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Be sure to check out the Lawrence Food Garden Tour this weekend. We are participating this year (although please don't look at the sad place in the center of the garden where the kale used to be), and the ducks and chicks will be out in full force to greet all visitors! Here's a map.

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The ducks were the proud recipients of a new kiddie pool this weekend for their swimming pleasure.

The funny part was that it took them over a day to start swimming in it. We got the pool Sunday afternoon. By Monday afternoon it was still untouched, and Sweet Husband was beginning to take it personally.

So personally, in fact, that he felt the need to collect the ducks and toss them in. Not used to being so forcefully encouraged to swim, the ducks jumped right back out again and waddled away, insulted.

Undeterred, Sweet Husband next tried to lure them in with treaties. He followed them around the yard tossing bits of cantaloupe, Pied-Piper-style. This made the chickens happy, but got no love from the ducks.

Frustrated and hot, he came inside where I had been watching the activity amusedly. An hour or so later, as we were making dinner, all three ducks were happily paddling around the pool.

And speaking of the ducks more charming qualities, they seem to have developed a fondness for kale and chard. My kale and chard. They've decimated an entire plot of it, right down to the ground.

I probably need to do something about it, of course, but to tell you the truth the ducks give me enough joy that I don't really begrudge them a square of the garden. So long as they don't develop a taste for tomatoes....

What has been breaking my heart just a bit is little Mr. Norah, who scared us all with his first strangled practice crow this weekend. It wouldn't be so bad, but he's such a friendly guy. He and Tori (whom he seems to be developing amorous feelings for) are always the first to greet me when I come home at night--always curious as to whether or not I might have a little something nibbly for them.

I wish I could tape his wee beak shut.

http://media.lawrence.com/img/blogs/e... I'm not very good at "garden design". I generally just move things around until they look "right"--often ripping out plants and moving large rocks several times in the same weekend. (Ask Sweet Husband about that...actually don't, I still owe him big time!)

A few weekends ago, I decided I needed some kind of barrier between the garden part of the yard and the (ever smaller) part that's still lawn. I didn't want to spend a lot of money, therefore natural materials seemed to be the way to go. But rocks alone--which we have a lot of--weren't enough of a barrier.

Then we had a big storm and a neighbor down the way lost a branch off of her tree. Then we went to Nice Friends' house in the country and took a few dozen more sticks from their burn pile.

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From there it was just an investment of time, garden twine, and about a dozen long garden stakes. I drove the stakes into the ground and tied my posts to them. A little more tying and I had cross pieces too. So far, it's withstood at least a couple of pretty good thunderstorms--I think it's sturdy.

The only mistake I made--and we'll see if it really is a mistake in a few months when everything is blooming--is that I fell prey to the garden center when choosing flowers to plant behind the fence. Instead of planting a big mass of one flower, I planted one each of twenty flowers. I was going for pretty country mix. I may get a disjointed mess.

But if it is, that will give me something to do better next year....

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The ducks and chicks are all living outside together in the coop these days. We let them free range the yard for most of the day while we're at work, and then "put them to bed" in the coop at night.

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The first time I put them all in the yard together it was like watching rival gangs. They'd cluster together with their respective groups and stare each other down, with the chicks making disgusted noises and the ducks forming a little phalanx behind Kaki (the biggest) and lunging, beaks first.

After awhile they just ignored each other, but then little Macy decided to start making friendly overtures.

She'd waddle over to the flock of chicks and quack hopefully. They'd look at her like she was nuts and scatter. She'd try again.

Then, one morning sometime last week, I noticed that--while they still tend to prefer their own species--more and more often they all range together. They're finally becoming a little flock.

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We've also had our first escapee! We didn't even know it happened until much after the fact. Nice Neighbor saw a chicken in the alley, figured she was ours, and tossed her back into our fence. From the description, the culprit was Tori. Not surprising--she's a very curious little bird, particularly when I have my camera out!

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Although, nothing's certain until eggs are laid (or not), every person to comment on my "Is this a rooster?" post on Backyard Chickens agreed....Norah is a rooster.

It's an easy enough mistake to make with chickens, but my family actually has a long history of mistakes in sexing critters. The most recent and infamous story involves a little grey kitten, who has now had — count 'em — four names.

The kitten arrived at my house when I was in college, via my Nice Roommate's Mom who found him in a grocery store parking lot. We happened to be all full up on pets, but my Nice Mom had mentioned getting a kitty for Sweet Sister, so the supposedly female cat was taken to their house and named Darla.

Upon being taken to the vet for her spay, it became clear that the cat was male. Nice Brother then started calling the cat Darwin. (Darla to Darwin — easy to see how you get there, yes?) Sweet Sister did not like the name Darwin, however, and declared the cat's name would be Frodo. Nice Mom and I tried to please them both, and called him Frodo-Darwin, which was very awkward indeed.

Frodo-Darwin was not long for my family though. The other cats in the neighborhood were continually beating on him, and he was not amenable to becoming a completely indoor cat. For his own safety and peace of mind, Frodo-Darwin was relocated to Nice In-Laws' house in the country, where he was dubbed "Cat", and lives happily still.

Which brings us back to Norah.

I have a lead on a pet home for him, and if that doesn't work out, Nice Farmer/Lawyer guy said I can bring him out for butchering day at his house. Either way, I want to wait a bit just to be super-duper-extra sure.

And in the meantime, it's been hard to think of what to call him. I'm thinking "Norbert", although I did toy with "Stewie" for a few hours. (Yes, it's supposed to be punny.) Or maybe we'll just keep calling him Norah — "Boy Named Sue" and all that — because it's hard to change it up at this point.

In any event, I'm really grateful that I started with five chickens. I questioned the wisdom of it when I was ordering them, but now that we're going to be short two, it seems I picked the right number.

Although, as long as the duckies pull their weight we should still be swimming in eggs soon enough!

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Happily, I spent a good chunk of May Day in the garden digging and planting.

Ten kinds of tomatoes, cucumbers, okra, edamame, pumpkins, some flowers, herbs...and making their "my-garden-debut" corn and watermelon. And if we actually get a real, big-girl watermelon, we're throwin' a hell of a party, let me tell you!

And yes, that is a finished coop you see in the background--finally! The girls spent their first night out there this weekend with a heat lamp to keep them toasty. They're actually getting quite grown-up and almost pretty.

Except for Norah, who I'm starting to worry might be a Normand. Only time will tell, but she's not plump and chesty like the rest. She's also brave as hell and growing a very pronounced, bright red comb. I knew it was a possibility--chicken sexing is far from perfect--but I hadn't really thought through exactly what I would do with...um, him?

Roosters are illegal in town, and I wouldn't do that to our neighbors at any rate. I have a few friends that would gladly take an extra and butcher him for the freezer, but...if that's the way it's got to be, part of me...I want to do it myself. It just doesn't seem right to farm the job out. Hopefully it won't come to that, maybe she's just a late bloomer. And maybe I can't kill my first little favorite chick....let's just all cross our fingers for no crowing!

In other back-yard farm drama, Porter the Dog almost ate Ella the Duck. Moe the Terrier was off jogging with Sweet Husband, the ducks were outside with me, and Porter was howling in the house. (She doesn't much like being left alone.) So, I decided to let her out with us to see how she would do. I was very watchful at first, but then Porter--being fairly deaf these days--didn't notice the ducks at all. In fact, she decided to take a nap in the sun. I took her calmness for complacency and went about my gardening work.

Then, quite suddenly, she woke up. Her mouth was on Ella when I turned around and reflexively whacked Porter with the handle of my shovel. She was stunned enough to drop wee Ella, who was thankfully only a bit stunned herself. A lesson learned by all three of us, I think.

The dogs excepted, everyone is pretty much charmed with the ducklings. As long as they can follow whatever human is out and about in the yard they're happy to be adorable....a little swim now and then doesn't hurt their feelings either!

Last weekend, Sweet Husband and I bought a cow, a herd of cows in fact. Three of 'em. Didn't catch all of their names, but the leader of the pack is named "Black Cherry" and she makes the tastiest milk.

OK--don't freak out Mom--we didn't really buy a herd of cows to bring home, we bought a share in the herd. Why would we do that? For milk. Specifically raw milk.

It's a funny legal issue actually, but in many states farmers are not allowed to sell raw milk. There are some good reasons behind this--you certainly wouldn't want to buy raw milk from just anyone, as cleanliness is obviously a must--however, during the pasteurization process lots of good bugs and vitamins are killed along with any bad ones that might be present. Essentially, it's a balancing act between health and safety. There are risks--and you should definitely do your own research before making a decision--but my conclusion has been that if I could find a farmer I felt I could trust to run a clean ship, the benefits of buying raw milk would outweigh the risks.

In Kansas, you can buy raw milk, but only if you either go to the farm that sells it (possibly inconvenient) or own the animal producing it yourself.

Which is why I now own a share in a herd of dairy cows.

We bought our share from the lovely Amy of Amy's Meats. The initial share cost was $30. We then pay $16 a month room and board for our cows, and get a half-gallon of milk a week--about the going local price for organic milk. And it is awesome! I'm not actually a big milk drinker even, but you really can tell the difference. It's almost as drastic as homegrown summer tomatoes vs. the mealy winter store-bought version.

So now we've got milk. And with it I'm going to start a new project--some hardcore cheese-making.

I'm thinking of using Home Cheese Making as a guide and doing, I don't know...two cheeses a month? Anyone interested in joining me to make it a group project?

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The chicks think I'm out to poison them. Every new food is a death threat.

One of the first "treats" I tried to give them was green beans. I placed the beans in a neat pile in the center of the coop. The chicks immediately dog-piled into a corner to escape the evil vegetables.

Gradually, little Tori tentatively ventured towards the pile, pecked a wayward green bean, then leapt back like she'd been shocked. Slowly, she approached the bean again, this time pecking it hard several times, as if to kill it.

Emboldened, the other girls approached the pile too, each picking out their own green bean and pecking it within an inch of its life. I don't know if they ever got the idea that green beans are food, but surely some of it must have made it into their stomachs, right?

In general, the chicks are suspicious of everything. Sweet Husband joked the other night that they were not the smartest birds (really what he meant was they're not as smart as his darling ducklings), but I shot back that, what they lack in intelligence, they make up for in instinct.

And they do. Those green beans could have been snakes, explosives...anything really. As the chicks only weigh a pound and have no real defensive weapons yet, my ladies are wise to be cautious.

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The ducks, on the other hand, are dirty, stinky, drunks. Their liquor of choice? Water.

If I take the water away even for a second--just to, I don't know, clean it and refill it--they freak out. It's like a frat party when the keg is empty.

They're only content when they're drinking, and they drink a lot! The little waterer that could have easily lasted the chicks more than 24 hours, was barely lasting the ducks 8 hours. For their 1 week birthday, I got them a new, bigger waterer. I question whether the gift is really for them or for me. Now I can take away time from bartending to go to work and take a shower.

The ducks second favorite activity is eating. Really, the only thoughts in their little heads are, "Water, water, water, water, food, food, food....Water, water, water, water, food, food, food...." I'm not even all that sure they sleep. And between the drinking and eating, they make a hell of a mess. I find myself repeating a line from Moe, our terrier's, puppy years--they're lucky they're cute.

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But they are that! Even with their limited motivation, the ducks are much more adventurous than the chicks. When I pick up a chick to hold, they want to be put down so that they can scamper off and hide (except for Tori, who thinks humans were created for her to perch on). The ducks don't like to be held much either, but only because it prevents them from exploring the world. Picture a toddler trying to wriggle out of its mother's arms to go make mud-pies and you'll have the right idea.

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And speaking of Mr. Moses the Terrier....although strict separation has been the major means of keeping everyone alive, we've been mildly successful with what I call the "freak-the-fruck-out" method of training.

For ordinary badness Moe gets a stern "eh-eh". For playing with the ball or sitting at the door or generally being a good dog, we praise him to the skies. (And that's been amped up since the chicks arrived.) For even looking at the chickens the wrong way, he gets a full-on, hands waiving, foot stomping, loud yelling, throwing things (not at him, just in general) freak-out.

It has to be used fairly sparingly so that it doesn't lose it's surprise effect--and, indeed, I wouldn't want to be yelling at him all the time, 'cause that's just not cool. It also would not work if he and a chicken were both lose at the same time--in which case, I'm under no illusions, we would shortly be cleaning a dead chicken. But it has kept him out of the shed (where the chickens currently reside) and convinced him that perhaps there are better uses for his time--like his tennis ball--than trying to get to the chicks.

A few weeks ago, Sweet Husband and I took a rain barrel making class. Although we certainly could have figured out how to make a rain barrel ourselves, we took the class because it was actually cheaper.

A standard, not-even-very-pretty rain barrel runs close to $100 at a local hardware store. More attractive rain barrels are more like $200. Our rain barrel, along with the instructions on assembly and all the questions we wanted to ask, was $45--a bargain by comparison!

Our class was sponsored by Bridging the Gap (BTG), a Kansas City area organization focused on environmental issues and sustainability.

First, I can't say enough about how cool our instructor was. A self-professed "rain barrel geek", he completely put everyone at ease and was totally informative, without being preachy or dogmatic.

Second, hello easy! The pre-cut parts included....

*a food-grade plastic barrel (donated by Pepsi after they're done using them for soda syrup)

*a length of hose and a bib to attach it

*a spigot

*a plastic flower pot (a.k.a. landscaping container)

*a piece of window screen big enough to cover the top of the pot

*an elastic bike tire tube

After being covered with the screening, which is tied down with the bike tire tube, the pot popped into a pre-cut hole on the top of the barrel. This is to let water in and keep mosquitoes out.

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Then holes were drilled and the spigot and hose bib were screwed into the barrel. The hose bib (and the hose, which we attached later at home) are for when the barrel gets too full and needs some place to overflow. By using the hose you can direct the water away from your foundation.

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That was it. Ta-da! A rain barrel!

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Our instructor informed up that for each 1 inch of rain that falls, we could expect .6 gallons of rainwater per square foot of our roof. I haven't been up to measure our roof, but basically any decent rain shower should easily fill the barrel. We haven't gotten it hooked up to our downspout yet, but even without the direct flow, our barrel was about 1/3 full from just being out in the rain this weekend.

While the water can't be used for drinking, it can be used to water the garden this summer. Also, although our instructor warned us that animals probably shouldn't drink the water that comes from our roof (too many chemicals in roofing materials), we're thinking of setting up a smaller rain barrel off the chicken coop (which has a metal roof) to help keep them in liquids this summer too.

Just FYI, BTG offers all the rain barrel parts, as well as the barrels, as well as completed rain barrels--so it's really a good program if you're local. (Food-grade barrels can be a little hard to track down on your own.) Here's the run-down with prices:

*Plain white barrels - $20 (limit five per month)

*Rain parts kits (all additional pieces needed to assemble a rain barrel) - $30

*Rain barrel workshop (includes price of rain barrel) - $45

*Complete rain barrel - $65

If you're nervous about putting the barrel together yourself, or even if you just want to take advantage of the discount like we did, they seem to have a class about once a month. Here's all the info if you're interested.

And if the aesthetics of the barrel bother you, there are lots of options for camouflage--you can wrap bamboo fencing around it or paint it or hide it in the shrubbery.

I really want to go the paint route, but I can't decide what color. Sunny yellow? Green to match the house? Sunflowers all over? It'll end up being white all summer just because of my indecision, but at least my water bill will be cheap!

About a month ago, I walked into Nice Farmer/Lawyer's Guy's office and said, "OK...so I'm going to ask you a question, and no pressure or anything, I understand if you can't or don't want to, so feel totally free to say no, but, ummm....would you like to split an order of ducks with me?"

Poor man--he probably said yes purely out of relief that I wasn't asking him to rob a bank!

The minimum order from the hatchery I chose was 10. Originally, he got eight pretty Buffs, and I got two Indian Runner Ducks--one fawn and white, one blue. However, when they all got here, I decided that having six poultry would be bad luck (particularly when I could so easily have seven) so I asked to take one of the Buffs and he generously let me keep one.

Sweet Husband agreed to all of this only after I promised he could name them. However, when he picked up the ducks from the post office today--I had a work obligation that sadly prevented me--he immediately started texting about how cute they were. I believe he is completely enamored of the ducklings.

And the naming thing? Well, in the end Sweet Husband could only come up with one name that he liked--Kaki, after guitarist Kaki King. So, the Buff is Kaki, the Blue Runner is Macy (Gray), and the Fawn Runner is Ella (Fitzgerald).

Why ducks, you ask? And, in particular, Runners?

Two words: Squash bugs.

Far as I can tell, ducks are good for three things--eating, eggs, and bug control. I don't like to eat duck at all, so my goals were the later two. And, Runner's, according to the internets, are average egg producers and excellent foragers (read: squash bug killers). If they take down our mosquito population a notch, that won't hurt my feelings either. (And actually, we caught little Ella making her first kill tonight already!)

They will live with the chicks eventually. This is a teeny bit controversial amongst fowl-keepers--ducks are messier and wetter, hens prefer to be dry--but with careful management, it works for many people, and I think we have a good plan for letting everyone live as it suits them best.

Welcome little quackers!

As a chicken update, the girls have moved from their little brooder box to a bigger pen on the floor of our shed. It's extremely ghetto--cardboard boxes taped up to the sides of a dog x-pen--but it's giving them a lot more space to roam and scratch. It's also taken a little pressure off of us to get the coop finished rightthisfreakingsecond.

They're actually starting to look more like chickens and less like fluff balls. They're now feathered out enough that they spent a good chunk of the evening outside with me today without getting cold.

And the coop? Getting closer and closer to finished every day. It now has walls and even doors with latches. All we need now is a roof and some fencing!