Think of a baby kitten’s wide-eyed stare, puppies tumbling over each other in enthusiastic play, baby koala bears holding on to their mums, baby kids flopping their big ears around. Heck, even babies that grow up to be killers are lovable when they’re little—baby bear cubs, coyotes, foxes.

Not snakes though. A small size does not improve a snake’s lovability factor.

Baby chicks, I think, rank among the most adorable of the adorable baby animals. Adorablest? I know because I have six new baby chicks as of this morning—two buff laced Polish, two standard white crested blue and two Easter egg standard. (At least, that’s what I ordered.)

This adorable Easter egg standard's name is Meredith. Not only will Meredith go nicely with Myrtle, Maude, Madelein and Marilyn, but it is also Ben's girlfriend's name. Live long and prosper, Meredith!

This little cutie is one of the Easter egg standards and will grow up to lay blue/green eggs.

If everyone survives to adulthood, we will then have 12 hens and a big old rooster named T. Boone Chickens. That will double the number of hens T. Boone must service.

My husband keeps shaking his head and asking, “What are we going to do with a dozen eggs a day?”

Frankly, I don’t give a damn. I just like my chickens. The eggs dishes are a bonus—quiche, pound cake, omelets, souffle, frittatas, egg salad, deviled eggs, creme brulee, chocolate ice cream, cookie dough ice cream, chocolate chip cherry ice cream…

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That’s not exactly how it worked out. Oh, there is plenty of travel. But as you know, travel isn’t all that glamorous anymore.

Airports are among the most unhealthy places in the country, over-crowded by hurried and often distraught travelers, abysmal, heart-attack-inspiring food, mind-numbing delays and nowhere to sit. Big-city cabs are atrocities on wheels. They smell terrible and there is always a spring in the seat sticking up into my bum. More than once I have questioned my good judgment for getting into a car with one of these dangerous and dangerous-looking men.

A good hotel can be a small oasis of sanity, but it’s still a hotel. And you don’t get to pick your neighbors. How many amorous couples, giggling girls and drunken good-old-boys have I had to share a wall with? Yes, I am the kill-joy who knocks on the door at 2 a.m. and explains that she has to get up at 5:30 a.m. for work.

To travel, I must also leave the serenity and quiet of my country home. I have put the care of my little dogs and pet chickens and the watering of my fragile container plants in the hands of my husband and son. God only knows what devastation occurs while I’m gone and gets tidied up before I find out about it.

And while I’m enduring airline delays and munching on stale sandwiches with the other weary travelers, I always think about what I’m missing at home—tons of vegetables that should be picked, weeds plotting world domination, flowers blooming  and fading. There are also the peaceful surroundings and views, such as this serendipitous view through the garden gate. (Don’t these two mourning doves look like they were sent from central casting and told to look like lovebirds?)

Mourning doves prettily perch on the garden bench. They kindly waited while I snapped their photo.

Although the travel isn’t easy, I will admit though that the people are worth the effort. For example, among other recent travels, I headed to Chicago for the Garden Bloggers Spring Fling, where I had a fabulously good time rubbing elbows with some of the most interesting people I know–other garden bloggers.

“So where are all your fabulous photos from Spring Fling?” you ask.

Well, it seems that since I live in a rural area and don’t get to socialize all that much with other gardeners, I completely lost my head and forgot to take photos. Oh yes, I have a few photos from the Chicago Botanic Garden and a few other places, but not so many of my old and new gardening friends. So if you weren’t there yourself, head on over to the official Spring Fling website and see who was there.

Next year our Spring Fling will be in Buffalo, New York. Will someone please remind me to stop talking and take some photos?

Some of My Recent Examiner Posts:

Easy homemade pita bread

Using flowers to beautify the vegetable garden

Must-have plants: Baby Blue Eyes

Great ideas: Make an edible flower tower

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The other day we were sitting out on the back deck enjoying the warm sun and fresh air when he turned to me and said, “You know, your garden doesn’t look very good this year. Before there were lots more flowers and vegetables.”

To which I replied…

“What?!?!?! It’s only May! Not even Martha Stewart can make tomatoes produce in May.”

Wisteria blooms over the garden gate. By summer's end, the sweet autumn clematis will have reached up from the other side.

Still, he did have a point. I have been a bit slow to get things rolling here this spring. My attentions have been torn between work, house, cooking, animal husbandry, writing and a great deal of time exercising on the spinning bike, classes and my home yoga practice.

Thankfully, many flowers, herbs and fruits return on their own. I’ve added bedding plants from the nursery. But I still have a stock tank pond and some more vegetables and flowers to attend to.

The herb garden includes flowers--columbine for spring color and celosia once June arrives and to the end of the growing season.

Most of that will have to wait until after the Garden Bloggers Spring Fling that comes up next weekend in Chicago. I will work in new bed digging and some woods clearing between other business trips I have planned this summer.

Jubilee strawberries produce all summer long. A single bed is enough to keep us in strawberry shortcake and to eat for breakfast with Greek yogurt.

I am also making time to just sit still and appreciate what I’ve been given. I hope with all the busy-ness of gardening, you also have a beautiful place to sit and enjoy what you’ve created.

Wisteria also grows along the fence at the back of the garden. If you look closely, you can see a couple of asparagus stalks that have persisted even after tearing out the asparagus bed.

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Make sure that you take a look at the slide show to see his Palazzo di Pollo.

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(Please turn on your computer’s sound so you get the full sensory pleasure of our little beasts.)

(Guess who just got a Flip video camera?)

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What I can do is report on the animal front. You were worried about my chickens, right?

T. Boone Chickens has made an amazing recovery from the fateful attack that led to the loss of our beloved Johnny Cash.

But you know how some people are improved by the trials, tribulations and crises that life throws at them? They develop a sense of calmness, serenity and patience? Love for their fellow beings?

Well, if chickens are the same way, T. Boone isn’t one of them. Although he has survived and is thriving, his temperament was not improved by the near-death experience.

Now that Johnny Cash, the former top rooster, is gone, T. Boone has the opportunity to indulge in his full roosterness. Sadly, he is not a gentle lover. In fact, he’s downright mean to my poor little hens. When Johnny was their lover, he was at least gentle with his attentions. T. Boone is clumsy, rough and—how can I say this?—not a particularly good aim.

T. Boone's clumsy attentions to the hens have left them a bit ruffled--feather tufts here and there.

The hens have to tolerate him, of course, but they are very put out by his attentions. And although he does seem to stand guard over them when they are out of their run and walking about the garden, he does a ridiculous stomping tantrum if one of the hens dares to get to close to one of the little treats he finds in the yard. Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp with those big chicken feet, like a toddler who hasn’t gotten his way.

I do worry about the new hens who have arrived here at Bumblebee. How will they ever deal with this brute?

Four young girls—two Black Starters and two White Leghorns—arrived a couple of weeks ago. We are keeping them separated and allowing them some supervised and separated meet-and-greet time for now. In a few days we’ll allow them out of their runs together to get an even better up-close look.

Maude greets one of the four new hens.

(By the way, send me your egg-intensive recipes. We’re getting six eggs/day and there are only three of us. When Ben heads off to The Citadel in August, Harry and I will have to deal with half a dozen eggs/day by ourselves.)

With all this talk about chickens, I suppose you’re wondering if I’m still a gardener. Yes, indeed.

In fact, I was working on doing some planting this past weekend and what should I find? Well, look here…

A nest of baby bunnies in the garden--right next to the lettuce patch.

Yep, a nest of baby bunnies. And the mom bunny very cleverly located them right next to our lettuce patch. Just a short walk to the salad bar!

I have touched the nest and talked to the babies about having mom relocate them. But she seems happy with their current digs next to my lettuce. So be it.

Harry, of course, is devastated, what with lettuce being his favorite food and all.

And so it goes here at Bumblebee…

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Besides,I thought you would want to see this.

T. Boone, the critically injured chicken, is on the mend and being funny again. He still can’t make it onto the roost bar, so here is his new bed at night.

“You can’t see me! I have dis-ta-peered!”

By the way, if you’ve visited me before, perhaps you’ve noticed a few tweaks and changes. I have widened the copy area, which also allows for larger photos. For some of you, the font on the post may also have changed to something more readable. There are also some new badges for my Examiner columns and, gasp, an Amazon store on the right.

Can you let me know how this looks to you, particularly if you have been here before and have a basis for comparison? Are there any issues or problems on your screen?

Also, the issues I have had with my links page have been resolved, so I will be updating all my gardening and food blog links. I would like to include brief descriptions. If you are already listed–or would like to be–and would like to give me a few words to describe your blog, please use my contact form to send me your preferred description.

Thanks to all for visiting!

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Almost since our chickens arrived, we have been in the habit of letting them out of their Palazzo and fenced outdoor run to have a walkabout in the afternoons for a couple of hours.

T. Boone prior to the attack

Their habits are fairly predictable. Once the gate is opened allowing them the freedom of the yard, the hens immediately charge toward the compost bin closest to their Palazzo to see what goodies I have thoughtlessly thrown in there rather than giving to them. The two roosters follow. But having little patience for salad treats, the roosters soon grow tired of waiting for the hens to finish their first course and leave them to go to the bird feeders, where they hunt and peck at the seeds the birds drop.

Come rain, come shine, since last September that has been the routine. Only twice did we have alarms from predators. Once, I happened to see a fox in the Back Forty while the chickens were on their walkabout. Another time a large stray dog wandered down the driveway just after I had let them free.

Thankfully, the chickens are well-trained to come when I call and will follow me like I’m the Pied Piper. This visitor-pleasing trick was easily taught after I realized that my chickens are corn addicts. They will do anything or follow anyone they think has a can of corn. Apparently, when they see me, their first thought is “CORN!”

Last week while I was in Annapolis on errands, Ben freed the chickens as part of our regular routine. When I returned at sunset, though, it was clear that something very irregular had happened.

There was a large collection of white feathers in the middle of the front lawn—the kind of feather that could only belong to T. Boone Chickens.

T. Boone was always the odd chicken out in the pecking order.

Knowing something was wrong, I parked the car and yelled inside for Ben to come out. The chickens were not in the coop. The chickens didn’t come when I called.

We began circling the house and calling “Chickens! Chickens!”

In the back yard, there was another enormous collection of feathers—these blue-black, clearly belonging to Johnny Cash.

Soon after that, Maude, one of our little egg producers, came out of the woods looking frightened but otherwise unharmed. We guided her into the Palazzo and went off in search of the other chickens.

Ben found Myrtle in a state of panic. She had taken refuge high in a tulip tree at the edge of the Back Forty. Although she is a corn addict, she wouldn’t budge from her perch for even that tasty treat. We ended up gently nudging her down with a long stick, but then she couldn’t be enticed to leave the edge of the woods, which were on the opposite side of the house from the Palazzo. After several unsuccessful attempts at luring her and then trying to capture her, I ended up getting Maude, Myrtle’s best friend. I cradled Maude in my arms while she clucked and cooed. Myrtle followed us right to the Palazzo.

About that time Ben discovered a whole new area of white feathers at the end of the Back Forty. After some more calling, T. Boone came limping out of the woods. Clearly, he was injured. We guided him into the Palazzo where I found he had deep, bloody puncture wounds on both sides of his body, suggesting the culprit was either a hawk or an eagle—both of which routinely fly over the hay field in front of our house.

Judging from the massive feather patterns, I think that the predator started by attacking T. Boone in the front yard, picking him up and heading south toward the Back Forty. T. Boone is a huge rooster and, I expect, put up quite a fight. The predator probably dropped him, creating the second massive patch of feathers and allowing him to escape into the woods.

We never did find Johnny Cash. Since all the other chickens had scattered in different directions to find refuge in the woods, I kept hoping that JC would come storming out of the trees like one of those movie heroes, a little battered but defiant.

Sadly, that wasn’t to be. Although we called and searched for a couple of days, there was nothing left of Johnny Cash, the chicken in black, but a collection of black feathers.

Ironically, Johnny was carried away and on to chicken heaven on the singer’s birthday.

T. Boone Chickens was so critically wounded that I didn’t think he would make it through the night. He settled into the Palazzo and hunkered down, keeping his head low and refusing to walk, eat or drink. He, in fact, did make it through the night although the next day he was still immobile and seemed dazed.

Ben dug a hole for his grave and I discussed the possibility of putting T. Boone out of his misery with my husband. But since none of us have the stomach for performing the act, even in mercy, we settled for making T. Boone as comfortable as possible, watching and waiting.

T. Boone following the attack. He is still recovering.

Never underestimate the regenerative powers of a rooster. Although we had given up T. Boone for dead, he continues to rally and improve daily. He is still slumped and is limping badly. But he is eating and drinking. As perhaps an even more encouraging sign that he is on the mend, he has taken over the roosterly duties with the hens previously performed by Johnny Cash (if you get my drift). Perhaps in this new pecking order, T. Boone will not be the odd chicken out that he has always been.

T. Boone Chickens may never regain his full strength and, in fact, may become our resident handicapped, or differently-abled, chicken.

I haven’t yet allowed the chickens out for a walkabout. It will take some time and chicken sitting before I think I’ll ever be comfortable with that habit again. And though I had previously enjoyed the sight of the hawks circling above, their presence now takes on a whole new meaning for me. I believe the whole Circle of Life thing is vastly overrated.

Recently on Examiner:

Don’t be fooled by P. Allen Smith’s fake Twitter persona

Tips for successful buying and planting

Meeting Street gardens in Historic Charleston

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Thanks to everyone who commented here, by email and at my gardening column on Examiner.

The results are in. You can read them here.

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My feeling is that if it’s going to be unbearably cold, it might as well snow. So I was thrilled to finally have a snow day. Even at the age of *hummmm*, I can still enjoy an unscheduled snow day.

Not everyone here was happy though.

The chickens were quite put out and protested by spending the day indoors near their panel heaters. Once in a while one of the chickens would mosey up to their exit window to poke his or her head out before trying to get back in. Of course, chickens being chickens, all the other chickens had followed the leader up the ramp to also go and look out the window. All day long there were a series of collisions with one chicken trying desperately to get back into the the warm chicken coop and all the other chickens trying to see what was so interesting outside.

Snow always manages to stoke my cooking instincts as well. I get the urge to bake breads, make cakes and bake cookies. I used the threat of the possible loss of power to roast a chicken and make biscuits early in the day. Then I made more bread–just in case we needed sandwiches, you see.

Many of you who know me know that food is as much an important part of my life as gardening. In my mind they go hand-in-hand. The fresh vegetables, herbs and fruits are an important part of the table. And the garden serves as a beautiful backdrop for our family al fresco family meals in the summertime.

That’s one of the reasons I recently decided to take on writing as the Washington D.C. Fresh Foods Examiner in addition to my writing as the National Gardening Examiner.

In the coming months I’ll be writing not only about fresh food happenings and resources in the D.C. area, but also offering menus, recipes, tips and techniques for making meals as fresh and flavorful as possible.

Ciao!

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