Happy Labor Day!

We did a lot of laboring yesterday, so we're taking today off. Can't say the same for the ladies, though.

This is the first time we had three eggs by 11 a.m. I take this as a sign that our (slightly) youngest chicken, Babette (or Little Bob), has started laying. We'll know for sure if we get a fourth egg today.

I'm not sure there's anything better than eating eggs within a few hours of being laid (I heard major chicken honking around 8 a.m., so the first egg was probably laid then). We gave the ladies a peach and let them free range for a bit as a reward for their hard work. They enjoy free-ranging, as you can see:

The only thing more fun than digging to China  inside the coop,
is trying to dig to China outside the coop.

Sweet dreams are made of this

Blackberry morning

Foraging is a kissing cousin of urban farming, so we set out yesterday morning to pick blackberries. Jeff had picked about five 64-ounce Nancy's yogurt tubs full the previous Sunday (I don't remember what I was doing...probably catching up on laundry from camping and wondering if I would ever get the smell of woodsmoke out of my hair). The goal this weekend was to pick enough to make a good-sized batch of blackberry jam.

I was game more in theory than in practice, especially once I felt the wrath of this one type of blackberry with intensely nasty thorns (but with berries that had a delicious, almost slightly lemony flavor). I stayed more on the fringes of the blackberry patch, while Jeff all but dove in. It's a miracle he wasn't maimed for life.

Anyway, we got our eight Nancyware tubs full, and the jam-making session was on!

In the midst of the canning frenzy (which was 98 percent Jeff's doing...I only pitched in a few times when four hands were better than two), Jeff's blackberry wild hair turned into a peach wild hair. No sooner were the seals locked on the last of the jars of blackberry jam, when he took off for Costco to see if they still had flats of the ripe-and-ready-to-go peaches that we'd picked up a single flat of during Saturday grocery shopping.

Me, I went for a long walk. And came home to peaches.

The canning went on long into the night, during which time I managed to lay claim to enough space to make some fabulous Cabernet-braised short ribs (served with boiled yellow potatoes and a tossed salad). Then I folded laundry and watched three episodes of "True Blood" while Jeff stayed in the canning zone. When he finished at 1 a.m. (truly, I'm not making that up), this was the result:

Home canning in one easy step: Let your husband do it.

Free range

While I was busy packing a lunch to take on a garage-sale jaunt yesterday, Jeff went out to feed the chickens and check for eggs. I thought he was out there an awfully long time, and that things were awfully quiet (the ladies always have quite a bit to say when we pay them a visit). Now I know why:

Little gremlins. They were so engrossed with the fact that they got to be free range chickens that they didn't make hardly a peep. Until Jeff herded them back into their coop.

There was only one egg, so when we returned home, Jeff went out to see if there was more to be had...and interrupted Coco on the nest (at least I wasn't the privacy invader, this time). Poor chicken...she's totally going to develop a complex.

Eat local...walk outside

One bowl of snacked-upon grapes...this is only part of the harvest!

Eating local doesn't get any more local when you're dining out of your backyard. Here's what my lil' urban farm brought to my table yesterday:

• Two eggs
• An apple
• A mass of cherry tomatoes
• A purple bell pepper
• Gorgeous, juicy, jewel-like plums
• A glut of grapes

I'm serious about that last part. Our two grapevines are taking over. One has bonded intimately with our large Japanese maple, and the other is taking over our doghouse-turned-backdoor woodshed and garden shoe shelter (after the dog would only deign to sleep in it under duress). That's OK, because the grapes (the variety escapes me) are no ordinary grapes. They have distinct citrus-like notes to them that are di-vine. (See what I did there...I made a little grape pun.)

Whoops!

I heard a goodly amount of squawking, honking and general noisemaking from the ladies twice this morning, so around 11:30 I figured it was safe to go out and collect eggs.

I opened the egg door, expecting to find one or two eggs. Instead I found Coco sitting on the nest. I shut the door quickly and quietly, feeling like I'd interrupted something very private. She apparently doesn't hold grudges, because she laid a perfect egg, as usual. She is my first and best layer!

In other chicken news, Jeff has let them out of the coop twice to briefly roam in the mostly fenced area adjoining it. Now those little rascals are as pushy as linebackers about getting out of the coop everytime I open the door. And they're getting to be about as big as linebackers, too. Sheesh!