Chicken Guts
My dogs are enjoying their first meal as sustainable farm dogs. I had 17 chickens processed today, and I asked for the guts, necks and feet to be packaged up for the dogs.
I swear, those chickens left weighing 3-10 pounds each and I got back about 200 pounds of guts. I was going to cook the mess up, but I thought about the feed-your-furbaby-raw movement and figured WTH, I'll just call it dog food dump and it in their bowls.
Ew.
Excuse me, that was Suburbanite Janet. She escaped for a minute. I choked her down and shoved her back in the little closet I keep her in. It's way in the back of my mind, but I think the smell of raw chicken guts seeped through the dust and neglect and she slid on out.
I am settling into my sixties. I don't care for it much. My husband died in January of this year, my Parkinson's disease has progressed enough that I had to give up driving, hiking, running and for the most part, eating. It makes me off balance, clumsy and irritable.
I can still ride. Muscle memory is a wonderful thing when it comes to Parkinson's. Once I'm in the saddle, I'm myself again. The balance comes back (mostly), I can let the horse become my legs, my strength and my courage.
Back to being sustainable. I'm not sure I can compete on the horses anymore. I can't draw. My writing is sporadic. When my husband died, I lost the only focus I'd had for seven very long years. I was at loose ends.
Being his caretaker 24/7 was the most difficult thing I've ever done. It aged me, made me extremely ill, and pretty much sucked the life out of me. I wouldn't trade the experience for the world. Well, okay, I'll be honest. There's quite a bit of it I'd not only trade, but give away for free, load, and deliver it, but not my time with him. Not a minute of it, and I'll let you in on a secret, a major stroke and dementia made him kind of a dick. Still, it was a life experience that has fallen by the wayside for most of us. Seeing him through to the end, in our home, just us, changed me to my very core.
Anyways, I need a break, I need to come back to earth, I need something to do. I found permaculture. Permaculture is the development of agricultural ecosystems intended to be sustainable and self-sufficient. It's about taking our environment, returning it to what it should be, and in return, being able to live off of the results.
This isn't new to me. I've been interested in the concept and studying on it for a number of years. Now, as I heal, I'm going to try to do the same for the land I live on. We bought a retirement home
almost three years ago. It's just under 10 acres of over-grazed, over-mowed prairie with lots of trees and bushes, an underground river and some wicked erosion issues.
My neighborhood is an aging, uptight, former la-de-da equestrian park, with fenced off, no trespassing, can't ride on 'em, horse trails, an abandoned golf course (complete with decaying clubhouse) and a nasty HOA. We bought it, because once my fencing was up, the horses, my dogs, and primarily Jim, were safe, locked in, and easily visible to me from anywhere on the property. It's incredibly peaceful, the views are absolutly astounding, and for the most part, I'm left alone.
I am working towards turning my pasture into a functioning, mini-prairie ecosystem, and reviving the ground and aquifer so it can grow me some grass the way it's meant to. I have a mini-orchard growing, an aqua-ponics system in the works for my solarium, two Nigerian dwarf does and a flock of Dorking chickens.
Add six dogs and four horses and this is a happening place.
This spring and summer is the first time I've been able to really focus and it's a little chaotic. I'm learning more about carpentry, mulch, fencing, dogs, goats and chickens than I ever thought I'd need to.
The dogs eating raw? Well, that's lesson 661 in my learning to be sustainable. The phrase "Waste not, want not," takes on a whole new meaning when you're looking into a bag of chicken guts.
I swear, those chickens left weighing 3-10 pounds each and I got back about 200 pounds of guts. I was going to cook the mess up, but I thought about the feed-your-furbaby-raw movement and figured WTH, I'll just call it dog food dump and it in their bowls.
Ew.
Excuse me, that was Suburbanite Janet. She escaped for a minute. I choked her down and shoved her back in the little closet I keep her in. It's way in the back of my mind, but I think the smell of raw chicken guts seeped through the dust and neglect and she slid on out.
I am settling into my sixties. I don't care for it much. My husband died in January of this year, my Parkinson's disease has progressed enough that I had to give up driving, hiking, running and for the most part, eating. It makes me off balance, clumsy and irritable.
I can still ride. Muscle memory is a wonderful thing when it comes to Parkinson's. Once I'm in the saddle, I'm myself again. The balance comes back (mostly), I can let the horse become my legs, my strength and my courage.
Back to being sustainable. I'm not sure I can compete on the horses anymore. I can't draw. My writing is sporadic. When my husband died, I lost the only focus I'd had for seven very long years. I was at loose ends.
Being his caretaker 24/7 was the most difficult thing I've ever done. It aged me, made me extremely ill, and pretty much sucked the life out of me. I wouldn't trade the experience for the world. Well, okay, I'll be honest. There's quite a bit of it I'd not only trade, but give away for free, load, and deliver it, but not my time with him. Not a minute of it, and I'll let you in on a secret, a major stroke and dementia made him kind of a dick. Still, it was a life experience that has fallen by the wayside for most of us. Seeing him through to the end, in our home, just us, changed me to my very core.
Anyways, I need a break, I need to come back to earth, I need something to do. I found permaculture. Permaculture is the development of agricultural ecosystems intended to be sustainable and self-sufficient. It's about taking our environment, returning it to what it should be, and in return, being able to live off of the results.
This isn't new to me. I've been interested in the concept and studying on it for a number of years. Now, as I heal, I'm going to try to do the same for the land I live on. We bought a retirement home
almost three years ago. It's just under 10 acres of over-grazed, over-mowed prairie with lots of trees and bushes, an underground river and some wicked erosion issues.
My neighborhood is an aging, uptight, former la-de-da equestrian park, with fenced off, no trespassing, can't ride on 'em, horse trails, an abandoned golf course (complete with decaying clubhouse) and a nasty HOA. We bought it, because once my fencing was up, the horses, my dogs, and primarily Jim, were safe, locked in, and easily visible to me from anywhere on the property. It's incredibly peaceful, the views are absolutly astounding, and for the most part, I'm left alone.
I am working towards turning my pasture into a functioning, mini-prairie ecosystem, and reviving the ground and aquifer so it can grow me some grass the way it's meant to. I have a mini-orchard growing, an aqua-ponics system in the works for my solarium, two Nigerian dwarf does and a flock of Dorking chickens.
Add six dogs and four horses and this is a happening place.
This spring and summer is the first time I've been able to really focus and it's a little chaotic. I'm learning more about carpentry, mulch, fencing, dogs, goats and chickens than I ever thought I'd need to.
The dogs eating raw? Well, that's lesson 661 in my learning to be sustainable. The phrase "Waste not, want not," takes on a whole new meaning when you're looking into a bag of chicken guts.
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