The Potluckatarian

When you make a decision to change your lifestyle in order to have a positive impact on your health like I did, there are bound to be some situations in which you are forced to make some difficult decisions. I have written before about the changes I have made in order to be a more active, healthy person. One of those decisions is the choice to avoid meat and dairy products. I have said before that I am not a vegan or vegetarian, because I want to have choices. If you are a self-proclaimed vegan, vegetarian, pescetarian, glutenarian, or whatever you are, whether by choice or by force, you understand as well as I do, there are some sacrifices that come along with living a lifestyle void of cheeses (oh how I love cheeses) and meat. It can be challenging to take a vacation in the U.P., for instance, where, at times, the only vegan option on the menu consists of ketchup and saltine crackers. This is where I draw the line at whether or not I’m going to give in and just have the dang pasty, meat and all. Nowhere on earth is it more difficult to be a something-arian than at a church potluck. If you are the member of a church like I am, we gather together around food, usually potluck style, frequently. And it’s not just food. It’s really good food. I have been a potluck attendee my entire life because I have gone to church my entire life. When I have that Chinette plate in my hand and I’m shuffling along the potluck line, faced with the likes of tuna macaroni salad, taco salad, cheesy potatoes, and ground beef chili, I’m weak. Very weak. I scoop the turkey and dressing casserole on to that sturdy eco-friendly plate convincing myself that I’ll just “eat around” the turkey, but knowing full well that it’s not going to happen. I feel like a failure to all that’s good and vegan. “But God put those animals on this earth for us to enjoy!” they say. Tell that to my intestines that struggle to digest it. I try to be strong, but when I’m staring down a crockpot full of homemade macaroni and cheese the spoon beckons and I obey. As I cleaned my plate at the most recent potluck luncheon, I promised myself a meat and cheese detox starting at 1:00 pm. So maybe I’m a potluckatarian. Care to join me? I’ll be sitting in front of an empty oval Chinette plate, looking guilty, and full.

The Blessings of a Daughter-in-Law

So far, 2019 is shaping up to be one of my best years ever. For those of you who haven’t been paying attention to the little hints I’ve dropped in my previous columns, my son Robby got married in February to a wonderful young woman named Melody. We had not one, but two weddings (technically a wedding & reception in California and a second reception in Michigan). Both events were fun, but the real fun has been the “having a daughter-in-law” part. I used to say that because I lived in a house with all males, that our pets had to be female to balance things out. Not even close! If you live in a house with all males and haven’t gotten a daughter-in-law yet, let me tell you that it’s a real treat. There are just certain things that come along with having a human female join the family. For starters, the gift-giving is a blast. Melody was in the fiance’ stage when Christmas rolled around, and I’m not exaggerating when I admit that she probably got double the gifts that the boys got because, well, it’s just more fun to shop for a girl. Before her birthday, I studied her style of clothes and picked out something I thought she’d wear and, SCORE! She liked it, AND she wears it! Melody likes to do things I like to do like clean eating, going to the beach, and working out. She likes to dance too, but she’s a real dancer and I’m more like Elaine Bennis from Seinfeld. We don’t have everything in common though. She’s fluent in Spanish and I can say the standard 3 phrases that we learned in Spanish 1 in high school. My new daughter-in-law gives girl gifts and likes to talk about girl stuff.

Having a daughter- in-law means that you get asked questions you never thought you’d hear, like,

            “What do you usually like to do for Mother’s Day?” and “We’d love to come over for dinner. What can we bring?”

I also got a bonus when she signed on as a Hovie. Her sister and husband were good friends with Robby when he and Melody met, so we’ve sort of adopted them as surrogate family. So our family just got a lot bigger and more fun, to say the least. I feel like I just really lucked out in the daughter-in-law department and have been working on how to share it. But the best part is that she loves Robby as much as we do, which is just the icing on the cake for this Best. Year. Ever. Welcome to the family, Melody.

Talk is Cheap for this Backyard Chicken Farmer

This past May, I was talking tough about what it takes to be a backyard chicken farmer. Turns out, talk is cheap. My flock put me to the test these past several weeks as I tried to integrate young pullets into my established flock. To say it didn’t go well is an understatement. I’ve introduced chicks previously and it’s never been without its share of difficulty, but it has never been like this. This year I was reluctant to introduced 4 more chicks into my existing flock of 3, but my husband convinced me that we need to keep rotating new pullets in as the older hens slow down their egg production. After a quick trip to the farm store, in which I got to pick out the cute little peepers, we set them up in the basement and waited for the weather to break and for them to get big enough and feathered enough to join their adopted sisters. Not wanting to relive the trauma of having the older birds attack the little ones, I sought advice from a backyard chickens website. Contributor after contributor wrote about how easy it was to integrate babies in with the big girls and how nobody has ever had a problem…except me. What I read was that as long as the chicks were still peeping (not clucking yet), that the other birds would accept them. I seem to remember this particular advice NOT working in the past, but hey, I have to introduce them at some point, right? I kept the girls in the same coop, but separated by a rock, hoping to let them get big enough to protect themselves before removing the rock. Unfortunately, one morning the rock fell and all heck broke loose. To save you all of the gory details, one of the older hens had to be removed from the flock and rehomed. When the day came to get her all caged up and ready to transport, I had a flawless plan. I would simply throw her favorite dried mealworms into a dog kennel, she would trot right in, I would slam the door behind her, and we’d be off. Unfortunately, she had a different idea of what was going to take place, and getting into that box was not part of her plan. What followed was a series of attempts by me which included that dog kennel, about 3 cups of bird seed/mealworm mix, a cardboard box, a large beach towel, 3 videos and an article on “How to Catch a Chicken,” an apple, and another kennel. After about 2 hours total, I finally, and humanely got my hen into the back of my car with minimal stress for either of us. Truth be told, I could have grabbed her, but I was scared she would turn around and peck me. That’s right. The big, bad backyard chicken farmer is scared of her own chickens. Like I said, talk is cheap and if you’re looking for advice on raising backyard chickens, I find the internet is a great place to find all sorts of helpful advice.