At only six weeks, the 26 chicks look like half-sized versions of their adult selves. Temperament due to breed differences were obvious early on, and now individual characteristics have become quite clear. I know each chick, but some more than others. I sit with them. I try to handle each one every day, but when there are more than two dozen, and when they are fast and have space to run, catching and holding each one isn’t easy.

Some of the chicks get more of my time than others. They ask for it. I haven’t been feeding them from my hand, as I’ve wanted to see which chicks naturally gravitate towards people. A handful of the birds think that I am the most interesting thing around. This is the sort of behavior that I’ve been watching for. These outgoing and yet calm chickens are the ones that I’ve selected to live at the nursing home.

The Delawares are all placid and friendly, but this one in particular wants to be nearby and likes getting picked up. She also happens to be the prettiest of the three Delawares. She is going to the nursing home. The Andalusian behind her is also curious, but flightier. She’s staying with me.

Of the two Buff Orpingtons, one is always out the door first, and last to bed at night. She is always underfoot and is fine about sitting in my lap. She’s going to the nursing home. The other Buff Orpington looks the same, but doesn’t have half of this one’s personality. I’ll be selling her and she will make a fine laying hen in a backyard flock.

This Maran is curious and yet calm. She’s going to the nursing home. I’ll be keeping the other Cuckoo Maran.

Early on I knew which breeds were not going to the nursing home. I have four leghorns, two brown and two white. Perhaps in a smaller group of chicks, and with more attention from me, they wouldn’t be so aloof. But, from the beginning I felt like Wile E. Coyote trying to catch the Road Runner.

There are five pretty Ameracaunas, all with unique markings. The other day I took some leftover popcorn into the coop to see who would be bold enough to eat from my hand. This Ameracauna came right up, and she’ll join the nursing home flock. A Black Star did, too, and she’ll be going to the nursing home as well. Black Stars are excellent layers and get along with others.

Some chicks have always been in the background. They’re nice, but not outgoing enough for the nursing home These include most of the Black Stars and the Dominiques.

And then there is Owly. From the first days here this chick strained her neck up and looked at me quizzically. She’s an endearing, funny bird. She’s staying with me.

So, right now my plan is to keep six – Owly, and two other Ameracaunas, a Black Star, the Blue Andalusian and a Cuckoo Maran. I might keep a Leghorn, too. Five will go to the nursing home – the Buff Orp, a Black Star, a Delaware, an Ameracauna and a the Cuckoo Maran. The rest are for sale.

The chicks will be ready to go to their new homes in two weeks. I have 13 started pullets for sale (plus Mr. Grumpy, the Andalusian rooster. He’s free to a good home.) For sale are: 1 Blue Andalusian, 2 Dominiques, 3 Black Stars, 1 Buff Orpington, 2 Delawares, 4 Leghorns and 1 Ameracauna. Five chick minimum per buyer. $20 per bird. I prefer to sell to someone who is starting a new flock. Pick up here. I have a buyer for all of the chicks not purchased by June, so if interested, email me right away. Preference is given to those who have taken my Chicken Keeping Workshop, or are coming to the one on June 8 (Space still available. Sign up here.)

Meanwhile, I am greatly enjoying all of the hubbub of having 26 chicks in the Little Barn. But, it’s getting a tad crowded and the Old Girls are pining for a bit more peace and quiet. I’ve been assuring them that things will settle down, somewhat, in two weeks. Then again, I’ve a feeling that Owly is the sort to get into mischief.

Rhubarb Pie.

Blueberry Crumble.

Strawberry Shortcake.

Grape Jelly.

Peach Pie.

Patience.

Most of you have only seen the goats via the GoatCam, which means that you rarely see the whole goat. You see their noses.

And you see their butts.

I thought you might like to see a side portrait. Here is Caper.

He weighs 95 pounds. He’s big for a Nigerian Dwarf Dairy Goat wether, but he’s not full-sized either (those can top 150 pounds.) Caper is not fat (see yesterday’s post.)

I don’t have a side view of Pip. Sometimes, all that I see are noses, too.

Yesterday Dr. Sarah came to give the goats their annual shots.

Hello Boys, said Dr. Sarah.

Pip smiled. Caper wagged his tail.

The Goat Maid said, Dr. Sarah, please be honest with me. Do you think that the goats are overweight?

Dr. Sarah felt behind Pip’s elbows. I can feel a rib, she said.

Dr. Sarah felt along Caper’s back. I can feel the hipbone, she said.

She felt Pip’s belly. He does still have a thick winter coat, she said, and stood up.

These goats are not fat, said Dr. Sarah.

Pip looked at Caper. That’s what I told the Goat Maid, he said.

So did I, said Caper.

Do you think that the Goat Maid will feed us more? said Pip.

No, said Caper. The Goat Maid doesn’t listen.

She never does, does she? said Pip.

The goat boys watched Dr. Sarah’s truck disappear down the driveway.

But we could try asking again, said Pip.

Let’s, said Caper. You never know.

Bacon seems to be turning up in everything these days, from muffins to ice cream. It’s delicious. It’s got that trifecta of salt, sugar and fat. But, I care too much about pigs, farmers, health and the environment to eat bacon unless I purchase and cook it myself. I won’t go into a lecture here, but of all of the meats, I believe that where you get your pork from matters the most. I’m fortunate to be able to purchase bacon from pigs that graze in pastures and root through nearby woods. It’s expensive. It’s worth it, and I know how to make a little go a long way.

This is how the bacon is packaged when I purchase it from the farmer at her farm stand.

This is what bacon looks like when it comes from content pigs that had a good life and then are processed at a small slaughterhouse.

I don’t like frying bacon on the cooktop. It splatters grease everywhere. It smokes. It’s dangerous. Instead, I bake it in the oven. Here I’ve laid it out on my favorite rimmed baking sheet, which is sturdy and blackened with use. I put the bacon into a preheated 400 degree F oven for ten minutes until it’s about halfway cooked. It’s swimming in grease.

I carefully pour the fat into a grease can. The perforated top traps the bits which I discard. The grease is so useful, and having spent a lot on the bacon, it’s worth setting aside. I save it in the refrigerator in the can and use it for such tasks as browning potatoes. I’ll also sauté vegetables in bacon fat before adding them to soup, which gives me the smokey flavor without the ham hock.

Once the baking sheet is (imperfectly) drained of grease, I put the bacon back into the oven and bake for 5 more minutes, which is all it takes to crisp up until almost perfect. Almost.

I turn off the oven and leave the door open to let the oven cool off a moment. I put the bacon onto an oven-proof plate or baking sheet lined with a paper towel and return it to the oven, where it stays warm and dries a tad and its texture becomes absolutely perfect: crunchy and yet not overcooked. This transformation happens in five or ten minutes (depending on the oven and thickness of the bacon) but you can leave it in there for longer as long as the oven isn’t too hot. Check to make sure it’s not browning the bacon further.

This batch of bacon became dinner for three. We had fried egg, bacon and lettuce sandwiches. There was fresh asparagus from the garden on the side, and blueberry smoothies to drink. In the end, that costly bacon became part of an inexpensive meal.

And I still have that bacon grease to cook with.