December 7th, 2009
Busted!
No, I’m kidding. I actually applied for a license to keep more than 3 chickens within city limits and I got inspected today. Being a sort of nervous, want-to-do-good-paranoid-about-getting-in-trouble sort of person, my heart just about went through the roof when I saw the pickup (with lights–but not on of course) pull up in front of our house. And of COURSE the chicken door was open because Francis did the chores this morning and the kids can’t seem to go in the door without letting chickens get out. That is a no-no in the city. If you have chickens wandering around your yard, you are suppose to be with them, which I obviously wasn’t as I answered the door for the inspections guy. We didn’t have time to put them in again because we were super late for school. Luckily for us, it is cold as hell around here and even with the door to the fenced area open, the chickens were huddled together in the coop. I hurriedly confessed that we let them out accidentally this morning and that I knew I wasn’t suppose to. ”No problem,” Mr. Super Nice Inspector said. ”We are pretty laid back as long as we can’t hear or smell them when approaching the property”.
The inspection was great though. The guy was completely nice, not upset that I had EIGHT chickens (by the way, did I mention that I now have EIGHT chickens?! That is for another post.), and quite complimentary about my coop. He said that I obviously had room for more and I should just let them know if I want to get more. No thanks, I said. Even I know when enough is enough. He also said that he could tell that I take care of them, that the area is clean and looks free of stink or rats, and that he is glad that I have names for all of them. That is a sign that I care for my chickens well. So, all in all, a really good experience, and I should get my license within the week.
It is interesting to me that the City of Portland is fine with chickens, and my hometown of Sheridan is not. I have my theories that people in Sheridan, being country people, are only familiar with TONS of chickens so they have no real idea of the miniscule sound and smell present with less than 10 chickens. When they think “chickens”, they think of fifty chickens, or one hundred and fifty chickens. The Sheridan Sun recently quoted a city counselor as saying that a neighborhood with chickens would be “unlivable”, which is about the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard, especially as I live on a block with more chickens than people.
Did I mention that I love Portland, Oregon?
I don’t want to be a braggart, but damn this stuff is good. It really is awesome. My complaint about tomato soup from the stores is always that it is too salty, even the reduced stuff. Mine is perfectly tangy, tastes like real tomatoes and has these lovely little chunks in it. Now if we don’t get botulism, all is well.
I had a rough day with the kids today, and instead of my first instinct which was to put them in front of a movie, we pulled out the art supplies and made a royal mess. It was exactly what I needed. We made these fun skulls for Dia de los Muertos, and most thrilling to the kids, we got everything hung up and looking awesome by the time Brad got home from work. He was suitably enthusiastic and the kids were super happy. In addition to the skulls we made today there is
And the front door:
Zephyr’s skulls are so funny! HE did the one on top and the one on the lower right with blue eyes (it looks sort of like a decrepit lizard). I took these pictures in the dark, and I know that was not a fantastic idea, but hey, the kids are asleep, so it IS dark. I don’t see an alternative really.
The weather is weird around here. The season is changing. The mornings are cold, but then midway through the day, you are sweating in your wool socks. I put on a sweater, take off the sweater, contemplate turning the furnace on but then see that it is still 67 degrees. Fall is here, but it is sauntering in. We’re having showers in the morning, heavy clouds and then bursts of sun.
And what is this? Peeking around the side of a tomato plant, these buggers looked me in the eye. Begone deadly nightshade! I love that it has “deadly” in its name. Makes you think, “Now wait, should I eat this?”. I think I should have deadly in my name.
I had an ill-fated couple weeks for all things coffee and tea. Just when the weather changed and I wanted more of both, I broke my coffee pot (knocked it on the sink), broke the spout of my teapot (dropped it while washing it), and suffered the loss of my milk frother (Zephyr swept it off the counter and then imbedded a piece in his foot for good measure). Sigh. Ill-fated. This tea pot was so cute and useful. Brad’s aunt gave it to me along with this excellent little tea cozy. I couldn’t part with it,even though the spout is broken down the back in a quite irreparable way. You can’t see the break from the front, especially with the plant in it. I’m going to keep it on the front porch to announce my priorities to the world. I planted a corsican mint in it.










this
this
and this?
Brad says so.
And we got this, which was eight pounds of blueberries. Woa! It all got popped in the new freezer in the basement.
I hated beets as a child, but I would like to think that my palate has matured. I’ve found that beets are best roasted in their jackets. To do so, cut off the tops and root of the beet, cut the bulb in two and place on a pan or baking sheet doused in olive oil. Roast until dark. The skin of the beet should slip off. Super good stuff, especially with goat cheese, walnuts and chicken in a salad.













