Tag Archives: chickens

I love my town.

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

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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.

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

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

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

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

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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…

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

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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.

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A little out of my league.

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

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

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Loaded with fabulous birds…

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And beautifully crafted drinks…

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

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

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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.

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

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Most excellent!

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

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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?

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His name directly translates as father of chickens.

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And that must be celebrated.

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

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And that’s a beautiful thing.

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Random things and thoughts.

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What passes for news in my town?

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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.

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

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He took 12 bodies out of that building.

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A horrible day.

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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.

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A frosty sunrise photo down by the river.

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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.

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And finally, an update.

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Yay.

I love a happy ending.

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I love my town.

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And their wacky Facebook Group postings.

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Cat damage and springs that poke your butt?

Hurry up people, these won’t last long!

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

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Christ. Don’t tell my husband!

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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.

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

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Sadly, I know of no retail chicken establishments.

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

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I love my town.

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And the ridiculous things they post on their Facebook page.

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Must float didn’t seem too much to ask… which is why some smart ass posted this photo:

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I love smart asses.

In other news, coyotes.

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We hear them all the time. It’s quite eerie…

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Free roosters are the one and only free item I can’t talk my husband into.

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Hoe downing squirrels are nothing to take lightly, trust me on this.

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Chicken theft.

The world really has gone crazy.

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I love my town.

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And I love what people post on its Facebook page.

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Oh no.

If you see it?  Please tell it we serve a daily and nightly buffet free of charge.

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I’m not exactly sure what constitutes ‘groovy’ lamb.

But I’m pretty sure this isn’t it.

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Jumping orangey peach colored fish?

Thanks 2020. Like this year wasn’t weird enough.

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I have to admit I’d never even heard of letterboxing before.

Sounds like a perfect Covid era activity though.

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Normally I’d say friend.

But it’s 2020, for all we know that thing is radioactive.

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A giant vacuum cleaner?

Well, yeah.  They want us to social distance…  so just stick the hose end into your local pub and switch her on.

I love my town.

I also love all the ridiculous things people post about on its Facebook page.

In case you were wondering, no one volunteered to remove the stinky little bugger and he was released.

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Homeowner-0.

A reasonable response, but hell.

I didn’t even know we had a potato truck!

I showed this to the husband…. but he said there’s no room in the barn.

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I don’t know…

Cowbusters?

I hate when someone beats me to the perfect comment, don’t you?

A chicken plucker!

I’m shivering in avian sympathy.

The very definition of random.

 

Let’s start with a beautiful picture I snapped the other night when we took a ride up the coast.

 

 

Maine summer on the ocean.

You can’t beat it.

 

 

Our neighbor invited us over to see their tree house up close and personal.

 

 

Yes, the tree adjacent tree house I complained about in my blog a while back.

So… which one of you weasels ratted me out?

 

Adverbs.

Or rather, the death of them… is driving me to drink.

 

 

Real delicious?

Make the next one a double.

 

 

Grocery store bouquets.

 

 

Because sometimes a girl just has to buy herself flowers.

 

 

Socks… for my table?

Wonder if the dryer will eat those as well.

 

And finally, because you know I couldn’t resist….

 

 

You’re welcome.