Naughty Chickens

Yesterday evening I came home from a few errands after being gone most of the day. I was planning to take the chickens outside and glanced in the spare bedroom where they live on the way to my office to put my things down. Imagine my surprise and horror to see what you see in the above picture. Somehow the chickens had knocked their lid off the box (which was just a screen placed on top of it) and had escaped into the room. They look rather guilty don't you think? At first I thought maybe they had just gotten out right before I came in until I saw the extent of the... ahem... excrement EVERYWHERE in the room. That was the point it stopped being quite so funny. I had a hell of a time catching them again, chasing a couple down the hallway, under the bed, etc. When I finally got them all corralled again I called Marc who was fortunately almost home and said "we are having a chicken-mergency and I need you!" Then the chickens were taken outside for the final time-- they will not be coming indoors again. Good thing their coop was mostly done because it's moving day whether they like it or not! Then we began the very unpleasant task of cleaning up the mess, which we did in cranky silence, save for the occasional sniping at each other about the method of cleaning. I am very grateful that chickens are not all that expeditious-- I don't know what I would have done if I had found them on my couch or in my bed!

Despite my aggravation over their antics yesterday, my subconscious told me via some weird dreams and waking up before my alarm even though I was still tired that I was worried about my chickens on their first night outside. This morning I went out to check on them and found them pecking away on the top floor of their coop-- I could tell they hadn't figured out where their food (on the bottom floor) and water was yet so I had to shoo them down to the bottom floor, where due to a design flaw I also ended up letting Olive escape and had to catch her again. At least it is never boring in chicken land!

My first hate comment....

I was quite stunned to find the following comment left on my post about the WSDA conference:

Anonymous said...

Sabrina,
I somehow came across your blog and I am frightened. I have been a practicing dietician for 27 years and you are gravely misinformed, ignorant, and unbelievably narrow minded in your approach to healthy eating. I am not familiar with the Bastyr curriculum, but it terrifies me that you believe your way of life is "normal". I hope someday you will open your eyes and realize this.

I went back and re-read my post wondering what kind of insanely ignorant comments I somehow accidentally posted. If you re-read my post you will see I was complaining about two things:

1. That the breakfast provided by the conference was all white bread, sugar and artificial sweeteners (about which MANY of the dietitians complained-- not just us Bastyr people, and was likely provided by the hotel not the WSDA).

2. That I expected there to be options appropriate for someone with allergies since I checked a box stating my allergies.

Now, granted, my original post was fairly cranky and not very understanding to the people who put on this conference, and for that perhaps I should apologize-- I am certain that it was a lot of hard work and they did the best they could. But that was not what this person was criticizing me for. I DO wish she had left her name so I could find out what about my post was so ignorant and narrow minded. Perhaps she thought I wanted every person in the world not to eat dairy, gluten or sugar? But I did say even in this post that I have severe allergies, and if she had read other parts of my blog she would have seen in detail my symptoms when I eat these foods. Is it closed-minded to want to protect myself from eating foods that cause me anaphylaxis? I have never once on this blog suggested other people should have to eat the way I do-- I certainly would not eat this way if I could help it.

Perhaps it was my rant on the yoplait light yogurt and white bread bagels. For this I am afraid I can not apologize. I know some of the things I am into are a bit alternative, but pretty much every health organization in the country is saying people should eat more whole grains and less refined sugar. How is that ignorant or narrow-minded? Sounds pretty main-stream to me. I would have loved to have seen whole grain bagels and fruit (I still couldn't have eaten the bagels but it would have been better than the pastry they had).

Anonymous, since you asked, Bastyr is a rigorous science-based curriculum, that also happens to teach a whole foods approach. That means eating real food like fruit, vegetables, whole-grains, legumes and meat if you so choose. We believe in local, organic and sustainable living. We are not fans of food full of chemicals made by man. I hope you just mis-read or mis-understood what I was getting at in my post, and that you are not actually suggesting that I scare you because I am allergic to gluten.

So my new friend anonymous, I suppose I will never know what you meant-- but if it is any of the above, then I'm afraid you scare me too. In fact, I would say that the close-mindedness and ignorance you accuse me of seems to, in fact, apply to YOU, since you sought me out and attacked my opinion without identifying yourself or explaining your point of view (and likely, without reading the rest of my blog which would have told you so much more about me). So I'm sorry for you.

And for everyone else reading-- anonymous comments will no longer be allowed on this blog. If you want to have a conversation about something then you need to own up to your opinions and not hide behind the internet. If anonymous wants to contact me I would be happy to discuss this issue further.

Marriage of different flavors

My husband and I are in some ways very much alike-- we are both type A overachievers. We have the same sense of humor, adore animals, love travel and value family. In most other ways, we are total opposites. I'm messy, he's not, I'm terrible at saving money, he never wants to spend it, I am not even marginally athletic, while sports and coordination come easily to him. None of these matter much-- but the one difference that seems vital in my mind is our approaches to food. Food is my life-- I spend all day every day studying nutrition, cooking, or talking about food. My darling husband would be perfectly happy to eat frozen pizza, oreos and lunch meat every day of his life. He has no interest in cooking or food preparation-- to the point where if there is nothing he can just grab from the fridge he often will just go hungry. He has been known to eat an entire box of cookies in one sitting because it's easier than figuring out what else to eat. To his credit, Marc will eat almost anything I put in front of him (though I get complaints if things have too much oil or garlic-- as if there could be such a thing!) but he does not rejoice in food the way I do. My Dad is worse in some ways because at least Marc will eat most vegetables and is not a picky eater-- my Dad has maybe five vegetables he is willing to put in his mouth, though he'd be happy if he never had to eat another plant in his life. (Although my Dad actually is a pretty good cook-- just as long as vegetables aren't involved). Dad likes to tease Marc about how hard his life must be having to eat my cooking (which is always based on vegetables). It is difficult for me not to try and control the diets of these men I care so much about. I often joke when we are at a party or family function and Marc is on his third serving of trans-fat laden dessert that you'd never know he was married to a nutritionist in training. I am trying to let go of this expectation that one day he will scream in rapture over ginger salmon and quinoa-cranberry pilaf with apple braised chard for dinner and learn to be grateful that at least he eats it without complaint.

In defense of rain

A lot of my friends have been complaining about the rain lately. Spring in Seattle is one of the wetter times of year, but I don't mind it. Rain in the Spring is very different to me than rain in the Winter. The cold, harsh, bleak rain we get in January in conjunction with the darkness that sets in by early afternoon makes me want to crawl back into bed until April. Spring rain is lighter, greener and soothing somehow. It is staying light now until after 8pm, even on overcast days which gives me energy and hope. It is the rain that nourishes the earth, which in turn nourishes us. It is the kind of rain that I don't mind getting caught in. It is romantic rain-- the kind we should be holding hands and kissing in, rather than cursing at. Without the rain we would not have the beautiful asparagus at the farmer's market, or the cherry blossoms blooming on every corner. It is the rain that makes Seattle the "Emerald City" making everything green and lush all year round. Without the rainy days we would not appreciate the beautiful sunny days we also often have. I am certain of this-- I lived in Southern California for five years and after awhile all the sunny days blend together and I lost all sense of time passing-- and everything except the palm trees was dusty brown. The days I really loved? The days it rained-- those days I felt like I was coming home.

Taking Care

I have not been doing a very good job of taking care of myself lately. I have not been eating enough protein, and sugar has slowly come back into my life. Two weekends out of town threw off my gym routine and I have had difficulty finding motivation to get back to it. As an example of how I am not living as I would want my clients to live: yesterday we had an early Mother's Day brunch with my in-laws. Everything they brought had gluten in it. I had brought cut veggies and hummus which is all I ate for lunch. I am also out of smoothie supplies and only had a larabar for breakfast. By the time we got home I was ravenous. I quickly made two scrambled eggs which I put on two not very delicious gluten-free waffles and added some red pepper dip as a spread. The flavors did not go together at all and I did not enjoy it but I ate it anyway because I was hungry. I've been eating in front of the computer and tv and just generally not focusing on eating mindfully or consciously. Worst of all, I have not been very kind to myself and have spent several days saying mean things to myself I would never say to one of my friends. All of this needs to stop. Eating sugar makes me a crazy person, and exercise will help the feeling sorry for myself moping to end. It is time to pull myself together.

I have been spending a lot of time being mommy to my chickens. The coop is almost finished and the chickens have been spending more and more time outside. By next weekend I expect they will move outside for good.

Muffin and I have bonded. She has discovered that when she really wants something, flying into my lap or onto my arm gets her what she wants. The other night I was sitting with the chickens in their pen outside and talking to my mom on the phone. It was getting late and the chickens were getting cold. They were complaining loudly to me from the ground but when that didn't work, Muffin flew into my lap to tell me all about how she wanted to go inside. Again yesterday when we let the chickens range free, the other four had gone to the other side of the yard and Muffin wasn't paying attention. She came running to me crying because she couldn't find her friends. She jumped onto my arm and I carried her to where her pals had gone. Funny chicken-- it's very endearing.

One of those days...

I suppose it is from being gone two weekends in a row at conferences, but I hit a wall today. I couldn't seem to make it to my first class, and then the rest of the day I was unfocused and couldn't wait for my other classes to end.

I came home and the "big kids" (older chickens) were outside in their pen, as Marc often puts them outside when he gets home. I stuffed my dress pants into my wellington boots and trudged across the soggy lawn to say hello. They were mostly having fun, although it was very windy and I could tell they were starting to get cold-- every time a gust of wind came by they would fluff up their feathers and huddle together, complaining all the while. I promised them I would be back in a half hour or so to take them in for the night, as it is usually a two-man job. I went back inside sans muddy boots to start dinner. A few minutes later I was talking to Marc when for some reason he looked out the window to check on the chickens and said, "uh oh, a cat is trying to do something bad." And off we went running down the stairs, to stuff our feet back into our muddy boots and race across the wet grass where a neighborhood cat was chasing the chickens round, thankfully from the outside of their pen (it does not yet have a ceiling, so it was only a matter of time before kitty discovered she could climb her way to a chicken dinner.) Marc chased the cat into the neighbors' yard, while I climbed in the pen with the traumatized chicks to reassure them. They were so cold and scared that instead of running from me as they normally do, they gathered around at my feet. Skittles, who of all the big kids is the most people friendly, though not a big fan of being held, let me pick her up and pet her for a good ten minutes and respectfully refrained from pooping on my sweater, as I was still in my good clothes. When Marc came back with a box to carry them back into the house there were none of the usual loud objections, or rambunctious chases around the pen. They stood dutifully still as I picked up each chicken, whispering reassuring words in each of their ears before placing them in their cardboard box to be carried back to the house. It seems the chickens are not as afraid of us as we initially presumed.

Back in the house the ladies still were terrified. They objected loudly to us leaving them alone in their box in the spare bedroom, and became inconsolable when we tried to turn off the lights for the evening (chickens are, after all, completely night blind). The lights went back on until they calmed down after their traumatic evening.

Meanwhile I tried to make us each a soothing cup of tea and dropped the jar of licorice root all over the counter, and Marc spilled his entire cup of tea on the carpet. It was a long day for all of us.

Chicken Addicts

It all started about two weeks ago when a friend of Marc's remembered he was interested in chickens and asked if he wanted two baby chicks that needed a home. By the time he and I finished negotiating (I wanted them immediately, he wasn't sure we have space in the coop) the two babies had found another home.

Yesterday, my first day back from yet another conference (which is in it self another blog post) we had to go to the feed store to get our quickly growing chickens some more food. I went on the website of the feed store and discovered they had brand-new baby chicks available. Now I love our five, but since we got them at a few weeks old all but one would prefer I left them alone (although they do like to be talked to). I wanted new babies that I could handle daily so they would be used to it and be more friendly (did I mention my chickens are a cat substitute due to Marc's allergies?) So two more baby chicks came home with us, just a few days old. The brown baby is named Roxie-- she loves to be held and all day, and unfortunately all night, cried really loud whenever we put her down in the box. Poor Marc didn't get much sleep. The black and white baby, who to me looks like a Panda, earned the name "Flea" after we went to the grocery store and came back to find her outside of their two foot tall box-- she must be able to jump very high in order for her to have made that leap. We were also calling her Chocolate Muffin, because just like Muffin, she is loud. She also gets into everything-- she's going to be trouble that one.

So two more kids in our family-- the new babies won't be introduced to their big sisters until they are 8 weeks old, but they are all in the same room (in their respective boxes) and the big chicks seem to know they are there and are craning their necks to try and see what is out there. Maybe it's my imagination, but the little ones seem to take comfort in the racket of the older chickens. In two more weeks the big chicks will move outside for good, but for now we have one very smelly, noisy spare bedroom!

So seven is the lucky number-- I swear we are done now as the coop has for sure reached capacity now!