The second child

I am a first-born. My arrival on the scene, though not entirely planned, was a serious game-changer in the lives of all involved (not least, of mine). And for a number of years, give or take some rough patches along the way, I enjoyed the full focus of the sun, so to speak, on my little life.

And then my brother was born on April 11, 1985. Cue the thunder clouds.

Of course, in the end, the world is better place for his existence. And had I been the one making those decisions that no one actually makes, I would choose for him to be born. But there's something back-seat-y about the arrival of a sibling, something like the Spears-cum-Aguilera-cum-Simpson phenomenon: In with the sparkly new pop diva, out with yesterday's.

Parents don't apologize for this natural order of family events, and goodness knows the public is so unforgiving as to support an entire industry that mocks yesterday's pop divas (thank you, US Weekly). But I believe that I have pranced a few steps in this little dance recently, and I am going to hold myself to a different standard:

I'm sorry, my little potatoes.

And I'm sorry, all you pretty seedlings, so patiently lined up on the dining room table. I'm sorry, Arugula, for not trumpeting your first sprout yesterday. And I should be ashamed, Chard, for not shouting from the rooftops that Erik and I ate half of one dinner this week courtesy of your hard work throughout the winter.

I am a jerk: I got chickens and ignored my garden because it doesn't squawk and do uber-entertaining dumb things with ping-pong-balls.

So for the record, today I planted two varieties of heirloom potatoes (all-blue and French fingerling). Some of the spinach didn't take, so I replanted a bunch of that last week. Lettuces are poking out of the dirt like algae on a pond, and not much of anything is happening with my carrots (what is new...).

The container garden on the porch is swinging into gear, though I may have been a bit impulsive (who, me?) and planted several herbs too early, as there's a frost tonight. And some of my young plants may have bit the dust due to my aggressive "hardening off" schedule.

So yeah, we have chickens, and they're fascinating and have sucked all the oxygen out of this once-garden-centered blog, but soon the oxytocin is bound to wear off and I will seek my jollies from the green grow-y things again.

I love all my children the same. Honest.

I just wish my plants would grow as fast as the chicks.

And chirp.

Chicken Olympics

Inspiration hit me last night like a fat lady with a fly swatter. I was seized with a sense of purpose and genius. The moment had come to bring our 6 little chicks to the next level of existence.

It was time for . . . chicken tetherball.

Here's the video: (If you can't see it on facebook, go to www.citylovescountry.com to see it on my blog)

Winning Caption

So I put out a call for captions for the girls' photoshoot. I got many variations on a theme (you'll see), but one submission rose above the rest.

The winning submission:

Thanks, Dad!

Hot Chicks for your viewing pleasure

Perhaps the cutest thing we've ever seen.

Erik and I held a photo shoot for the girls in our bathroom. They were perfect models, though clearly quite confused by the sudden change of address. We just finished photographing them and have not yet had time to cook up witty captions. This is where you come in. Please post your best, and I'll stick them here (with attribution, of course!).

Trick or treat

In retrospect, perhaps I got carried away.(That was my costume. I was a farmer. I don't think my greatly exaggerated freckles show up in this picture.)


The outfit was within the bounds of normal Halloween excitement. But the $25 of candy? The multiple jack-o-lanterns offset by seven other enormous pumpkins? The candle-lit walkway? The three hours I sat outside freezing my pigtails off waiting in vain for just-one-more trick-or-treater?

I forced a roving gang of college kids to take fistfuls of candy. Three different times.

What happened to trick-or-treating? It used to be the highlight of the season for me when I was a kid, and damn it, it still is now. But I guess these days kids have better things to do - like sit at home and watch TiVo - than to trek up and down cold streets and earn their snack-sized Kit Kat bars. (Oh, yes - I give out the good stuff.)

I did document the few kiddos who came my way (er, some I had to chase down the street and beg to come my way). And here for all to enjoy, are their getups.

Halloween Party Pumkin Carvin'!

That would be: Wiqan and little Kai, me and Erik, Laurie and little Mahala, and Theo and Mandy in this silly composite picture.

Not pictured: two huge pies and the gallons of (very) spiked hot apple cider.

Fall should be celebrated!