My mother can get Princess to do just about anything. Like polish the silver. You know, a cleaning task. Because she thinks she really is a Princess and she’s waiting for her servants or fairies or something to appear and do everything for her. I started telling her she was a princess when she was a baby, and when she went to kindergarten, she introduced herself to her teacher and informed her that she was a princess. Perhaps I convinced her too well…. Or maybe it also has something to do with the fact that she is the only granddaughter, which is a catch-all justification for why she often gets this, that, and the other that the boys don’t get because, after all, they are boys and they wouldn’t want it (whatever it is) but she’s a girl. My mother even had a porcelain doll handmade in her likeness and dressed in one of her baby dresses. Not that she’s spoiled and deified or anything…. Okay, she is!
My parents visited recently for a couple of weeks and, as always, Princess insisted that her grandmommy sleep with her in her room. They’re tight, those two. Grandmommy is her favorite person, and my mother is a very good grandmother. She even remembers to pay attention to the boys sometimes. (Just kidding. She loves them, too. And they love her. Did I mention she’s a good grandmother?)
But she has a special relationship with the Princess.
My mother was the keeper of Grandmother Bread in her generation. My father’s mother taught it to her as a young bride brought to West Virginia by my father. My grandmother had two daughters, but neither of them grew up to be bakers. My mother, a daughter-in-law, carried the bread down to the next generation.
I’ve made Grandmother Bread with Princess before, but I wanted her to make it with my mother so that she would remember making this special family recipe with her grandmother.
She looks very serious about it, doesn’t she? She’s the new Keeper of the Bread. It’s an important job.
They measured.
And they kneaded.
And Princess proudly carried her fresh, warm loaf to the car on the way to a family lunch.
As a side note, my father has never made bread in his life, and if my grandmother hadn’t lucked into my mother as her daughter-in-law, this recipe would have been lost in our family. I hope Princess will carry it on to the next generation, but just in case, I’ll teach it to my daughters-in-law, too. You never know who will carry it on. And, no, my boys just aren’t interested. My father, by the way, kept calling it “light bread” while he was here this time. I’ve never heard him call it light bread before. My mother always just called it bread, and that is what my grandmother before her and before her and so on called it. It was just the bread. I did a little research, though, and figured out that “light bread” is an old-fashioned term for any white loaf bread, so it isn’t out of the realm of possibility that it’s a throwback term my father heard when he was a child. He’s 82 now.
My mother had a birthday while they were here (she’s only 29, by the way), and I took her and Princess to lunch at my favorite restaurant in Charleston. (Soho’s at the Capitol Market.) Princess always has to run into one of the shops inside the market and buy a giant lollipop. Because, you know, she needs a giant lollipop.
Then I took them to a spa where I had them scheduled to have massages together. No, I didn’t get one, too. I was the facilitator.
Princess backed out at the last minute. How anyone can pass up a massage, I don’t know. But she’s twelve, so I guess she doesn’t get it yet…… She ended up changing her appointment to a pedicure. (Sorry for the blurry picture! I was sneaking! Look at her pointing at me….! Which is why I was sneaking.)
Her happy feet!
My parents are back in Texas. School’s back in session. Football games are on the calendar for 15, and 17 is in his last year of high school. (How did that happen?!) And I’m already thinking about ice on the driveway………… Where did summer go?
Posted by Suzanne McMinn @ 1:05 am |
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Every day, I let the chickens out into their yard and I look for eggs. It’s been four months since hatch day. They could start laying any time now. And I am so ready!
But they are not.
So far, the only nest in the chicken house that’s held eggs is this bird’s nest from spring that I saved for some future decorating purpose or science museum or something….. I don’t really know what I’m going to do with it, but it was too cool to throw away.
It’s been raining a lot lately and muddy. I’ve got this straw laid down in a path out to the chicken house so I’m not slip-sliding around in the muck.
Top soil was scraped off the yard when the house site was being prepared and nothing’s growing here. Now that we have a tractor, this fall we can do some work to the ground and get some grass seed in.
If Coco’s not in the goat yard, she loves to get the chickens up with me in the morning.
She is always so excited.
Coco: “CHICKENS! I didn’t know we had chickens! I LOVE CHICKENS! Do you want to play? Huh? Huh?”
Every day. Like the day before never happened and it’s new all over again.
I want to wake up every day as exuberant as Coco.
The chickens aren’t nearly as excited about it. Coco’s method of greeting can scatter them pretty quickly.
Not that they’ve been in a good mood lately anyway.
Spartacus: “What’s with these goats? How come they get all the attention?”
Clover: “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”
Dookie: “I totally understand. It’s over for you. The woman has goats now. It’s doom, all doom. Nobody loves you. You might as well eat worms. Just be glad you don’t have to compete with a giant puppy like I do.”
Coco: “I don’t understand. I love you, Dookie.”
Awww…. It’s okay, Coco.
“Clover gives me milk,” I remind the chickens. “What have you done for me lately? Where are my eggs?”
They don’t pay me much attention. They’re too busy showing me their fluffy butts while they’re eating all that feed and not giving me anything back for it.
The ducks are doing well, by the way.
They are the first ones in the chicken house every night and the last ones out in the morning. I think they like to avoid the rush. They have some trouble using the ramp. They tend to kind of fall out rather than walk out.
Their pond is ready, but their duck house is not, and so they have to stick it out in the chicken yard a while longer.
It’s hard to be a duck in a chicken’s world. The chickens established their supremacy upon the ducks’ arrival and the ducks are firmly at the bottom of the pecking order. The pair of them stick like glue to each other. They eat when the chickens are finished, and generally just try to stay out of the chickens’ way the rest of the time.
If the chickens start laying soon, I’m going to have at least one sit on a nest to increase my little flock. If they don’t start laying soon, I’ll wait till spring. I don’t want chicks when it’s too cold.
I told Princess the other day that I didn’t intend to let my one little banty hen sit because I didn’t want any more banties. I have one banty hen, one banty rooster, three standard size roosters, and six standard size hens. You can see how much smaller a banty hen is than a standard size hen.
Butt comparison.
And banty eggs are tiny. Here’s a banty egg and a standard size chicken egg from back when I had eggs in the incubator. You’d have to use two or three banty eggs to make one standard size egg if using in a recipe. Since I have chickens for eggs, I was thinking I wouldn’t increase the banty population.
Princess was aghast at the notion of not having more banties, though. She considers the two banties to be her chickens. She wants more banties. And she does help me take care of the chickens, so I relented. More banties here we come.
But first somebody’s gotta break down and lay an egg.
Maybe if I make some pretty pictures of them they’ll be inspired and compete with each other. Who wants to be the first hen to get all the attention and honor and special effects?
Like this. Spotlighted.
Or this. Etched in stone.
Or even this. Drawn in colored pencils.
Or- Oops.
“I AM NOT A HEN. I AM JUST LITTLE.”
“Prepare to die.”
Today’s You Can’t Miss This in the forum: secret recipes, herb gardening, and the funniest thing to ever happen in a chicken pen!
Posted by Suzanne McMinn @ 1:05 am |
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