Baked fruit is all well and good, and I’m never one to turn down a bowl of stewed peaches (with ice cream, please) or applesauce dished out as a dinner side. But, put that fruit into a crust and you have the magic that is pie. That crust is all important. It must be golden. It must be the perfect texture, neither too hard to penetrate with a fork, nor so soggy that it sags. It must be flaky and yet hold together. The demands of a perfect crust can put off even the most avid cook. Never fear! I’ve put together a tutorial of my all-butter pie crust.

Baking making a perfect pie crust does take experience. Crusts require handling just so. Give it a try. Try it again. Don’t worry. Just do it. Even the mistakes are delicious, after all, butter and flour always tastes good.

The recipe is posted on my FAQ page, here. A version of it will appear in my upcoming Farmstead Egg Guide and Cookbook, out in March of 2014.

I want to hear about the pies you’re baking!

On Saturday, five women spent the the afternoon in my kitchen to learn how to master pie crust. All of the ingredients and tools were ready for their arrival.

We made tea, talked about our favorite pies, and got to work. A lot of flour flew, as can be seen on my shirt (I should have worn a full apron, but couldn’t resist wearing this cute vintage one.)

I taught them how to make dough in the food processor. Handled correctly, with the right proportions of fat and water to flour, this machine can turn out the perfect crust. We looked, we handled, we pressed. With pastry it’s all about knowing when to stop. It takes an experienced eye.

Everyone mixed perfect crust to roll. There’s a technique to it, which they all got good at. I showed them what type of rolling pin works and what doesn’t. The proper tools matter.

We crimped and fluted.

There was a lot going on. Lily helped to tidy up anything that landed on the floor.

We made pies.

Marcia took home this classic apple. That’s a cinnamon stick in the center – a signature of my (and now her) apple pies.

Yemina has always wanted to make a lattice crust, and she did!

Jane graced her pie with maple leaves. (Of course my students had the best aprons.)

Sonja was inspired by the Yemina’s lattice and Jane’s maple leaves and created this beautiful pie (while telling us about her miniature donkeys which we are all insanely jealous of).

Luckily, there was one crust “failure” and so I was able to make pie crust cookies (cinnamon, sugar and chocolate chips.) We also put together a Meyer Lemon Pie. We were that busy! Finally, we made more tea and sat down to eat.

Everyone went outside to say hello to the goats. Phoebe showed them how fast she can run. The chickens clucked. No one wanted the afternoon to end, and so we agreed that they’ll come back for a bread baking class.

Note: I’ll be posting an apple pie recipe later this week. Watch for it!

I have three Speckled Sussex, all hatched the same day at the same farm, but they have always been easy to tell apart. Etheldred is the largest, and she has a white head, rather like a Bald Eagle’s coloring (she is pretty, but not all of that white is not true to her breed standards.) Florence is the smallest, with the most classic dotted feathering. Agatha Agate’s coloring is somewhere in the middle between her sisters, but it’s her personality that sets her apart. Agatha is often underfoot. She’s sweet, but as dim-witted as a chicken can be.

They’re all molting at the same time, but each hen is losing her feathers in a manner unique to her. Florence’s molt is subtle, and despite losing feathers, she looks as fashionable and svelte as ever.

Agatha’s feather coat is loose all over, but, she doesn’t look too bad.

But, oh, poor Etheldred! She is a hen who is easy to ignore. She does what she has to, stays out of trouble and out of the way. She comes when called. She doesn’t bully or cower. Last night, though, I noticed her. She was huddled in a nesting box. I think that she’d been in there, staying out of the wind and feeling sorry for herself, when darkness fell and she didn’t have a chance to join the others on the roost (it’s been getting dark quickly.) I put her up on the ladder with the others and she settled in next to their warmth.

Just look at her. No tail. Long wing feathers akimbo.

Etheldred’s head is all prickly.

But, the new feathers are growing in and soon she’ll be back to her old, steady, glossy and beautiful self. Hang in there, Etheldred!

Beauty might be only skin – or shell – deep, but the truth is that we do care about it. I have beauty criteria when selecting what chicken breed to get. I look at plumage and the color of their eggs. For some time now, I’ve wanted one of those dark chocolate-colored eggs in my basket, and for that I decided to get a cuckoo Marans. This is a breed that originated in France, and it was only a couple of years ago that it was put onto the American Poultry Association’s list of recognized breeds. Being derived from French, no one seems to agree on how to spell or pronounce it. Is one chicken a Maran or a Marans? Silent S or pronounced? I’ve seen it officially both ways. I’m saying Marans. This time.

In any event, I got a cuckoo variety (which is a term for the slate gray striped feathering). My one Marans is named Veronica. Typical of this breed, she matured late and is not a prolific layer. I’ve been watching and waiting for that chocolate egg. Nothing. Of the six Ladies in the Little Barn, two lay blue eggs, two white, and two brown. Nancy Drew, the Black Star, lays a pale brown egg. Sometimes. She’s supposed to be a good layer, but she’s not. Sometimes her eggs are thin-shelled. There are days that she doesn’t lay at all, but I’ve occasionally found a light brown egg in the nesting box. I assumed that it was hers.

But on Sunday, this was in my egg basket:

The dull white egg is Misty’s, and the middle egg is Nancy’s. So, the only other hen that could possibly lay that brown egg on the right is Veronica. There’s a chance that her eggs will get darker, but I doubt it. Oh, well, I do like having Veronica in the flock. I’m partial to big, classic laying hens, and she is that. Veronica is chatty and calm. Here she is with Owly. Owly is not steady or calm. She is looking up (which is a trait specific to Owly and in all of my years of chicken keeping, I’ve never had such a quirky hen.)

Veronica is steadfast. That’s a good thing when there are hens like Twiggy and Owly in the mix.

I think that if I want chocolate eggs, I’ll have to buy Cadbury’s.

I like a clean coop, and the reasons for that are numerous. There are the health benefits: removal of manure reduces the likelihood of internal parasites, controls flies and noxious odors, and provides the birds with dry, fresh air that keeps their respiratory tracts healthy. Removal of dust and cobwebs reduces the germ load in the barn. But, even without those reasons, I’d keep the coops clean because tidy and sweet-smelling enclosures with active, content, animals within makes me happy.

During the week, my barn chores take little time. I let the hens out in the morning, and let close them back in at night. I check water and feed. I use a kitty litter scoop to pick up any obvious messes (when you have a broody hen that leaves broody poop, you’ll want to do that!) Once a week, usually on the weekend, but it varies depending on my calendar (chickens are not the sort of animals that demand an exact schedule of their caregivers) I do a thorough coop cleaning, and clean the goats’ area.

This is what I do:

First, I let the hens out to free-range. It’s much easier to tidy up when they’re not underfoot.

I’m careful to keep Phoebe in. She checks where everyone has gone to.

Buffy gets carried onto the lawn and set into a warm patch of sun.

The goats get closed out of their stall, otherwise they will “help.” Have you ever tried to wield a shovel and bucket around a goat? Unless you’re a comedienne developing a slapstick routine, I suggest you don’t.

Although the goat stall doesn’t look too bad,

it does need shoveling up and airing out.

I also sweep and shovel up the manure that piles up in their outdoor pen. All of their used shavings and waste goes into the compost in the chicken run. The hens like scratching through it. The two species don’t share internal parasites, and the hens will eat up any nasty bugs found in the goats’ manure, so this is a practical way to turn the manure into useful compost for the garden.

Next, I go into the Gem’s area. Chickens poop a lot at night while they are sleeping, and so the bulk of their manure ends up under the roosts.

I use a fine-tined pitchfork to get it up.

That manure goes into a compost bin where the hens can’t get into it. This helps to control their internal parasites, as removing manure breaks the lifecycle of those pests. Eventually this will break down into lovely dirt and be used in my garden.

Chickens are continually scratching and shredding – food, bedding, manure. It becomes a fine dust that covers everything. It will accumulate under the pine shavings, looking like a layer of sand. A few times a year I shovel everything up and start fresh. I’ll be doing that soon, but not until the hens finish molting, so that I can get rid of the piles of feathers, too. But, every week I sweep the walls, sills and beams in the barn.

Look at the dust in the air!

I don’t do a vigorous sweeping every week, but when I do, I wear a mask. I don’t want to breathe those fine particulates in.

I top off the feeders.

I scrub the waterer.

I rake the pen.

This is a job well done.

These tasks are repeated in the Little Barn. When bedding gets low, I add fresh pine shavings. Love that smell!

Once all is clean, I call the hens back into their runs. By now the goat stall has aired out. I add fresh bedding, and put a little hay in the manger, after all, this entire cleaning routine took about an hour. The goats were starving.