Straight up farming

I've been enmeshing the urban and rural in me with chickens and beetles as my witnesses.

Last week, during my daily chick box clean up, I noticed three poops on the carpet outside the box. I did my chick count, all seven were present inside the box. Neither Joseph nor Waldo had reported any chicken escapee stories. Could someone be flying outside the box, pooping, and flying back in? What a creep!

So, I did all my cleaning, and put my chickens back. After scrubbing chicken poop out of my white carpet, I surrounded the outer perimeter of the chicken box with a protective layer of pretty purple tissue paper I'd been hoarding. Always nice when your hoarding comes in handy. I finished and shut the guest room door.

An hour later I did a surprise investigation. I entered the room, closed the door behind me and went to my box to do a count. Six chicks. I counted three more times, still six. One was on the loose. I'm not afraid of my chickens but there was something creepy about the fact that one was in the room somewhere. Was she roosting on the hat rack? I scaled the ceiling with my eyes. No. Was she dead under this extra piece of cardboard? No. I got nervous.

Without thinking I proclaimed: "I don't deal with no bitches outside the box!" No response.


I looked in a couple more corners and repeated my mantra. I found her in a corner and put her back in her place. It was time for these girls (and guy) to get outside! We finished the coop that weekend, and they've been outside all week, doing great.

I had previously thought getting a rooster was bad for business. One night my cajun friend drunkenly corrected my misconception. A rooster, she told me "keeps those bitches in line" and also tells them to get laying! They also serve as a protector, warning the hens of any impending danger. And so, Steve the rooster was added onto my chicken order.


There was drama to be had in the garden as well. While weeding I found this stripey beetle sitting pretty on my eggplant like it was his job. I knew it was bad news. After taking a picture to show Mike, I flicked him off and prepared to stab him with my Hori Hori knife.

By the time I had my knife, he'd disappeared.

Sidenote: If you are gardening and you don't have a Hori Hori, you need to get one. This thing is my third hand.


When Mike got home I scurried to his house to show him my bug picture. I needed info stat.
Mike explained that it was a potato beetle and like aphids, needed to be squished with your fingers.

Aphids are tiny so squishing them isn't to upsetting. But big potato beetles!

A message had to be sent to the other beetles. After squishing, Mike explained, just grab a little dirt and rub that in your fingers to clean them. My face contorted and I started in with squealing/fake puking noises.

Mike scolded me. "With what you do for work , you can't squish some bugs?"

"All the organic gardeners, that's what you see them doing.  Just mash 'em up with your fingers." He had a point. If I could deal with blood in guts in the hospital, I should be able to kill some bugs.

But killing bugs with your bare fingers isn't just gross, I feel bad. They're pretty! And they just want to live!

So, when I find one, I have to muster up some anger at it, so that I can gather the gumption to kill it with my bare hands. "Oh no you didn't!" I'll yell. Or, "How dare you!" Then, before I can think further I squish 'em. "Tell your homies!" I yell at the corpse. And then I go on weeding.