Pickled Pink

Pickled Beets and Cherry Bounce.

My pantry of home-canned goods is decidedly in the pink. A week or so ago I used tart cherries to make jar after jar of cherry preserves (it's one of our favorites) and "Cherry Bounce". Today I put up 10 pints of pickled beets.

My great grandmother used to make pickled beets and they never fail to make me think of summer meals, family gatherings, and, well, eggs. She always used to slip a peeled boiled egg in. It would turn a pretty shade of pinkish purple, and sliced up it looked nice on salads (and tasted great, too).

I'll include her recipe for beets below. I modified it just a bit to fit the number of beets I had, but you can adjust as needed simply by making more or less syrup according to the number of beets you have. Here are the quantities I used:

Great Grandma's Pickled Beets
makes 10 pints
9 lbs. medium to small beets, rinsed clean
5 c. cider vinegar
5 c. sugar
5 c. water
4 tsp. pickling spices
3 tsp. pickling salt

Cut leaves off beets, leaving about an inch of the stems and the root intact. Cover with water, bring to a boil. I let them boil for about 25 minutes. You can check them at about 15-20 minutes and see if they're tender, and go longer if needed. Drain, then soak in cold water until beets are cool enough to handle. Slip peels from beets, and cut off stem end and root. You can leave beets whole, or slice them, depending on your preference.

Mix up the syrup by combining the remaining ingredients in a large pot, and bring it to a boil. I like to add my sliced beets and let them boil in the syrup for a few minutes to heat them through. Fill hot, sterilized jars with beets, add syrup leaving 1/2 inch headspace, add lids, adjust bands, and process in hot water bath 30 minutes (adjust for altitude if needed).

Oh--and in case you're wondering what Cherry Bounce is....  Here's a link to a recipe, though it's slightly different than the one I used, it's a very nice blog from Boulder. Pretty much the same idea, just a variation on the theme.

Cherry Bounce
About 6 cups of fresh tart cherries (best if left unpitted, but will still work if they are already pitted. The pits are said to lend a little bit of an almond flavor.)
3 c. sugar or sucanat
a bottle of vodka (or bourbon or rum, or....).
3 1-quart jars with lids and rings
Place 2 c. cherries in each jar. Add one cup sugar to each jar. Fill each jar the rest of the way with the libation of your choice. (Optional: Add a little almond extract to each jar for a slight almond flavor if your cherries are pitted). Top with lid and rings, tighten well. Shake jars. I shook each jar a few times each day until all the sugar had completely dissolved. Then place in a cool, dark place to age for about three months. We'll plan to keep these jars for Christmas, to open a little taste of summer in the depth of winter. And I've been told you can make a very nice sauce for ice cream out of those tipsy, well-preserved cherries. I'll let you know how that turns out....

A Fair Lady

Today was the first day of judging, so we left the house about 7:15, and made sure we were there in time to clean cages out, top off food and water, and tidy up chickens before judging began at 9. L rubbed some vaseline into Pearl's comb to moisturize it and make it shiny, cleaned up her beak, put olive oil on her legs and feet, rubbed her down with a silk cloth, and fussed over her. Pearl, as usual, took all of this in stride. L swept the aisle and tidied up, then, with Pearl polished, and L's friend's hens ready, we headed out to grab a celebratory breakfast at Panera Bread and waited to see what the judge would think.

We arrived back to see how everyone placed. I think we all held our breath as we headed to Pearl's cage. And there it was:

Pearl placed 1st in Feather Legged Bantams - Old Hens.

That was pretty darn exciting. We milled around, checking out the other chickens we knew, looking for the hens and cockerels that we liked. Pearl was hot (it's in the 90s today) so L stopped periodically to mist her and to try to keep her cool.

Tomorrow morning L has showmanship, and then the awards presentation in the evening, before checking birds out by 9 pm.

I took a picture of a Sebright that I thought was beautiful, along with some fantail doves:

Each day the kids gather eggs from the hens that are there, and write the breed on the egg, then display it so that visitors can see the many colors and sizes of eggs from the wide range of breeds. The pigeon egg was the size of a large marble. The blue egg is from an Ameraucana. I was surprised that some duck eggs were the same size as chicken eggs:

So, one more day... then it will be time to start thinking about next year....

Clover Comes Home

L with a subdued Clover at fair.

On Friday night, we headed to the fairgrounds with Pearl and Clover for the vet check. Both had been off the antibiotics for two days, with no symptoms.

At the vet check, they talked to L about her birds and explained what they were doing (looking for evidence of mites, lice, and disease), then exclaimed over them ("They're so pretty! I love her color. Oh! This is my favorite little hen so far!") and made a fuss about them, which made L smile. They were checked twice, and both vets thought they looked very healthy.

We got them settled in their cages, and everything seemed fine. Shavings, food, and water, all freshly added. Clover's nearest neighbor was a golden laced cochin bantam pullet. Pearl was next to a fluffy black silkie pullet. All seemed in good order, and we left them for the evening.

We were back early in the morning to check food and water. Pearl was bright-eyed and happy. Clover looked miserable, her eyes closed, her little self hunched up. We added electrolytes to her water, carried her around, visited Pearl. But she simply seemed unhappy. She's normally very vocal and busy, and this withdrawn, dozing little hen was not like her.

I asked one of the poultry superintendents what I should do. She regarded Clover, and said that sometimes, old hens just didn't handle the stress well. Another poultry superintendent came by. They worked at having Clover drink, dipping her beak into the water until she finally started drinking on her own, but she refused her food. Then they had us move Pearl in with her for comfort.

They felt she was just confused and stressed and dehydrated, not sick. We walked around the fair and came back, then spent the rest of the afternoon checking on them both. One of Pearl's neighbors -- a big white meat bird -- reached through the cage and pecked at Pearl's comb, making it bleed. L changed bedding, refilled water and feed cups, swept the aisles, and offered to help wherever she could.

But by evening, it was clear that Clover was just a very unhappy hen. I withdrew her from the fair, and carried her out to the car, put her in the box next to me in the front seat, and headed home. By the time I pulled her out of the box and carried her to the backyard, her eyes were looking brighter, her head higher.

I put her down on the path by the coop and her old friend Oreo came running to meet us. The two Australorps hurried over, and Thelma noticed a piece of shavings on top of Clover's head. She reached over and picked it off, then regarded Clover as if to say, "Well sugar, where have you been?" Clover basked in the welcome, sighed and clucked, then hopped into the coop.

She and I were both glad she was home.

Cleaning House

Oreo roosts under the lilac while I clean house.

Today, with the hens seeming to do better, I took a break from a project I'm working on, and went out and cleaned the coop and run. This always makes the hens anxious, and they skitter around like the sky is falling.

The way that K built the coop, it's easy to scrape out all the shavings. The linoleum on the floor makes cleaning a simple mater of sweeping out the area, mopping it, and letting it dry, and it felt like I was cleaning out a sickroom and putting new sheets on the bed. I cleaned all the surfaces, put new dusting powder down, and brought clean sweet-smelling pine shavings in.

Violet checked in occasionally like a supervisor.

Outside, I could hear thunder rolling, and the skies were darkening. I closed the coop door and moved to the run where Luna is now a solitary pullet. I'm trying to add a little bulk to her light frame, so she's got a bowl full of homemade yogurt, and some scrambled eggs in addition to her regular ration. I move everything out, rake all of the litter, straw, and debris out of the run, fill water and feed containers, and pile up fresh shavings under the hutch for her. Until she's out of quarantine, we've got her in a bunny hutch at night, but she seems to prefer sheltering under the hutch during the day.

I visit her a bit and see no signs of respiratory issues, and keep my fingers crossed. She was on Tylan for five days, but that's the longest that we're supposed to keep her on it, so today is her first day without meds.

With Thelma on the mend, I fold up the dog crate that I had been using as an extra isolation cage, clean out the bowls that I used, and put everything in a box that I'll disinfect and put away. I glance over and see Luna happily nesting under the hutch. The other hens have settled into the clean coop or are roosting under the lilac bush,  and the first sprinkles of rain are coming down. In Colorado, it may rain for 2 seconds (most likely) or 2 hours (not very often) so I head inside. It feels so good to have the henhouse in order and all of the food, water, and supplements restocked in clean containers.

The rain cleanses the dust from the air, and rinses away the residue of worry that's been nagging me all week. We may not be over the illness, and there will always be something to worry about with hens. But for right now, everyone is tucked in, dry, and well tended.

Tentative Green Light

Luna

While Thelma definitely had the sniffles, everyone else has seemed to be more or less normal.

Luna, the new hen, had symptoms only for a day (hers were very mild) and Pearl, who had seemed a little sniffly, now seems bright eyed and normal. In fact, none of the three seemed to feel very sick at all.

Uncertain about taking any hens to fair, I called the poultry expert for the county, and she suggested that we see how they are doing Friday (the day when we are to bring the chickens to the fairgrounds), and if they seemed ok, to bring them and have the vet take a look at them then. She didn't think that it sounded like they needed to stay home, and I've been much relieved to see everyone behaving normally.

Which is to say that Thelma and Louise are still chasing Pip around (and Pip is still chasing sparrows in retaliation), Violet is still hanging out with me when I garden, Clover still wanders around making noise all the time, Pearl and Oreo are their usual unassuming, happy-go-lucky selves, and they are all anxious to get out of the coop and get busy scratching and snacking and chasing bugs. 

We have kept Luna and the little one isolated. Sadly, the little one, whom L named Dove, is a casualty this week. After doing a little research, I think she may have had "runting stunting syndrome" -- which is characterized by failure to thrive, malformed feathers, and weakness, all of which fit her to a T. She never did show signs of the sniffles that Luna had shown.

We knew when we brought her home that she wasn't likely to make it--the breeder had warned us the same, and it appeared congenital. She seemed to try very hard to peck at food, but at the same time ended up getting very little into her beak. She simply wasn't getting nourishment--she weighed next to nothing. We gave her vitamins, electrolytes, yogurt, and Avia Charge (a big dose of enzymes, vitamins, minerals, and omega fats) but it just seemed to have little impact. I found her this morning.

L was sad. I tried to explain the process of natural selection... and I think she feels comforted that Dove had a pretty comfortable place to end her days.

So, it's been an up and down week in the coop.

If we arrive at fair and find that the vet thinks we need to take her hens home, L plans to still help with set up, and help the other 4Hers feed and water their birds during the fair. She'll work at the dairy bar and help clean up the poultry barn after, then start thinking about next year. And we will chalk up all of it as part of learning about chickens, life, good sportsmanship, and perseverance. Not bad lessons to learn, all in all.

Under Quarantine

Two new pullets, Dove and Luna, before they got sick.

We brought two new pullets home about a week ago, and this time we made sure to keep them quarantined from our other hens. But it appears that in spite of our precautions, we have a respiratory disease spreading through the flock.

The new hen, a blue orpington tentatively named Luna, seemed healthy when we brought her home. We also brought one of her flockmates, a sympathetic and totally impulsive decision because the pullet was runty and tiny and L fell in love with her. She's a little lavender orpington L has named Dove. She seemed healthy, just small, and very sweet and attached to L. But two days later, the blue began to show symptoms of a respiratory illness--and it began to look like Coryza, a particularly nasty, common poultry disease. One source told me we should euthanize our entire flock now, and start over in a few months with new healthy hens.

I looked at Pearl, and Clover, and Violet, and knew I really wasn't ready to do that yet. Though the hens are likely to recover, they will be carriers of the disease for life. That means L won't be taking any of them to the Fair to show.

At first I wasn't too worried because I'd kept Luna isolated from my other hens from the beginning. But somehow, the germs made their way to the in-residence ladies. Yesterday, while watering the garden, I noticed Thelma seemed to be sneezing. Or coughing. She was making these odd gurgling sounds. I pulled her out of the main flock and placed her in a run by herself, next to the run where the two new hens are.

I think she feels like little Miss Persecuted, poor thing. I headed to the vet supply store and bought some Tylan (an antibiotic) and some heavy-duty disinfectant. I carefully dosed three waterers, and carried them out to the coop and run. I was beginning to feel like some sort of hospital worker facing a pandemic, wearing gloves and a mask, using disinfectant on my shoes, and feeling paranoid about every little speck of dirt that I saw in the house.

I had a meeting yesterday evening, and K and L left to go clean stalls at the barn. When I returned, Thelma had ramped up her determination, hopped the fence, and found her way into the coop to roost with her flock. I felt terrible when I plucked her sick little self off the perch and put her in isolation again.

Then I stood there full of indecision. The other hens have likely been exposed, so maybe I should just put her back in with them so that she feels a little better with company and we get it all over with at once. I vacillated like a metronome, but in the end, left her in solitary confinement with food and medicated water. She's not really drinking much of the water, so I've added a little mango-peach juice to hers to see if the sweetness will attract her.

I've locked the hens that seem healthy in the coop so that they can't tromp around through the runs and pick up the nasties. They are really not.happy. Violet charges the door every time I go in, and they all seem confused.

I'm feeling terribly guilty for bringing a sick hen into the flock and for completely wrecking L's plans for fair. L has been very gracious and stoic about it, but I can't help but feel just awful. I'm worried about the hens.

Beyond feeling guilty, though, there's not much to do now but wait and see how everyone does. 

Finding Focus

L with Butters.

Today was one of those days where I felt like I was crazy busy all day, but running into roadblocks at every turn so that nothing really got done. I need to finish an article and have been waiting for a veterinarian to return my calls so that I can interview him about a horse with bone cancer. I needed to get some work done outside, L needed help with her 4H record book, and I had to run and pick M up from a friend's house. Tybee had an afternoon appointment at the vet for lab work (he's losing hair), I needed to track down a couple of phone numbers for the next article I need to write, and I felt like I was checking my phone constantly for the vet's email, distracted and running in too many directions.

By late afternoon, I wasn't sure I really had time to go out to the barn, but L had a lesson, and we needed to clean stalls. I hadn't done much with Ellie in more than a week. I gulped down dinner with K and the girls, then headed out to the barn still thinking about everything else I needed to get done, and why did I think I'd have time for horses?

L brought Butters in and tacked him up for her lesson, and K started working on stalls and runs. So I went out and got Ellie. She was up to her eyeballs in hay, and not exactly in a big hurry to greet me, but she stopped eating and walked up to me, frisking me for cookies. I pulled some hay from her forelock, slipped on her halter, and walked out of the pasture with her.

I led her past the run where Mosie, a gray Connemara stallion, was peacocking around, all but standing on his head to get Ellie's attention. She paid no attention to his foolish self. In the barn, I put her in crossties, pulled her fly sheet off, and started to curry her, rubbing along that spot on her neck that is always itchy. Over the past few weeks, Ellie and I have become acquainted in measured paces. I've bathed her on hot days and hand grazed her while watching L take lessons, or tacked her up and just done simple circles with her.

She is still dragging her front feet, so we've put down poles to try to get her to work those shoulder muscles stepping up and over the ground poles. I've trotted her here and there, pleased to find that she has a nice, easy trot that is smooth to sit. (I've also learned that while posting was an easy exercise when I was in riding shape, it's definitely not as effortless as it used to be. Going to need to work on that.)

I didn't really have time for a ride tonight, so I sprayed her liberally with fly spray, then walked her over next to the arena where she could hoover up some grass while I watched L's lesson. It was a calm evening without the broiling heat of the day. Ellie contentedly and greedily moved her lips over each green patch of grass, cropping it close with rhythmic intensity.

While I stood there with her, L was learning to canter Butters, and she was earnestly focused on what she was doing. Butters would canter four or five strides, then break back to a trot, but those few strides were pretty exciting. Butters has this funny habit of occasionally giving an exuberant squeal while cantering, and on L's last attempt at a canter, he took a couple of strides, gave a short squeal, then took a few more strides. L praised and patted him. She was proud.

As I stood there with Ellie, I realized that I hadn't once checked my phone, hadn't worried about hearing back from the vet or checking off the next item on my list.

Earlier this week I finished a story for Horse&Rider about Allan Hamilton, M.D., who wrote Zen Mind, Zen Horse. In it, he talks about having focus when you are with your horse, and he says, "We learn from our equine partners how to clear our minds." Standing in the grass with Ellie, with the scents of summer and the sounds of her grazing--with our growing comfort with each other--I realized she had done just that.

And it wasn't just me.

L, who typically flits in 50 different directions and sometimes struggles to focus, was so intent on what she was doing, and so hyper-focused, that watching her made me realize how good riding is for her as an exercise. When riding, you have to be present and focused, and Butters was teaching L how to set her intention and clear her mind of everything except what she was doing.

I watched L a little while longer, then walked Ellie back to the barn, grabbed a few cookies, put her fly sheet back on her, and walked her out to her pasture. We again walked past Mosie as he tried in vain to get her attention. Ellie doesn't give him the time of day. I pulled her halter, gave her the two cookies I'd brought, and let her return to her hay. She was back to what she was doing when I'd pulled her from her pasture. But I was a much calmer person leaving her pasture than I was when I'd first arrived at the barn.

Funny how horses can bring the present into sharper focus.