It might be worth my while

A couple of weeks after the discussions of whether or not I would be transporting goats in our Outback, I picked up

this copy of Mother Earth News.  Joel asked what I was reading and when I showed him he said,”Oooh good grief”.

Anyway, while perusing it’s pages, I came across this sentence, “Planting multiple food gardens and hauling sheep in your car may mean you’re a homesteader”.  I assume that includes goats…and if it does…I just may be a homesteader.  But, more than likely, it would probably just classify me as a redneck.

According to my current understanding, a homesteader is someone who is self sufficient…and you can take that as far as you like.

Somewhere I read that there are four levels of homesteading.

  • Level 1 – you have a year round garden.
  • Level 2 – you have a year round garden plus hens for eggs.
  • Level 3 – you have a year round garden, hens for eggs and livestock for meat.
  • Level 4 – you have all of the above plus a couple of goats or a cow for dairy.

Kinda like working your way up through the marshal arts.

I do have a few herbs and winter vegetables


scattered throughout my flower beds.

And, I have hens for eggs, not to mention those that I butchered this summer.

So I guess that means that with a little more work, I could be a third degree homesteader.

I will admit I have allowed the homesteading idea to roll around in my head for some time now.  And…it’s mostly been a romantic idea. But if it would keep me from having to go to the grocery store…becoming a fourth degree homesteader…just might be worth my while.


    They’re ALL women 

     Saturday afternoon   

    I was playing frisbee with Piper.

      We had been playing about ten minutes   

    when the boys walked over.  


    They took over the frisbee throwing, 


    until Piper had had enough.  Then we sat on the porch and  visited.  It’s amazing what you can learn from a couple of eight year olds.  For instance, Hudson said, “You know those mosquitos that bite? 

     They’re ALL women.”  I looked it up…he was right.

    I think it’s a sign

    Several years ago, I posted this picture   

    on The Chicken  Chronicles.  

    I had driven to my cousin’s farm to get some chicks and a goat.  At the time, I was driving a Subaru Forester, which had plenty of room for my cages. In fact, I was quite proud of my little ‘farm vehicle’.

    Joel always reads my blog, and until that particular post,  
    I don’t think he realized that I occasionally used our car to transport livestock. Well, now that the cat was out of the bag, he made the suggestion that the next time I needed to haul a goat, I might want to put it something other than the car.

    Not long after that, we traded in that little Forester for an Outback. One of the first things Joel said after driving it home was, “Susan, please don’t put a goat in our new car”.

    Last week we traded that Outback for another one.  Because of the places I shop, I figured I should continue driving the other Outback; one that was set up to transport Piper.  But, Joel said that I should drive the new one. He said, “Susan, as long as you don’t put a goat in it, everything should be fine”.

    About thirty minutes after that conversation, UPS dropped off this package.

    I can’t be sure…but I think it just might be a sign.

    Written in gold

    So…not long ago, Josh had to take their van to the dealership to have some things checked.  He needed someone to follow him and bring him back home, and I said that I would be glad to do that. 

    Josie, also occasionally known as


    ‘Bapunzel’, rode with me.

    When I picked her up to put her in the car seat, she asked, “Mammy, can I hold you wallet?”  I said, “Sure”, and handed it to her.

    About the time I finished buckling her in, she exclaimed, “Mammy! It has you name on it!”

    I looked down, and written in gold across the front of my wallet was the word

    ‘FOSSIL’.  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

    Let’s do this

    On the first of June, my chicken buddy and I purchased 14 Rhode Island Red pullets.  We were going to raise them to butcher, since they are a dual purpose breed.  But after butchering around thirty of those Cornish cross chickens, we decided we had had enough for a while, and opted to spare their lives.  So, she took seven, and I kept seven.

    The last week of October they began to lay.  I was unprepared and had not made any arrangements for nests.  Running low on scrap lumber, a trip to Home Depot was in order. 

    I decided to make nests similar to some that I had seen on Pinterest, so I bought some 1″x4″ treated lumber and some of those orange 5 gallon buckets, and after about thirty minutes of cutting and pasting, 

      I came up with this.

    The buckets even have the Home Depot motto on them,  which I thought might be inspiring.

     After some  investigation,  it seems that the only thing they intend to ‘do’ in those buckets is scratch the hay out.  Soooo…
    back to Home Depot for plan ‘B’.
    As for as I’m concerned, ‘B’ stands for ‘boring’.

    This time I built a wooden box, put it on the ground where some of them had been laying, and filled it with hay.  They evidentially aren’t too wild about it either.


    How agrivating is that?

    So, I’m teetering on the fence between ‘the third time being a charm’…and ‘leaving well enough alone’.  Right now, the latter seems good to me.


    I have a little buckeye grove in back of our property by the edge of the woods.  

    There are probably about ten little trees in all. In the Spring,  

    they wear bright green leaves and red flowers. When the flowers begin to fade, 


    the buckeyes begin to form.  I watch them all summer.  About the beginning of October,  


    the pods begin to crack open,  

    I pick them, take out the nuts and

    and put them on the windowsill to dry. 
     Then I make garlands and other decorations with them. 

    This fall I had picked all the buckeyes on all of the trees except one…that’s because those were late opening.  I could have gone ahead and gathered them 
     and put them on the counter

    till they opened.  As a matter of fact, last Wednesday I started to do just that…but I didn’t.
    Thursday I went to check them,  but when I got there, the buckeyes were gone.  Well, there was one left…at the very top…but that was it.  Thirty plus buckeye pods had vanished…without a trace.

    Occasionally a squirrel will pick  one for a snack, and deer will eat the leaves, but there was no evidence to support that kind of activity.  I also ruled out   

      grandchildren, even though they do occasionally 


    assume other identities.

    So, after careful consideration, I have come up with three possible answers to this mystery.

    1. Bigfoot
    2. Alien abduction
    3. A buckeye bandit

    Number three seems to be the most logical choice…although there’s nothing logical about this situation.

    However, if you have any information concerning the whereabouts of these buckeyes, please contact the Crimestoppers Division of The Chicken Chronicles.

    I can only imagine

    We had a LOT of rain over the weekend…especially on Saturday.

      It fell so fast that the pond could not contain it, and it spilled over into the pasture.

      Even the fire ants, for fear of drowning, huddled together and floated on the water.

    During one of the breaks in the weather, Joel, Nikki, the girls and  I went for a ride around the place to check out the situation and take a few pictures. 

    On our journey, we discovered that the duck had a hurt leg.  We rode back to the house for me to get a net to catch the duck, and to get my rubber boots.  

    While in the house, I decided to make a bathroom stop.  When I was done, and preparing myself to go back out in public, I noticed there was a frog hopping around in the toilet bowl, frantically trying to avoid a trip to the sewer.

    It escaped between the bolts that hold the seat and lid…then it sprung  to the top of the tank.
    It all happened so fast. One more big jump

    and it was on the frame of a picture above the commode. That’s where I caught it.  

    Joel thinks that maybe the thing came in the house on my clothes and fell in.  I can’t be sure, since I’m not in the habit of checking for frogs before I take a seat.  At any rate, I can only imagine what might have taken place had that frog decided to leap before I got in a position to look.