With our daycare provider on summer break, we’ve been going on various mini-breaks, the last of which (thankfully) is drawing near–some last minute cattle trailer and chicken coop work permitting.

The big news is that 50 laying hens arrived today. I was expecting them to be ready in October, so it’s been a bit of a scramble.  Last time hens arrived here, a few weeks after our move, P. got to work on the day of to get a small A frame chicken tractor (moveable coop) built, this time we’re not affording ourselves very much more time.  Part of me is super grateful to have such a patenteux co-pilot, and part of me wishes I was forced to build things on the fly myself. Mostly, I long for days where I don’t feel we’re flying by the seat of our pants quite so much.

The plan was for this to be a makeshift moveable coop built rapido and for us to build a more permanent coop in the open space of the barn together, but we may just end up parking this build in that open barn space.


I hope these fifty hens enjoy being here, despite this late coming coop. They’re following the pigs in the pasture rotation, so they’re bound to find all the dust baths and insects they’re craving.

The garden is growing and (after many foiled attempts) this is the year of the brassica. We already have a blanched meal-sized portion of broccoli for every week of the year that we don’t eat out of the garden, and the cabbage situation is pretty promising.


The farm yard seems to have come to terms with the fact that we don’t plant flowers or tend flower beds and lovely daisies are sprouting of their own volition.

A literal truckload of firewood is ready for the stacking. Some thirty bales of hay were wrapped today. Summer as preparation for winter.




Olga lost a kitten today. He was sleeping under a vehicle and didn’t get out when the truck pulled away. In moments like those, I hate this place. I know that kittens die in cities too, that I’m even trying to curb the cat population here, but death is so ‘in your face’ on the farm. And we were scrambling to get a fence up so that hens could be freed and fed — the ethical dilemmas in the showing of care and honouring these beings just always pulls at me. It confuses and exhausts. And there’s just no time to take it in.He was buried, le petit.

In lighter news, F. and I have named the bull with the sore leg, that we’re keeping close to the barn, Dimitri Doux-doux. He wears the name well. Also, all of the wagons have become squash mobiles.


We have just acquired this new-to-us food dehydrator. I probably won’t go full bore with Godiva pumpkin seeds again (failed attempt two years back. The seeds tasted like silage and are thus still in our freezers), but am looking forward to experimenting with fruit, chips and crackers.



Mothering two little kids on a farm in the summertime — I am exhausted and can’t believe it’s August.



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