Life Snippets Daily snippets of life in our homesteading madness. Welcome to the party, rockstars.
I promised you, like 100 years ago or something, when we moved to our farm that I’d show you the easiest nesting boxes ever that we set up for our chickens. As with all things in this lifestyle, knowledge is achieved through many mistakes – and Lord knows, we’ve made ’em. Even with regard to
Wash Eggs Like A Boss, Baby. Winter time is not a clean time on the farm. Just yesterday, as I was out throwing kitchen scraps to the pigs, I nearly face planted into the muck after my rubber boots got stuck in the deep sludge. There were slurping noises. And waving arms. And perhaps a
I often receive emails from readers wondering where to begin their homesteading journey. And much to their disapproval, I’m sure, I always respond with the same, vague answer (which I’m sure offers them no help but I say it anyway): DREAM. I can’t overemphasis the importance of dreaming for the homesteader. Because, after all, who
It’s funny, but here on the farm, meat doesn’t come in packages. “Whole, skinless, boneless, chicken breasts”. Nope. And as convenient as that would be at times, it just ain’t the way the good Lord designed in. Chickens come with: 2 wings 2 legs and 2 thighs 2 breasts 2 “oysters” 2 feet 1 neck
Remember that beautiful chicken run that we built a few weeks ago? It’s still lovely. The honeysuckle is growing. The chickens are sun bathing. The gardens aren’t being eaten. But. But there are three…four…or five gangsters that refuse to play by the rules. They come out. I throw them back in. They come out again.
I may be no pro, but I’m at least somewhat an old(er…ish) hat at raising meat chickens this go round. This past weekend, we welcomed our fourth batch of meat birds to the homestead. Because Mama’s gotta have her chicken, man. I won’t say that I particularly love raising meat chickens. Fine. I’ll say it. Meat
I hate free range chickens. There. I said it. Let the stoning begin. But first, perhaps I should clarify. Let’s just say that I lived out in the middle of a seventy three acre pasture. In said pasture, there was nothing but native grasses, and perhaps one bovine. I lived in a hut with no
I’ll pretend like I didn’t spend the better part of two hours writing out a deliciously goal-filled post before my WordPress crashed and took with it every last word. I’ll also pretend like I didn’t cry out to the heavens in a form of protest after said crash happened. After all, there is far bigger
WARNING: PHOTOS OF BUTCHERING CHICKENS FOLLOW. KNIVES. BLOOD. DEATH. PROCEED WITH DISCRETION. The first of many harvests took place this weekend, as it was time to send our beloved (or rather, tolerated) meat chickens to the freezer. It’s never a day I look forward to – taking the life of an animal brings me no