Too Sick To Farm

Some of the garden bounty.

Last night was the first full night that we slept inside.  The damp and raw weather sent us back to our regular bed where we sleep for the other three seasons.  Summertime is spent sleeping on our screened in porch. We get lulled to sleep by the peepers early in the season and later on owls, tree frogs, coyotes and crickets serenade us into a deep slumber.

This past week Rob struggled with a cold and I finally succumbed to it.  Even though I swore I would not get it.  I got lots of sleep, did some yoga, pulled out the neti pot, saying to myself the whole time, it's just allergies.  Rob's parents were due to visit and we thought Rob would be better in time.  And then I started to feel a bit sniffly.  Rob called to let them know that we were indeed a sick household and gave them the option to avoid the ill human residents of Chicken Hill.

Home made carrot soup ready to freeze.

All week Rob kept pushing himself at work even though I repeatedly nagged at him to just take care of himself.  And to give him some relief I picked up a few more chores in hopes to aid in his recovery.  Hauling water and feeding a group of  farm animals that I don't typically work with.  To get everything done we split up task.  Pigs and goats don't fall into my regular chores.  My work includes laying hens which consist of eighteen birds that aren't fully integrated yet and provide some challenges.  (Each night seven babies put themselves to sleep in the outside windows of the chicken coop and I have to individually pick up these birds, with wings flapping, and place them onto a roost inside the coop.)  And I take care of the eating machines on the farm, the Red Broiler meat birds.  They require copious amounts of water and feed and I try to get them out to graze as much as possible.  Nothing brings me more joy then to see those wobbly on their feet critters running outside munching on grass.  They look like toddlers just learning to walk.  Their posturing is quite interesting too.

The spiralizer turning zucchini into pasta.

 Much of the garden planting, harvesting and putting up of veggies falls into my chore list. Although, Rob makes killer pesto and stuffed peppers!  The abundance of fruits and veggies that need to be canned or put into the freezer has kept me in the kitchen for more hours then I care for.  It's been a struggle to keep on top of the baskets of food and find creative uses to keep us interested in zucchini, beets and kale.  This year we took a class that taught us how to turn zucchini into pasta, using a little manual operated kitchen gadget called a spiralizer.  Also, I discovered how to turn beets  into the best veggie burger I've ever bitten into.  Here is the link to this amazing recipe that includes beets, carrot, onion and zucchini:    http://www.greenkitchenstories.com/beetroot-burgers/

Beet root burgers ready for the freezer.

This has been one of our best years for being able to make good use of the garden bounty.  It has been a productive and rewarding growing season for us, even with the normal dose of weather challenges.  And thankfully, when one of us was just too sick to farm the other was able to step up to the challenge.  I spent all of yesterday pretty much sleeping.  Today, I feel well enough to start back at my normal chores.  Rob seems to be on the mend as well.  Here at Chicken Hill, the humans are feeling better- even though we are walking around sounding a lot like Darth Vader.

Chicken Hill-Back To Blogging!

It's been a while since I sat down long enough to think about blogging, about a year.  The homestead has grown and we have just over 40 animals.  And it's no surprise that the work has grown too. We've come a long way since I started keeping laying hens.  Those were my first foray into producing some of our own food outside of growing a veggie garden.  We now have pigs, meat birds, a few goats,  two new small flocks of laying hens and a dog!  Oh, and our cat still masterfully keeps us all in line and guessing as to what she will and won't eat from one given day to the next.

I'm in the thick of reaping the rewards from the gardens and have paused long enough to see how much our little farm has grown at Chicken Hill.  Pretty impressive for two folks, (Rob and I), that have off the homestead jobs.  

Bounty from our garden.

McKenna is a new addition to our homestead.

Excellent cabbage/carrot season.

Goats are new to us too.  

Harvested over three gallons of raspberries this year.

We are raising four pigs.  

     

Coop Raising




Barbie's chickens that survived the coop fire. The rooster has a singed
comb and one of the ladies has a little burn on her saddle feathers.

        I read the news on face book while sipping my morning cup of coffee from a mug crafted by Monkton potter, Warren Dixon. My neighbor, Barbie Collette’s chicken coop had burned to the ground during the night. My immediate reaction was a sleepy sadness. I posted a comment about how sorry I was and watched while others did the same. The rooster had made it out safely and there was suspicion that one of the hens had burned in the coop. Later in the day when I checked back in-it was discovered that all the chickens had survived the fire.


Barbie and Mark working on the chicken door.

      Mention fire and chicken coops to anyone and brace yourself for the roasted chicken comments. I tried to crack a smile, because after all I do eat roasted chicken but inside I was cringing. I never knew that I had an affinity for feathered creatures until I started raising a small flock of chickens. Birds I knew of because I have a sister who is a serious birder and I took a VT Natural History course in college that had me trouncing through the woods observing wildlife. I also grew up surrounded by many flying critters. Who isn’t dazzled by the bright colors of male Cardinals, the cheery yellow of Goldfinches or the bright hues of blue on the ever present Blue Jay? 

Rob Hunter with his
carpentry talent!

      You might say, chickens though? And my response is YES, get a handful of these little fluffy critters under a heat lamp and start to observe them, you are sure to fall in love. Or at the very least you will find that great chunks of time have come and gone while you've watched their antics. It doesn’t stop at their youth either. As they grow into their odd teenage plumage they continue to display their individuality.  Once they become true hens, or at the point in which they start to lay eggs, their personality continues to grow. My chickens have different voices that express what is going on in their lives or around them on a daily basis. Happy chortles for a particularly desirable snack, warning sounds when danger is sensed, deep breaths for contentment, loud prideful bawking noises when an egg is laid. Don’t even get me started on the variety of chicken expressions. Point made, I’ve spent a LOT of time with my flock. I like birds.


Some of the crew that
helped with the
coop building.



Inside the chicken coop.
Feeder and waterer.


     By the end of the day, in which I’d learned that Barbie’s coop had burned, my mind had never left the thought of homeless chickens. Where would they spend the night? I looked back on our coop building days-it took all of our spare time to create a solid predator proof home for our girls.  I couldn’t imagine how Barbie, a mother of two young and energetic boys, who works full time, could find the time to create a new coop. I also thought of how cold February is. It’s during this time of the year that I have to slather my chicken’s combs with Vaseline to prevent them from getting frostbite. I looked at my husband Rob and we both knew immediately that we wanted to offer our help.

Ellen, Matt and George.

     In a quick email exchange with Barbie we learned that she would like our help. And so we began to think how we would go about rebuilding the coop. Rob loves to create outbuildings and garden structures and so our wood supply had dwindled. We didn’t have enough materials to even begin the project.


Nesting box that can be accessed
outside of the coop!

      Using face book, where I had learned about the coop burning down, is where I asked for donations of materials and in the process found that others would like to help with the rebuild process. Friends from Burlington offered materials, and we still are hearing from folks that wished they’d heard of the coop raising so that they could have leant a hand.

     The first to come to our aid was Kristen and Cyrus Patten, followed by Ellen Perry. They had materials and Ellen, a fire fighter, wanted to help with the building (she had rescued the chickens from their burned enclosure). Theresa Payea also invited us to stop by for any materials that she had on hand. Betsy McDonough contacted her father-in-law who dropped off materials. Kesta Perras drove me around, in her husband Tim’s truck, to collect materials.  My husband, Rob Hunter, oversaw the project coming up with a quick design for a new coop while Barbie’s partner, Mark Pelletier was there to lend a hand with the construction. Barbie’s sons, Foster and George were also present. George kept us well-supplied with smiles and giggles through the afternoon! Ellen’s friend Matt helped us finish up the day when Rob had to leave to help judge the Monkton Flag Contest.
 

Shooting through the nesting box
with Barbie inside the coop.


      All day Barbie rushed about making sure we had bagels, hot coffee and she made all the volunteers a hot lunch of seafood chowder with steaming corn bread. Welcomed by all because the temperature hovered a little below freezing.

     The chickens are still getting use to the coop. We stopped by just the other day to put a finishing touch on the door and a few chickens were inside eating. One chicken had laid an egg on the floor, not quite sure what to make of the new nesting boxes. As I walked out of the yard to climb into my car, a few white flurries floated about and a nearby chimney puffed out white plumes. Brrrr it was cold, but my heart was warmed by the thought of so many community members, that didn’t really know each other, coming together to work on a coop raising!




Barb inside the new coop!  WAIT, that's where the chickens are
supposed to be! 

  　
　
　

Sour Crop And 6,000 Roses!

Some spray roses and Asters that I brought home
from the florist  around Valentine's Day.

      Chickens are livening up my landscape.  I had high hopes when I awoke this morning.  I would take advantage of my first day off after working five long, grueling days at Chappell's Florist for the Valentine's Day holiday.  But my body isn't cooperating.  I'm sleepy and sluggish from working ten hour days filled with customer interaction and running non-stop.  However, just when I think it best to crawl back into bed, I look out various windows and see black and white movement.  Bare bottoms darting this way and that.  Heads bobbing, feet scratching and beaks busy at work.  It's the Chicken Hill ladies hard at play.

More flowers that made their way into our house
this February to brighten the gray days. 

      Perched in the distance on a old snag is a hawk that neighborhood crows are warning Biggie Fry and the gang about.  It catches my attention.  But I am too inept to work Rob's camera to capture the hawk.  It flies off into the scrub by the beaver pond and  my brother's vineyard.

     It's so gray and overcast that I really do want to pull the covers up over my head and sleep.  But I can't do it.  Instead I watch the playfulness abound in my chicken's antics.  Part of me wants to go see what they are up to.  I want to know what gives them such delight.  But the minute I step out to observe the moment will be lost and their attention will be diverted to me.  They will gather around my feet hoping for a tasty morsel.  Lilac will try to hop up onto my back or shoulders.  Biggie Fry will nudge Baby out of the way because she's bossy and terribly jealous.  And if I do go out there, no doubt I will sit down and chickens will pile onto my lap, snuggling in and I won't have the heart to push them off until they've all had a good pat and cuddle. 

A wooden box I built with a handle
crafted from a fallen tree branch and  
filled with flowers.

     No, I will sit inside and think myself into inaction.  The list will grow in my head with all my intentions for the day.  I will talk myself out of doing half the list.  And when I do get something done I will give it high praise, the kind in which you might give a small child for doing something, just to make them feel really great. No matter the importance of the task.  And that is okay, it's been a long five days. 


     One of my first jobs outside of garden centers in my late teens and early twenties was working at Chappell's Florist.  This is where I learned how to unpack flowers just arrived from South America.  Boxes piled high containing exoctics.  I would spend hours peeling layer after layer of newspaper from colorful blossoms.  Navigating the copious rubber bands, metal twist and elastics that held  the flowers in place.  A huge guillotine blade mounted to a wooden counter is how I would chop the ends from the long flower stems.  A fresh cut ensured that the flowers would take up water after their long journey.  Buckets were filled with floral solution and water.  And once this arduous task was finished I would then lug the heavy flower-laden buckets out to be displayed on the sales floor or into a large walk in cooler.  And just to make the process even more tedious a sign needed to be attached to each bucket with a price with  names like Lisianthus, Alstromeria, Liatris and Blupernum.  Customers would then point and say I will take the purple one, the blue one, that green stuff.

     In between shipments of flowers I would answer phone calls taking flower orders for delivery or pick up.  And when I wasn't doing that I was racing to the front counter to wait on customers.  And plants needed to be watered.  In this maelstrom knives flashed as I cut down flower stems, my mouth grew parched from talking incessantly and emotions would run high as EVERY order was of utmost importance to the consumer.  At the end of the day I would drag my aching, often cut up hands (coated with the smell of who knows what chemicals) and sore feet home and would want to cry.  

     You might ask why do I return to this crazy environment each year?  Rob says it is to remind me of how good my life has become.  I hate to admit it, but he is mostly right.  It is fun to walk into a business while it is booming, displaying a riot of colors from all over the world. This year I've helped clean over 6,000 roses and watched hundreds of orders go out the door.   For five days out of the year I get a glimpse into how others view the importance of a bouquet of flowers.  I'm thankful that this isn't my every day anymore.  As I've mentioned many times, we live a very scaled down lifestyle.  In my world a bouquet of flowers doesn't have a do or die message attached to it.  Although I'm happy to say our morning walks through our gardens come spring and summer, with coffee in hand, are the most beautiful, romantic and joyous experiences.  It is during this time that Rob and I talk about projects that we wish to achieve together.  Future goals, house additions and garden projects get discussed on these morning forays.  We might observe a blossom or even pick one.  However, it is our time spent together that means so much, the flowers are just there framing our existence. 

     My first day that I got ready to leave for work at the florist I noticed that Broody Hen was squatting low and not looking lively.  I swept her into the house where she waited out the day in our bathroom.  I quickly lined the floor with newspapers and gave her some food and water before I bit her adieu.  When I returned home I decided to really observe what might be wrong with her.  I picked her up and started to lose my balance.  The chicken leaned forward in my arms and when this happened  liquid started to pour from her beak.  I was able to stabilize without falling over but I continued to hold the chicken slightly forward and at a downward angle, liquid continuing to pour forth.  Rob quickly piled paper towels on the floor.  I was exhausted and grossly fascinated by what was happening.  An amber liquid flowed freely for quite some time giving me the impression that the entire contents of a chicken were emptying onto the paper towels and the chicken's life was fading away.    

Broody Hen this past spring enjoying
a walk in the gardens.

     I would periodically tip the chicken up as she started to look distressed as Rob quickly tapped away on the computer keyboard trying to figure out what was wrong. He told me to stop treating the chicken like a salt and pepper shaker, but I couldn't help myself.  It was wrong that so much stuff was coming out of her and she sounded like she was going to choke on the fluid build up.  We soon discovered that Broody had some sort of blockage that was filling her crop, the area that normally grinds down her food.  As the crop filled, liquid and food was collecting and putrifying.  In all honesty it's supposed to smell really foul but I didn't smell anything amiss.  There wasn't a total blockage because some fluid was still passing through the chicken.  Broody Hen has been given yogurt and cider vinegar in her water to help her build up good bacteria in her crop. The cause of her blockage is still unknown.  I have massaged her crop and we've supplemented her diet with poutltry grit.  I've also added a little food grade DE into her diet in mashed down feed pellets.  Because it has been so warm I have let Broody roam outside for a few hours whenever possible.  It's hard to say if we will make it through this bout of sour crop.  But in all honesty I can't justify taking a chicken to the vet anymore.  I remain hopeful that Broody Hen will be able to enjoy spring and summer here at Chicken Hill!

Chicken Hill Ramblings



View at the top of Abbey Pond

       Hoop house experiments, chicken ponderings, hiking musings, chili cook-offs and relaxation have all been blog topics I’ve rambled on about. How am I faring with all those? 

       This year in Monkton we are in a holding pattern, winter is eluding us.  Many are wondering  do we skip winter and dare start thinking glorious spring-time thoughts? Wait just one second. Yes, rain is forecasted for the beginning of February with 40 degree temps. This is CRAZY. If this was a real winter I’d be low on firewood and accepted the extra pair of long johns as a second skin by now. Not this year.   

I picked kale, carrots and some
micro greens on February 1st!



      Recently I walked into my hoop house to find I was able to still pull carrots and I took a moment to taste the micro greens, they were still scrumptious.  Not long ago on a really cold night I neglected to cover up the greens in the hoop house.  When I realized my mistake, I said to my husband (while we were soaking in the hot tub)…“I’m done with this experiment.” And to be fair my goal had originally been to see if we could eat out of the hoop house until the end of December  We were well into January.

     The other day a friend and I took a walk down the hillside to see how the hoophouse was faring.  I was surprised to see the micro greens still alive and after discovering how good they tasted, decided to cover them with blankets in hopes to further extend the growing season.  Today, February 1st,  I wandered down to pick a container of greens for our evening meal.  Grandma’s hope chest, which some might remember as a late planting experiment earlier this past fall, is still filled with tiny micro greens, not big enough to  harvest but they are still hanging on. The heat sink or black barrel filled with water has only frozen solid a couple of times and on a warm day I can remove the lid and see glistening water.  Many people are talking about how this weird weather is going to affect the maple syrup industry and what will happen to our ornamental trees, shrubs and perennials due to inadequate snow cover and unpredictable rollercoaster temperatures. It sure has been an odd winter. 



Lilac enjoying a drink
of water.

     My chickens admittedly don't mind the warmer temperatures. I've found that Plymouth Barred Rocks are the hardiest members of my flock. About half of my original birds have returned back to the earth. The White Leghorns were my best egg-layers but also the weakest birds, followed by Rhode Island Reds. It is amusing that the chickens I have the deepest connection to and the least connection with are my survivors. Lilac, my sole surviving White Leghorn has multiple birth defects including a misshapen foot.  And Rob refers to it as her shovel foot.  She is one of the lowest birds in the pecking order and the friendliest. Always the first to greet guest and to jump up in a lap to steal some warmth. Comb-over (the bleeder) is one aloof bird, who has had multiple coats of Blu Kote applied to her series of wounds.  She looks at everyone with distrustful eyes.  Baby, Biggie Fry and Good Red all take turns to jump up on my lap and to enjoy a few pats and a bit of cuddling. These trusting souls will take a few moments to close their eyes emitting a snoring noise almost as if to say “Your lap is a peaceful place to visit.”

Looking out the top of the fire tower on
Spruce Mountain in Plainfield, VT

       I was out promoting the Monkton Community Coffeehouse's  annual Chili Cook-Off, hanging posters recently when  I stopped for a bowl of soup and picked up a newspaper, something I rarely do. Inside I found that a young, past co-worker had died while hiking. I was shocked as this young man was a super fit hiker and the last person I would expect to see a death notice for. I don’t know all the details and much is left to conjecture, but it seems he had an accident on the trail, was hiking alone and froze to death. After this I started to really question my winter hiking. My husband worked at trying to dissuade my fears sighting that we always hike as a couple or with at least one other person. We try to be careful with food, water and extra layers. But there have been times that we’ve pushed the envelope, getting late starts, not carrying flash lights, emergency blankets, etc. I struggled a short while aknowledging some fears and pondering about how fragile life is. But in the end I realized that if you live in fear of living you aren’t living. So we continue to hike.  Shortly after hearing of Levi’s passing our small hiking group was schelduled for  a hike.  It fell on one of the coldest days we’ve had this winter. A clear and somewhat sunny 7 degree day. I took great care in choosing what I wore and carried with me.  On the trail I thought about Levi and what a wonderful person he was.  And at the close of that 3 & ½ hour hike, when I started to lose feeling in my butt and parts of my face,  I was happy to be climbing into the car to head to a warmer environment and proud that I could continue to live.  You can’t let fear get in your way but do allow for it to influence you to make wiser choices then you might normally make.

      The tiny town of Monkton experienced an AMAZING evening on January 28^th.   I’m proud as it was a moment that I will always remember. The third annual Monkton Community Coffeehouse's Chili Cook-Off was a huge success. I headed up this event with countless others and it brought the town together all under one roof. Over 150 people seemingly enjoyed food, conversations and some dancing. I felt such pride for my community as 4-H, scouts, and many other volunteers came together to cook, clean, serve, problem solve and participate in an event that was just plain and simple fun! Kudos for EVERYONE involved in taking part in that evening. 

This photo taken by Buzz Kuhns, shows a sampling of the
crowd at the Chili Cook-Off.  It is estimated that 150-
175 people came together to eat chili! 



      Winter is at a standstill and I can breath a sigh of relief as I don’t have any big projects on the horizon.  I will enjoy some ME time.  I’ve stepped up my yoga practice to twice a week and sometimes make it to bone builder classes.

I've also started a Monkton book group and the latest read is a memoir by Melissa Coleman.  Daughter of Eliot Coleman, as in Eliot Coleman THE garden guru that I often speak of!  It's a story of back to the land living during the 70's and beyond that I can't tell you much because I've just picked it up.    

      Meanwhile, I dream of the scent of bark mulch and the feel of warm earth between my fingers. The Chicken Hill ladies probably wish for sunny peat dust baths and kicking up leaf litter to unearth tasty insects.

Volunteering, Why Do It?

View last winter of our compost
pile and uncovered hoop house.

Do you volunteer in your community?  It seems more prevalent today that youth are encouraged to participate in area activities.  I grew up in Monkton, a small rural town.  The minute school was out for the day, I would take a short bus ride home or to the family apple orchard where I would help as needed.  At a very young age there was always a task that even a youngster could do, whether I handed out samples of cider, stood on a milk crate to help press apple cider and eventually I wielded a knife to cut up cheese for customers or I tended the cash register.  In quiet moments, I would do homework or that would wait until I got home during the evenings.  I never gave volunteering much thought, because I was pretty darn busy.


Donna and Muffin with
one of the attic treasures.
Pals that I volunteered
with in Middlebury.


My misconception of volunteering encompassed helping out at a nursing home or maybe a hospital.  We didn't have either one of those in Monkton, still don't.  When I was a teen I briefly helped  an ageing citizen that had cancer.  I would go to his house to do his laundry, feed his myriad of cats and I would clean and cook an evening meal for him.  This only lasted a brief amount of time as his illness took him rather quickly.  It was the closest I got to volunteering in my youth and it's foggy to me now whether or not there was money that exchanged hands. 

College quickly came and went and then I was working.  And how tortured I felt  when I realized I was expected to earn a suitable income to sustain myself.  It interfered with my going out to bars, socializing and with my overall youthful feeling of how superior I was.  Volunteering?  What was that? 

It's interesting how a little bit of age, multiple jobs and a few relationships later and BAM....you start to think about the greater good of others.  Volunteering, how can I do that?  My first accidental volunteering came at a church.  I'm not religious so it's strange that this is where my first taste of real volunteering came from.  Family members belonged to a church in Middlebury and the ladies fellowship needed an extra hand sorting out their white elephant room for a yearly fundraiser.  I can sort through junk, as long as you don't ask me to sort through my own.  This is something I could do. 

Happy customer at a one
day Monkton Farmer's
market that I organized.

The money raised from this gig, helped with programs that fed and sheltered those less fortunate.  For almost ten years I helped with this event.  It was a few days out of my life each year, where I could go and give my time to help others.  It didn't even feel like I was giving up anything.  It was fun to catch up with a group of people that I only saw once a year and I was working towards a greater good.  Wow, talk about make me feel good. 

One winter I was laid-off from my work for a brief stint and to fill in time a friend and I volunteered at the Middlebury Coop.  We chit chatted with others all the while filling bags with fruits, frozen veggies and candy like substances that are supposed to be good for you.  You get a small discount off your coop grocery bill for doing this.  It's a different kind of volunteering.  But I did meet some new folks.

As I've mentioned in past blogs I have a new goal of late to be more home-based.  I'm trying my hand at growing some of my own food and working part-time from home.  For too long I've hopped in a car and sped away from my house, to work outside my community.  It became disconcerting to learn that I didn't know who my neighbors were. I've lived in this town for almost my entire life.  My family moved to Monkton when I was about five, I'm going to turn forty-one soon.



Monkton Girlscouts serving chili at the
2011 Monkton Chili Cook-Off.

 Last winter a neighbor asked me to help her with a local event, a chili cook-off sponsored by the Monkton Community Coffeehouse, and I was hooked.  In Monkton there is a vibrant community.  There are a number of businesses too.  Yet, you wouldn't know this if you don't have kids in school or if you have spent your working life getting in a car to commute to a job outside of town.

I have joined the Monkton Community Coffeehouse in an effort to meet my neighbors and to show other Monkton residents and communities beyond Monkton  what a gem I'm discovering Monkton to be.  The goal of the Coffeehouse is:
"To Bring The Community Together with Entertainment, Artistic and Educational Endeavors"

To date I've helped with a Chili Cook-Off, a Town-Wide Yard Sale, A free concert called Picnic In The Park, a one day Farmer's Market, a Garlic Festival and a holiday decorating contest called Monkton Get Lit.  This has all been a lot of work on my part.  I've worked with some great people on these events.  I've met people I didn't know lived in Monkton.  I've had fun.  I can stand in a room filled with townspeople and put a name to a face now.  Wow.  Volunteering!

What have I learned about volunteering?  Everyone has a skill set that they can share.  Not every volunteer job will be a perfect fit.  Be open to new ideas and give working with others a chance.  There are times that it can be frustrating. Payoffs can be huge.  An example, I worked on the Monkton Garlic Festival this past September and I discovered new businesses and farms, I met my current yoga instructor too.  I got to work with and talk with my neighbors as we served as ambassadors for the town of Monkton while scooping out pie, home-made garlic ice cream and garlic soup.  What a unique experience.  People can be generous, the musicians that played for the Garlic Festival donated their time (Tyler Bolles, Jamie Masefield and Doug Perkins). 

I helped my partner, Rob with
publicity for the Bread Loaf
Section of the Green Mountain
Club for a brief stint. 



Volunteer!  You will meet new people, maybe stretch your comfort zone.  Learn to do activities you never knew you could do.  I never would have imagined that I could add to my skill set:   how to feed 125 people on a skimpy budget or no budget, put up an army tent or learn how to ask in a professional manner how to get others to care about my community!  Imagine what you could do.

-Kathy Boyer and her eight spoiled chickens at Chicken Hill

Ps.
If you are near Monkton on January 28th, don't forget to attend the Monkton Community Coffeehouse's Third Annual Chili Cook-Off!    Thirteen  area restaurants/businesses  are competing this year and we have many amateur entries too.  Great food and entertainment.  A culinary tour under one roof at the Monkton Central School, 5:30pm. 

Also, the Coffeehouse is co-sponsoring creating a town flag for the up-coming 250th town anniversary.  If you are a creative individual, pick up a flag kit at the Monkton Town Hall, Library, MCS or the Monkton General Store.  You can design the flag that best depicts what Monkton is. 

Subscribe to Monkton Talk an online email newsletter serving the town of Monkton because we don't have Front Porch Forum like other local communities.  Send an email to Pearse at monkton.talk@gmail.com and say, please add me to the email list!  Currently over 300 people subscribe. 

Embracing The Monster Within Us As A Peaceful Warrior

Nearing the top of Camel's Hump December 25, 2010

Each year, about the time that winter starts to settle in and my regular jobs wrap up for the year, I am at a loss for what to do next.  AND then I recognize all the minutia that still needs to be dealt with.   How many of us get sick of doing the same task over and over again?  Most days we do these things because they just need to happen.  Meal planning, dishes, laundry, fire stoking, bills.  Some of us might enjoy these task.  And maybe on an upbeat day they don't phase me.  However, when I'm dealing with less daylight and we haven't quite made the transition into a real winter and  the onslaught of holiday food has taken hold,  I struggle with the monsters within. 



Camel's Hump is where
 Rob and I chose to get
married!

 In an effort to combat these monsters I  make promises, set high goals and quickly hit a brick wall.  Happy New Year, right? 

This year as I try to make friends with the darker time of the year I am reflecting on my accomplishments and taking time to recognize my strengths. And one of my strengths is my love for exploring nature through hiking. 

My partner and I have a few traditions that we've worked into our lives, and one of those is hiking on major holidays.  Whenever possible Christmas and Thanksgiving is celebrated on a mountain.  When I first met my husband, through a friend, we took the short walk up nearby Mount Philo and got acquainted.  As we continued our courtship we explored local  hikes:  Snake Mt, Camel's Hump, Mt Mansfield and several other peaks in the Southern part of the state where Rob had been residing. Going on seven years together, a constant in our lives is our love for hiking. It's taken us to rainforest, tropical islands and into desserts. 

Joshua Tree in California

Hiking is a metaphor for life for me.  So many experiences found on the trail I can relate back to my day to day existence and it gives me renewed energy.  Recently, we spent New Year's Day hiking up to Battell Mt in The Breadloaf Wilderness Area. 

Rob and I hiked  Catalina Island off
the coast of California

Rob and I drove to the trail in Ripton and noticed we were getting a late start.  Our morning had been spent dealing with a sick chicken and that minutia I mentioned earlier.  Rob had added water to the hot tub so we could return home and enjoy a soak after a day of hiking.  We neared our destination and realized the trail guide neglected to tell us that the road leading up to our planned hike was closed after Dec. 15th.  We would have to walk an additional 1.1 miles to get to the trail head. No big deal, we were planning on getting some exercise.  I worried how much time this would add to our outing.  We were expected somewhere later in the day and there was the worry of  loss of  daylight. 

Hiking in Costa
Rica, 2007

We walked on a snowmobile path that was a bit icy for the first leg of our journey.  Me grumbling, because it was an undesirable surface to walk upon.  The views along the way were beautiful and out of a foggy day came some blue sky, sure to cheer even the most glum person.  The hike provided multiple surprises.  Our journey wound us over roads, through fields, over water ways and into mystical mountain areas filled with ancient looking trees draped with moss.  As we neared our destination the temperature dropped and we noticed entire sides of trees were coated with unusual snow formations.  Treading to higher elevations my mole skin clad heels started to beat out a more cheerful mood.  I felt lighter and stronger, and a little exhausted! 

When we reached the lodge it was covered in snow and looked inviting, we walked in and were suprised to see that someone had left two unopened cans of beer on the cabin's table.  They had froze and exploded leaving the scent of poor quality beer stench in the close quarters.  It upset me that someone that would take the time to hike to such a beautiful place would be so rude, neglectful.  I tried to puzzle it out in my mind.  Did they think that they were leaving a gift to the next person that happened upon them, unaware that they would freeze and be of no use to the next person?  Was it laziness?  Had they intended to come back for them? 




Climbing the last bit to the summit on the
island  of  Saba

  We traversed higher up to the mountain summit and were temporarily lost because the trail became unclear and no other footsteps had passed this way since the newly fallen snow.  And HELLO, white hash marks marking the trails during the white of winter?  With some hunting and circling about we found the look out that told us we'd reached yet another summit.  Briefly we enjoyed our accomplishment and the views.  The fog that we'd been hiking in cleared for a brief moment and we turned the way in which we'd come.  As we descended the multiple layers of our upward journey, we visited each place with a fresh outlook and with the satisfying feeling that comes when a goal is reached.  What might have been a struggle on our upward climb filled us with feelings of joy and accomplishment as we passed back by. 



Skyline Lodge at Skylight Pond in the
Bread Loaf Wilderness

 With yet another gorgeous day spent out side I was able to witness the warrior in me combatting my inner monster.  That warrior knows that life is filled with bumps in the road, unexpected turns and late starts and up hill climbs filled with both surprises and disappointments.  

Happy New Year!
-From Chicken Hill Gardens