2 Comments

Last fall, we ordered some chickens from a hatchery, which is against a rule I made a few years ago, but Ron insisted I needed some babies to cheer me up. They are the sweetest little chickens I think I have ever seen, but one of them came a little runty and sick. She seemed to hang in there okay though until recently. She got into the sick chicken pose and was sleeping in the corner of coop, so I brought her into the house. Her name is Bernice, and she has made herself quite at home.

She walks around the house, pooping periodically, so I have to go behind her and clean pretty regularly. It’s fortunate the cats sleep throughout the day, as they probably wouldn’t be kind to Bernice–at least I am pretty sure Betty would not be. Bella would be curious, but Betty might be too curious.

I am not sure Bernice is going to get better. I have been able to treat some of her symptoms, but I think there is something deeply wrong. Ron keeps thinking she’s getting better, but I am not as hopeful. I am just resigned to the fact that she seems to be enjoying herself and likes the wood stove and maybe is going to get to spend the last weeks of her life getting pampered. I hope I am wrong about her.

I don’t know if you remember Luna, our runner duck. A little over three years ago, when Bairre was a puppy, he ran over Luna and broke her leg. Luna had to live in the house for months, and I fell in love with her extra. She loved to pretend fly (since she couldn’t walk, I would carry her around and she would flap her wings like she flew where she wanted to go), and when she was resting, she would sit in her bin and watch television with me while I graded papers.

She’s eight years old now and seems to be winding down. I saw her sitting outside alone yesterday and the day before. I have checked her everywhere, and I can’t see anything wrong. I was hoping she had bumble foot, but she doesn’t. I think she’s just getting really old. I was so down about Luna last night (that plus the apocalypse, I think) that I think it triggered another long COVID episode, which is both miserable and frustrating. I’m having a really slow day–hence the time to write.

But it’s not all bad news around here. There are good things, of course.

I finally figured out how to make sourdough bread! It has been a journey, and it took me about ten loaves to figure out how to do it well with my limited equipment. It was worth it! It’s so good and so beautiful, and I am more than a little proud of myself. I will have to write about it more soon.

And the new hens started to really lay this month, and the eggs are beautiful. We have two little Cuckoo Marans, and they lay the most magnificent chocolate eggs. Also, one of them, Genevieve, still lets me pick her up and give her a hug. I adore her. The turkeys also started laying eggs, and the eggs are gorgeous. I am a huge fan of speckled eggs, so I am just so proud of these turkeys and their art.

Oh, and my son, the cellist, won the state high school concerto competition a few weeks ago. I was so happy for him. Interestingly, however, I found myself not only extremely empathetic to him but to the other kids as well. I sat in the front, so I could get a good video of my son for an audition for a radio program. Because I was so close, I could feel all of that energy–like too much. I was especially panicked for the kids who were playing from memory. As I have mentioned, my son also has long COVID, and it causes some memory issues. This makes me just have a kind of terror when he has to play from memory. Somehow, that terror applies to other people’s children as well.

There was one little boy playing who seemed to get a little lost for a second. My whole body tensed up as I did everything in my witchy power to will him to remember his spot. He remembered and pulled it together and kept playing. I was so relieved. I don’t know if I helped him or not, but for real, I was spending some energy on it.

Needless to say, for about three days after the concerto competition, I could barely get off the couch, but I was still so darn happy for my son and so darn happy all the kids played so well.

I hope you are all doing as well during these hard times. Sending love to you all, and I hope to see some of you Sunday morning when I’ll be talking about gardening.

Growing a Grocery Store Garden

~ Crystal Sands ~ 5 Comments

There are so many reasons to grow a garden to help replace your trips to the grocery store—more delicious food, cost savings, self-sufficiency, and the joy of growing food to feed yourself and your family. However, I argue that right now may be one of the most important times in most of our lives to plan and start a garden. 

If you live in the north like we do, now is the time to get your seeds and start your seedlings. If you live in the south, you have such a long growing season that there is still time to get started, even if your friends and neighbors got started a month or so ago. 

You may have been hearing about the consequences of the war in Iran and what it means for the price and supply of oil and gas, but there is another important resource that flows through the now mostly closed Strait of Hormuz—fertilizer. 

Apparently, right now about 25 percent of the fertilizer the United States would normally have for spring planting for our agricultural system is stuck in the Strait of Hormuz. Many experts are pointing out that this lack of fertilizer, coupled with high gasoline prices, is going to create a perfect storm for really high food prices and potential food shortages this fall. 

So, yeah, let’s plant some gardens this spring!

Of course, when planning and planting your garden, you will want to think about some foods you can grow that you can use to replace some of your trips to the grocery store. We have been growing a grocery store garden for more than a decade, and we have learned some important lessons along the way about how to grow as much food as possible as efficiently as possible.

1. You can grow a good amount of food in small spaces, but you are going to need as much space as you can manage to really grow so food. If you have a yard, dig up part of it now or add raised beds asap. You do not need grass, but you might need potatoes and carrots. The first part of your planning involves figuring out what space you have, how to grow vertical in small spaces, how much sunlight you can get in your space, and how you will get water to your plants. Soil is also a factor, but we were able to grow some basic foods even before our soil was in good shape.

This is a great resource on vertical planting on a budget that should be super helpful. 

2. The next thing you want to think about is what you and your family will eat combined with what will grow well in the space you have. You will want to think about things like potatoes, carrots, green beans—sturdy foods that grow easily. If your family will eat things like potatoes, plant them. They grow well and can grow in everything from your yard to trash cans to straw bales.  

3. You will also want to think about foods that are easy to preserve. Because it looks like the fall and winter might be the toughest times for grocery prices, you want to make sure your garden is able to feed you long after growing season is over. Potatoes can store for a long time in a dark bag in a cold room in your basement if you leave the dirt on them. Carrots can also last for a couple months in the refrigerator if you leave the dirt on them. Green beans can be frozen if you do not know how to pressure can. There are also winter squashes that can store well into the winter if you and your family enjoy them. They can be baked, made into soups, etc. 

4. Unless you already have planted berries or fruit trees, you will not have time to grow fruits before this fall, but there is a good chance that you live near apple orchards where you can pick your own apples. A lot of orchards will also have u-pick pears, peaches, berries, and cherries, and if you shop around, you can find farms that offer really good deals if you are able to pick in a lot. You do not need a pressure canner to can fruits—just canning jars and a big pot will do. 

You can also save some varieties of apples and pears for months in cold, dark rooms (basements are perfect) just wrapped in newspapers. 

5. In addition to the sturdy things that will store long term, I highly recommend greens and tomatoes. With the summers getting so long here in Maine, we were able to keep spinach and tomatoes going well into the fall last year. Plus, if you feel ambitious, the tomatoes can become sauce with some onions and peppers added. We live on this spaghetti sauce from our garden all year. 

If you are just getting started with growing your own food or just want to chat about strategies for processing and storing food, I am going to be hosting a Zoom session on Sunday morning, March 29, at 11:00 AM ET. I’ll talk a bit about what we do to prepare a lot of food for the year. You don’t have to register. Just use the link and show up. As long as one or two people are there, we’ll hang out and talk about how to grow more of your food. 

https://us06web.zoom.us/j/86869843531?pwd=P9NcJQDsI5WrqPvwbZnpvHFDfbO4x6.1

photo credit: Anna Zagrebichna, Unsplash