Tag Archives: chickens

Things I’ll never need.

.

I can honestly say I will never need a Russian pickle puff.

.

.

But I suppose it’s good to know they exist all the same.

.

.

Shark slippers? I’m sure they’re great for scaring the crap out of sand crabs, but no.

.

.

Do I need to drink my cocktails out of a bird’s ass?

I most assuredly do not.

.

.

And if I don’t need a bird ass cocktail delivery system? I certainly don’t need an egg laying one. Trust me, this will not relieve my stress.

.

I love my town…

.

You never know what serious news stories will be discussed on my town’s Facebook page. The economy? Yes. Climate change? Sure. But I live in Maine…. so likely as not? It will be this:

.

.

Bear poop beats the G-7 Summit any day.

.

.

The conversation got heated and had to be removed by admin. We take our poo identification seriously up here.

.

.

Now that’s my kind of neighbors.

.

.

Someone is selling peony blossoms for $3 a pop?

.

.

Woot!

I’m going to be rich.

.

.

I’ve read that the cost of rental cars had gone up, but $3,000 for a week?

That’s beyond insane.

.

It’s like they built this store just for me.

.

Sometimes Facebook gets it right.

.

.

Like this store… that seems to be targeted to my sense of humor.

,

.

Not always, but maybe. Alright… more than likely it is.

.

.

Sounds like something I would do.

.

.

I have an abundant supply, no problem.

.

.

I’m definitely not. Remind me to tell you the story about my husband’s friend who called him at work to tell him to ‘get his wife under control’. Ha! As if.

.

.

That’s me.

.

.

Someday I’m going to have to buy one of these. It’s my favorite tag line and I’ve been searching for cocktail napkins with that phrase ever since we built the man cave bar…. to no avail.

😰

.

I love my town

.

What passes for news in my little corner of the world might seem silly to some….

.

.

But I like to think of our Facebook page as the New York Times of happy living.

.

.

You’ll be glad to know this crisis was averted.

.

.

I’m not sure if this a thing in your area, but in Maine late spring means it’s time to thin and divide the perennials. Some people sell them in their front lawn, but more often than not the bounty is simply shared.

.

.

Go home Freyr. I don’t care how tasty the tuna is down the road.

.

.

That’s one fluffy little cock.

.

.

Damn. No one ever drops roosters off at our house.

🥴

.

I love my town.

.

In the continuing series Small Town Life Be Different…. here are the latest missives from mine.

.

.

This was so sweet. Our local UPS man… who distributes doggie treats on his route… is in the hospital with pneumonia, so all his four legged customers posted pictures.

.

.

Because traffic alerts in the country are less about speeding and more about manure.

.

.

Every year the women of the Historical Society sew a quilt with local scenes to be auctioned off.

.

.

The Town Office bought the first one where it still hangs proudly.

.

.

Yes, I showed this to the husband. And no, he hasn’t removed his absolutely no chickens ban.

.

.

Yikes. Critters that crawl under your house and die are the worst. But I can’t say I’ve ever known one to stink of garlic. And speaking of stinking…

.

.

Word to the wise… if you think it’s your year? It most definitely is. 🤢

.

.

As he predicted, this man’s post got a whole lotta hate. He’s new to the area… and I’m guessing he isn’t going to be very popular. Buying a house in a rural part of Maine means generations of the previous owners might still be inhabiting your back 40. A man up the road from us has a cemetery from the late 1700’s on his land. He doesn’t know the family or their descendants, but lovingly cares for the plot all the same. It’s called respect.

.

A little out of my league.

.

While I adore the Drinking With Chickens blog and Facebook page…

.

.

And was thrilled that the author published a cocktail recipe book…

.

.

Loaded with fabulous birds…

.

.

And beautifully crafted drinks…

.

.

I have to admit her concoctions are a little out of my bartending comfort zone.

.

.

And as much as I’d love to dazzle our friends ( if we ever see them again post plague) with these truly gorgeous creations..

.

.

I fear the barn bar, which will be fully stocked with assorted liquors and accompaniments, will more than likely be devoid of fresh persimmons and kumquat thyme syrup.

.

.

Calendula blossoms and cardamom pods? That might be a bridge too far, even for me.

.

Most excellent!

.

It looks like Mayor Pete might be my husband’s new boss.

.

.

While we liked Pete during the primaries, it’s for another reason entirely that I’ll be squealing with glee if his nomination is approved.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen… (and everyone in between) his name?

.

.

His name directly translates as father of chickens.

.

.

And that must be celebrated.

Casual Friday at the Federal Aviation Administration could look like this in the near future:

.

.

And that’s a beautiful thing.

.

Random things and thoughts.

.

What passes for news in my town?

.

.

Oh no! The poor girl. Being roosterless is a terrible thing.

Or so I’ve heard…

A while back I made a Facebook Veterans Day post with some photos of the hubby in uniform. I found these after the fact.

.

.

In Beirut, Lebanon October 1983 with the bombed out Marine barracks in the background.

.

sc0001 (3)

.

He took 12 bodies out of that building.

.

sc0001 (2)

.

A horrible day.

.

.

This one was in Newport, Rhode Island (not sure of the year)  He was receiving a commendation for saving a man’s life.

That’s my husband. And yes, I’m proud.

.

.

A frosty sunrise photo down by the river.

.

.

Okay, maybe you didn’t used to drink in the woods…. but I was a teenager who grew up on an Island in Maine. We drank everywhere.

.

And finally, an update.

.

.

Yay.

I love a happy ending.

.

I love my town.

.

And their wacky Facebook Group postings.

.

.

Cat damage and springs that poke your butt?

Hurry up people, these won’t last long!

.

.

A noisy big yellow machine. I shall follow this thread and report back. Who knows… maybe it’s the Beatles’ long lost submarine.

.

.

Christ. Don’t tell my husband!

.

.

You may not know what it feels like to fall off the turnip truck, but in my town… apparently you can fall off the potato one.

.

.

This is a running gag because certain parts of our town lose power quite easily. Flatulent rodents will probably strike here next, stay tuned

.

.

Sadly, I know of no retail chicken establishments.

Wonder if I could talk them into a few clever and highly motivated red squirrels instead?

.

.