November Roses. And Tasty Treats.

Next year, during the oppressive heat and humidity that epitomizes South Carolina's summer, I need to remember this week.

This is why I love South Carolina.

Gorgeous foliage...

...while pots of fraise des bois still bloom and produce fruit—even after a slight frost.

Is there anything better than the ultra-sweet taste of these tiny, unexpected berries?

Truly, although I'm late planting our fall crops in the potager, I know that the lettuce and greens will provide tasty meals throughout the winter with just a little attention and protection.

And finally, my long neglected roses...

My poor roses that were breathtaking in the spring, succumbed to Japanese beetles, heat, and my apathy during the summer...

...generously producing one last bouquet, their fragrance competing with the autumn spices of cinnamon, nutmeg, and apples baking.

But, I fear, most of the remaining blooms will be gone before the next Garden Blogger Bloom Day.

Ah, but there are always pansies. And paperwhites! And amaryllis! And spring, in just a few months...sigh.

Happy Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day! Thank you to May Dreams Gardens for hosting!

XO ~

Julie

Gluttony for Good.

'Tis the season to eat. Heartily. Locally. Gluttonously. Thank goodness, it's finally sweater weather, because the amazing dinners in which we've been indulging are seriously taking a toll on my waistline—and the holiday eating is just around the corner. I'm hoping a few layers of wool might hide the results of my recent and soon-to-be overindulgences.

My ever-increasing jean size is for a good cause, though. Really. I'm just trying to show my support for local farmers--lending some encouragement, helping ensure the local food scene thrives.

It's a tough job.

Our most recent outing involved an amazing organization, seven brilliant chefs, a dozen local food producers, and a stunning farm—all combining talents to showcase the deliciousness of Upstate South Carolina.

Saturday evening, Peter and I attended the second annual Hub City Farmers' Market Farm Dinner at Live Oak Farms. Live Oak Farms is one of my favorite local farms. Operated by Allison and Chuck Schaum, 80-acre Live Oak Farms not only epitomizes sustainability through the Schaum's commitment to raising heritage breed animals, it also showcases one of South Carolina's most extensive solar panel systems. 

But Allison and Chuck are not only farmers--they also work tirelessly to educate the community about the benefits of organic, local food. The Schaums provide an outlet for organic farmers to sell their goods to customers through Live Oak Farms' onsite store. Additionally, they lend their expertise to various organizations, such as Hub City Farmers' Market and Carolina Farm Stewardship Association, serving on boards, championing food policies, and aiding local farmers in achieving their sustainability goals.

Allison serves on the Board of Hub City Farmers' Market. Hub City Farmers' Market is a not-for-profit organization that works to increase the demand and availability of healthy foods in Spartanburg County. All proceeds from the dinner benefit the markets' numerous programs, such as community outreach that includes school gardens, a Mobile Market that brings healthy food into communities, and educational events to inspire healthy eating throughout Spartanburg County.

Full disclosure: Hub City Farmers' Market is close to my heart. It's where I hang out on Saturday mornings and sell my heirloom plants in the spring. Executive Director Ana Parra is an amazing advocate for farmers and a dedicated leader who has made local, healthy food a reality for Spartanburg County.

And, as is typical for both Ana and Allison—they were in high performance mode Saturday evening, ensuring every detail was perfect—from the entertainment to the decorations to the stellar service. Ana, Allison, and their volunteers and staff not only planned, prepped, and pampered guests—but they also served meals. Truly, I am in awe of their energy. (And their ability to avoid spilling food on diners!)

As is typical for us, Peter and I were late. Some day, in the far off future when the kids are on their own, we may actually arrive at events on time. Maybe.

Probably not.

We were greeted at the “barn” with glasses of sparkling wine: Conde de Caralt Brut Cava. The barn is actually a gorgeous event facility—somehow, I don't believe that horses get to live in that much luxury. The chefs were busily preparing the food, talking and joking while ensuring every plate was perfection.

Of course, because I was starving—I forgot to photograph the hors d'oeuvres. C'est horrible! Let me assure you—they were gorgeous. And delicious.

Hors D'oeuvres

Molasses Cured Turkey Tenderloin with a Black Pepper Rub on a Sesame Cracker

Guinea Hen Galantine with a Muscadine Jelly Glaze on a Saltine

Spoon of Savory Gelee with Duck Confit and Smoked Turkey Offal

Spiced Turkey Salad Profiterole

Chefs:

Patrick Wagner, Culinary Institute ofthe Carolinas

Tim Page, Daniel Morgan Technology Center

Farms Featured:

Bethel Trail Farms, Gray Court

Wooden Shoe Farms, Woodruff

Live Oak Farms, Woodruff

Sweet Potato Bread, Sage Bread

Fortunately, once I assuaged a bit of hunger, I remembered to photograph the rest of the meal. (Sadly, there is always one course that I inhale before I remember to shoot it. I have no willpower.)

First Course

   Chateau de Nages Rosé

Bourbon Glazed Turkey Ballotine, Wild Rice Sausage

Turkey Brawns, Cranberries and Pecans

Chefs:

Patrick Wagner and Tim Page

Farms Featured:

Bethel Trail Farms, Gray Court

PeCANS, peCAUHNS, PEcans...it was much fun to confuse my Swiss hubby with the various pronunciations for the nut that garnished the Turkey Brawns. I choose the second—being a northern girl, but truly—I think it's fair game. (How do YOU pronounce “pecans”?)

Until the past year, I've been a snob about rosé wines. But lately, Peter and I have been drinking a happy little sparkling rosé, which convinced me that rosés do not just come out of a $7.99 cardboard box at fraternity parties. And then—Saturday's Chateau de Nages Rosé was a revelation. A really good, lovely, fruity, not-too-sweet rosé. A grown-up rosé.

I'm completely converted.

(Dear Santa, I've been a good girl this year. Please bring me a pretty bottle of Chateau de Nages Rosé. I'm sure that if the elves can't help you, Brendan Buttimer, our MC of wines from Total Wine in Greenville, can sneak one in your sack for me. Thank you.)

 

Second Course

  Chateau de Nages Nimes Blanc VV

Mulled Cider-Braised Pork Belly with Pumpkin Pecan Couscous, 

Roasted Beets and Apple Butter Puree, Micro Greens

Chef: Stephanie Tornatore, City Range Spartanburg

Featured Farms:

Brick House Farms, Gaffney

Hughey Farms, Boiling Springs

Parson Produce, Clinton

Granjammers, Greer

Easler Farms, Spartanburg

For most of my life, I did not eat pumpkin. In fact, I thought it was on my most disliked foods list. And then, a miracle—a year ago, at our monthly book club (which is as much about the delicious food shared with friends as it is about book discussions), a friend made a scrumptious pumpkin dip. And I fell in love. How did I live for such a long time without eating pumpkin?

The adorably presented couscous was the quintessential taste of autumn. Earthy, spiced perfectly to taste of soon-to-come Thanksgiving dishes, it was one of my favorite treats of the evening. Pair it with pork—how can you go wrong? Sheer deliciousness. Dear Chef Tornatore, could you please come to Thanksgiving dinner—oh, and if you'd like to bring the couscous along, I'm sure we could find a place for it!

Third Course

Val do Sosego Albarino

Roasted Golden Beet Salad

Baby Rocket and Micro Lettuce, SC Pecan Crisp, Goat Cheese Mousse

Mission Fig and Blood Orange Extra Virgin Olive Oil-Balsamic Reduction

Smoked Bacon and Lentil Ragout

Chef: Tray Mathis, Converse Deli and Tee 19 Bar and Bistro

Featured Farms: 

Parson Produce, Clinton

Easler Farms, Spartanburg

Split Creek Farms, Anderson

Chef Mathis' ragout—rich, smoky, earthy—is the ideal chilly weather comfort food. I truly could eat it as an entire meal. The problem is—Peter and I should have fasted prior to the dinner. With hors d'oeuvres, five courses, scrumptious homemade bread, and much, much wine, at some point—there's just no more room. Honestly, if I could make one recommendation to improve the event, it would be this: guests must dress in pajamas. Equipped with stretchy PJ bottoms, I may have been able to fully indulge in every bit of each course. Instead, by the third course, I tried to remember the philosophy of French Women Don't Get Fat: savor the flavor, enjoy bites, but don't gorge.

Too late. Sadly, I gorged.

And it was heavenly.

But painful.

Dissecting the flavors of the salad, I was amazed at the chef's creation. As someone who fought domesticity for a very long time, I've finally learned to enjoy cooking. Sometimes, I even get wild and—gasp!--don't follow a recipe. Still, how does a chef decide to pair mission fig and blood orange, olive oil and balsamic vinegar to make a delicious reduction? Looking at those ingredients separately would never inspire me to create the beautiful sauce Chef Mathis served.

Perhaps this is why I am not a chef.

(I am very grateful for chefs.)

I'm also in awe of Chef Mathis and his amazing energy. We were excited when he opened his Westside restaurant and are frequent visitors to Tee 19. In fact, we spent many meals there during the summer when our kitchen was under construction.

Thank goodness for Tee 19!

I can't wait to see what project Chef Mathis will pursue next.

Fourth Course

  Sonoma Cuvee Pinot Noir

Duet of Pan-Seared Venison and Turkey

Sweet Potato Gnocchi, Swiss Chard, Wild Rice, Pecans, Apples

(And a mystery sausage...)

Chef: James McCallister, Milliken Guest House

Gerhard Grommer, Gerhard's Cafe

Featured Farms

Bethel Trail Farms, Gray Court

John Smith Hill Farm, Clinton

Easler Farm, Spartanburg

Granjammers, Greer

Live Oak Farms, Woodruff

I don't like sweet potatoes. I know, I know...how can I possibly call myself a locavore if I don't eat sweet potatoes? I've tried them every way imaginable. Baked, roasted, fried.

Obviously, I've never tried sweet potato gnocchi.

Oh. My.

I like sweet potatoes! I do! I like them, Sam-I-am!

Really, I could eat sweet potato gnocchi at every meal.

But wait--let's not forget the luscious turkey and (don't think about Bambi, don't think about Bambi...) venison.

I mean, honestly—is it even fair to serve so much delicious food on one plate? As a fourth course?

No, I'm sorry—it's not.

I think I should have been fasting for a week, and then perhaps I could have savored every bite of this beautiful melody of flavors.

Each bite was extraordinary.

I can only wish that our Thanksgiving turkey tastes even a tenth as delicious as what we ate Saturday night.

At this point, the size of my stomach seriously rivaled my dinner companion's, who was seated to my right.

Her baby is due at Christmas.

Fifth Course

 

R.J. Rockers Star Spangled Stout

Spiced Pumpkin Napoleon, Pear Sauce

Chef: Anastasia Kaminski, R.D. AndersonTechnology Center

Featured Farms:

Hughey Farms, Boiling Springs

Poppy's Patch, Boiling Springs

Live Oak Farms, Woodruff

I am in love.

Honestly, look at it.

Look at the maple leaf, for crying out loud!

Look at the layers!

Look at the lovely, swirled chocolate and perfectly drizzled sauce!

Dear Chef Kaminski, please come live with us. I can't pay you, but I can give you fresh eggs from our hens and veggies from our garden. Does it sound like a good deal? You don't have to cook for the kids, because they don't eat anything, anyway.

You can just make this beautiful dessert every day. OK?

Please?

I have to admit—I passed on the stout. One sip was the perfect pairing with the dessert, but there just wasn't any more room for a big glass of stout.

And we all know I'm not going to sacrifice dessert for stout.

Next year, someone please remind me:

No eating for a week prior to the Hub City Farmers' Market dinner.

Or else, I'm going to embarrass myself and bring doggy bags next year.

Cheers to Hub City Farmers' Market, Live Oak Farms, all of the chefs and producers—thank you for a lovely, delicious evening! Can't wait until next year!

XO ~

Julie

The Olive Branch.

Certain images conjure my inner romantic—fields of sunflowers, rows of grapes, olive trees dripping with fruit. A Tuscan villa, complete with orchards, where we wander rows filling baskets with deliciousness. 

The reality is—I'm not going to be a large commercial flower farmer, vineyard owner, nor olive oil manufacturer. Still, we all know how I like to push boundaries, and in a fit of romantic longing, I ordered an olive tree.

There is, of course, a backstory.

Like all of us gardener folks, I can't resist a too-good-to-be-true offer. 

For plants, that is. 

Typically, I'm not a coupon clipper. More power to those people who head out with their binders organized to find the best deals on twenty toothbrushes, but it will never be me. In fact, as I watched the woman in front of me spend $30 for $200 worth of products, I was in awe...until she argued rudely with the (amazingly sweet and patient) Publix cashier for twenty-five freaking cents. Apparently, the woman had spent FOUR HOURS in Publix, took a break for dinner with her husband, and came back to finish her shopping.

Did I mention that I stood in line behind her for 25 minutes, until I finally took everything off the checkout counter and moved to another line? However, I didn't move quick enough before she thrust her business card in my hand, along with a photocopied biblical passage, promising me she could teach me the fine art of saving money.

Huh.

Anyway...I digress. I may not be good about saving money at the grocery store, much to Peter's chagrin, but if there's money to be saved on a plant I covet, I'm all about a deal.

Last spring, I scoured the web for a reasonably priced, decent size olive tree and was deciding between a couple sites when fate entered our mailbox.

“Try us now!” screamed the coupon. “$25 to spend on anything in this catalog. If it's less than $25, it's free!”

Well, now! That's my kind of coupon!

And there, tucked in the back pages, was my olive tree. It was kismet.

I never ordered from this company before, so I figured this would be a good trial. (The company's name begins with a “G” and ends in an “-urneys.” Please keep that in mind.)

I attempted to order the olive tree online, but interestingly—the site wouldn't accept the coupon code. I called customer service, placed my order, gave the gentleman the coupon code. The olive tree was $14.99, plus shipping, and I was still well under my $25 coupon. He was perplexed.

“I need a credit card,” he said.

“No, you really don't,” I reminded him.

“But you're paying nothing,” he said.

“Yes, that's what your coupon promised. My order, including shipping, is less that $25.” I felt like the Publix coupon goddess.

After several rounds of coupon shenanigans, including his need to talk to a supervisor, my order was confirmed.

Yea! My olive tree was on the way! Maybe it's a direct descendent from Athena's olive tree planted at the site of the Acropolis!

And then this arrived:

Now, I realize that it was free. But really, if a company wants to attract new customers by using a promotional offer, wouldn't you think they might want to send out something that is, oh, bigger than a pruning of an olive twig?

Here are a few shots, just for perspective:

No, that isn't the actual, full-sized R2D2. It's Mikey's Lego.

At first, I must say...I was ready to relegate the twig to the compost pile. But then, some latent hormonal nurturing urge took over. After all, it wasn't the twig's fault I was disappointed. Maybe I could give it the TLC it needed to grow lush and produce olives—well, if not in my lifetime, then for our grandchildren. I seriously doubt Peter and I will be feeding each other olives off of this tree.

So, the challenge is set.

And, six months later, my little Charlie Brown olive tree is trying its best to grow into a real tree. 

I think it even needs a new pot.

Although I won't soon be using our own olives to make this recipe, it is pretty tasty, and with the holidays approaching, we can all use good, tasty, easy recipes, right? I suppose I'll go stand in line behind the coupon goddess to buy our olives at Publix.

Enjoy!

XO ~

Julie

Olive Tapenade with Feta (adapted from epicurious.com)

• 1 1/4 cups pitted manzanilla olives (or other green Spanish olives)
• 1 tablespoon drained capers
• 1 large garlic clove, minced
• 1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
• 1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
• 1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley
• ¼ cup feta cheese
• Toasted baguette slices

Preparation

Combine olives, capers and garlic in food processor until well chopped. Gradually add lemon juice and oil and process until blended. Transfer tapenade to bowl. Stir in parsley and feta. Season to taste with pepper.
Serve tapenade with toasted baguette slices.

Thanksgiving Tomatoes.

It's curious. Why are salad greens and tomatoes irrevocably paired? In most zones, these garden staples don't grow during the same season—unless aided by a greenhouse. Who decided that diced tomatoes belonged on iceberg lettuce? (And does anyone still eat iceberg lettuce, which was the only green veggie that crossed my childhood lips?)

Obviously, the pairing of tomatoes and lettuce didn't originate with our local, sustainable farmers.

Still, I've always considered it a challenge to see if I could push the limits and actually prepare a homegrown salad with our own heirloom tomatoes and lettuce.

Last weekend, with an impending frost, I grabbed a large bowl, headed to the gardens, and harvested all of the decent looking tomatoes, peppers, and herbs before they succumbed to the weather. Peppers were sliced and frozen for winter fajitas, basil turned into pesto for a little taste of summer mid-winter, and the few ripe tomatoes were either eaten immediately or popped into freezer bags to use with pasta.

But the pile of unripe, green tomatoes towered on the counter.

I'm not a fan of unripe tomatoes. I know there are many pickling tips and recipes that employ green tomatoes as the star, but honestly—it's just not my thing. (Unless, of course, it's supposed to be a green tomato when it's all grown up, like Aunt Ruby's German Green or Green Apple. That's a different story.)

So, it was time for a little science experiment.

I've read various methods for ripening green tomatoes—put them in a box, hang the whole plant upside down in the garage. Instead, I opted for the easiest method that seemed most logical. Plus, all that I needed for said experiment was a paper bag. And a banana.

Now, that's my kind of experiment!

First, remove any leaves, stems, or dirt from the tomatoes. You don't want anything that can cause bruising. Only use fruit that is bug-free, at least three-fourths of its full size, and glossy green (or just beginning to ripen) for best results.

Place the tomatoes in the paper bag...

...add a ripening banana (please excuse this nasty banana. It's been in the bag and needs a replacement)...

...keep out of direct light, and voila! 

Within two weeks at 65-70 degrees, your fruit should ripen. (This tomato was completely green when I put it in the bag. The shoulders will remain green, because of its variety—Ananas Noir. It's an heirloom known for it's purple coloration with green shoulders.)

The banana helps speed the ripening process, as it releases ethylene. All fruits release ethylene, so you could also add a semi-ripe tomato into the bag with the green tomatoes, but bananas produce the most ethylene and quicken the process.

Isn't it amazing when something actually works?

Sadly, I won't be slicing tomatoes to serve on our homegrown lettuce. Somehow, I'm way behind schedule planting our fall garden, and our little lettuce plants are lingering in the driveway, begging to be transplanted into their home.

But first I have to clean up all of the blackish, frost murdered plants from the potager. And transplant strawberries. And get the beds ready for mulch.

Sigh.

Maybe I'll start a few tomato plants for the greenhouse, and when the lettuce is ready in the spring, we might have a real, homegrown salad. With tomatoes off the vine.

A girl can dream...

So, quick! Go rescue your green tomatoes before the frost hits.

And perhaps, if you're better organized than I am, you can have a homegrown salad with Thanksgiving dinner.

Enjoy!

XOXO ~

Julie

Psst! Have You Seen My Chicken?

Ten years ago, if someone told me I would one day own chickens, I would have questioned that person's sanity.

Five years ago, if a friend called me “earthy,” I would have been seriously offended.

Six months ago, if I knew how much pleasure chickens could bring a family, we would have gotten them sooner.

One month ago, if I knew how many egg cartons would be lining the shelves of the refrigerator, I would have begun stockpiling egg recipes.

One week ago, if I had known how loud a hen could be when she is laying an egg, I could have avoided a potential heart-attacking inducing sprint to the coop to rescue the girl from a predator (I thought.)

Yesterday, if I had known I would spend two panicked hours searching the forest and neighbors' yards for a missing hen, I would have stayed in bed.

Who knows what adventures life will provide?

And who knew that adding chickens to our menagerie would be such a rush (in mostly a good way)?

Our chicken adventure began clandestinely. We live in a subdivision. With a homeowners' association, albeit a fairly lax one. 

 

Our property is just under an acre, includes an extensive forest and backs up to a river. Our HOA doesn't have rules against chickens—it just doesn't mention chickens. Still, we feared that by asking permission, there might soon be rules incorporated into the bylaws. Plus, we have no intention of adding a rooster to the flock, processing chickens (the horror—they have names!), nor allowing them unlimited free ranging throughout the neighborhood. They free range, but within a fenced-in area on our property.

(Well, at least, most of the time. Naughty Roxanne.)

Honestly, these girls are pets. Pets with benefits. Pets who make breakfast. Pets who teach.

Kiki, our chicken mama, is learning amazing lessons. From the research she did to decide which breeds would be best for egg production to the first home she created for them—with rules decorating their box (“No pecking each other! No pooping outside the box! Bedtime is 8 p.m.”), she is an incredibly responsible chicken owner. As with any new pet, it's natural to worry that the excitement will wear off, and Mom and Dad will be relegated to chicken detail. After two dogs, two cats, two guinea pigs, a multitude of fish, a snake hidden in her tree house, as well as injured wild animals she helped nurse back to health, I didn't think we had much to fear about her losing interest. Still, at 6:15 a.m., I always feel a little sorry for Kiki, especially now that it's still dark outside when she wakes up.

Me: “Time to feed the chickens!”

Kiki: “Mmmpph...”

Honestly, I wouldn't have been a good chicken mama when I was Kristen's age. Then again, I was never chicken-obsessed like our girlie is. I often wonder what her teachers think about her chicken-brain...because she constantly thinks and talks about chickens. Her new endeavor? A chicken-based science fair project.

Oh my.

We've had a few scary moments. On the first day of school, Kiki ran to the backyard—only to have Clue, one of the Americauna hens, fly over the fence to see her chicken-mama. The problem is—our backyard is divided into “dog/kid-side” and “pool/chicken” side. We have a privacy fence surrounding the entire backyard and an iron fence that surrounds the pool within the back yard. (Crazy, I know...)

As horrific as it was for Clue to become a dog toy for a moment, we were so thankful Kristen was there—because she saved Clue. After losing many feathers and having to spend some time in a hastily erected “chicken hospital” downstairs so that she could heal, Clue is fine.

Kristen and I were traumatized, however.

By the way, do you have any idea how smelly a chicken kept in a dog kennel in a basement can be?

You don't want to experience it. I promise.

Then yesterday, when I couldn't find Roxanne...I felt ill. I know Kristen, and I knew how she would react. These girls are her babies. She's raised them from tiny fluff balls...

...through their awkward teenager phase...

...to lovely laying hens.

A missing hen would be traumatic.

Luckily, I didn't see feathers on the ground—neither in the forest (which might have indicated a hawk attack) nor in our dogs' area. The race was on to find Roxanne before Kristen got off the school bus.

For two hours, I searched the forest. The river. Looked up in trees, searched neighbors' yards. I walked up and down the forest, opened the greenhouses (because, you know, I'm sure the chicken could just open the door and lock herself in), drove through the neighborhood, calling “Roxanne! Here, chickie chickie!”

I walked down our street, shaking a bag of scratch.

Nothing.

So, I did what any mom would do: I e-mailed Michael's piano teacher, explaining that we needed to cancel his lesson because we were searching for a missing chicken.

I wonder if she's ever heard that excuse before?

Time was running out—Mikey's bus arrives 30 minutes before Kristen gets home. I grabbed his hand, told him we weren't going to piano (“YEEES!”), and took him into the forest with me to continue our search.

“I hear flapping!” Oops, sorry Mikey, that was me, shaking the feed bag.

Up and down the forest, through the neighbor's yards, and then we tried the novel idea of being still and quiet.

And then:

“BAWCK, bawck, bawck, bawck...”

Did you know how incredibly loud and distressed a chicken can become when she wants to lay an egg?

Mikey and I took off to our front yard, and there, in the woods between our yard and the neighbor's, paced Roxanne.

I was unbelievably happy to see that naughty girl.

Fortunately, our hens are extremely tame and used to cuddles and hugs. Mikey scooped her up, I gave her a handful of scratch, and he carried her back to her sisters.

With 10 minutes to spare before chicken-mama came home.

Then I collapsed.

Several things became clear to me yesterday. First, it's impossible to keep secret chickens in your backyard. I'm pretty sure our neighbors have heard our girls before, but this was the first time I was really worried about inconveniencing them. I mean, truly—what if they found a chicken in their pool or in their dog's mouth? Not a pleasant thought.

While we want to have our chickens free ranging in the area behind the pool—and we have installed a maze of string above the area to keep them contained—we obviously need to find a different solution. This isn't the first time a hen escaped, but they typically stay along the exterior of the fence, desperate to get back to their flock. Roxanne, apparently, is more adventurous.

But my clearest realization yesterday was this: I am not a farmer. I think I want a farm, but the reality of farming is far different that my idealized view. Our chickens are pets. They have names. And I was literally ill, thinking about how I would tell Kristen that one of her girls was gone.

My dad's family were real farmers. Real farmers, struggling to feed a family post-depression. My dad used to tell me that he would cheer when a chicken got loose and killed by a car, because then they could have fried chicken for dinner.

Have I mentioned that we've been unable to eat roasted chicken—or any chicken with bones—since we acquired the girls?

I'm a farmer impostor.

Still, the benefits of our girls outweigh the stress of yesterday. The first time Kristen found eggs in the nesting box was like Christmas and her birthday wrapped into one. She came running up the stairs, yelling for me, trembling. I thought something terrible happened to the girls.

But no. The first two eggs! Such a proud chicken mama!

Kristen shared her first eggs with Peter...

...cracked and cooked into scrambled eggs all by herself. She was a very proud girl. (And I was a very proud mom.)

Today, our girls are feasting on pumpkins. I'm hoping the post-Halloween treats make them all stay close to home. I'm incredibly paranoid about escaping chickens. I don't think my heart can handle the trauma.

The girls are all laying now, with the exception of Risa. Kristen is organizing her egg business, lining up customers, with the hope of raising money for a horse. With six chickens, I'm happy to report that it will take her a very long time to raise money for a horse.

Because, somehow, I don't think we can keep a secret horse in the backyard.

XOXO ~

Julie, the chicken-chaser