A Chicken in Every Pot

Mmmmm, chicken for dinner. What a lovely thing. Not too heavy, it makes the house smell welcoming, and you can dress it up in so many different ways.  I am going to add a small chicken coop to my garden this spring and have been thinking through design plans.  It started out as a small enclosure on wheels so that I can move it around in my garden. The chickens will always be enclosed and safe from the plethora of predators that we have here on the ranch but they will have a roost, nesting boxes, and plenty of room to walk around and hunt for bugs and grass and other goodies.  This should house about 5 chickens comfortably and will supply us with plenty of our own eggs. 
Then I make the mistake of continuing to think on this subject. This is probably one of my biggest downfalls, yes, thinking.  Go ahead laugh.  "Boy, it would be really nice to supply our own chicken meat as well", I say innocently.  "Hmm, let's see we eat chicken about 3 times per week. We had thighs last night, hmmm, how many thighs does a chicken have? Two, of course.  There are four of us, so I would probably cook up eight thighs to help cover lunches the next day....that's four chickens worth of thighs!"
I took a great cooking class in Bellingham, WA and the chef mentioned that in Italy cooks will make a whole chicken stretch to cover three meals. "WHAT!"  Ok, yes, I'm American, I could eat less, but three meals out of one chicken??? He went on to explain that the first day the chicken would be poached or roasted and the meat de-boned. The carcass would be simmered with carrots, onion, celery and herbs to make a nice stock.  Two thirds of the meat or so would be used for a meal the first night. The second meal, the remainder of the meat would be used to make a pasta dish and the third meal would consist of a soup made from the stock.
The great thing about this is that buying a whole chicken at the grocery store is substantially less expensive and you are being a great steward of nature by effectively utilizing the whole animal.  Just by this method I have trimmed down my consumption from three chickens per week to one. Excellent!  Can you see where this is headed though...train wreck on track number 4.  One chicken per week x 52 weeks..."ummmm, no, I do not want 52 chickens in my backyard." That is a lot of chickens! Have you thought about that before? I had never thought that one through in that way. I would need a chicken mansion.
Utilizing my new and improved scaling back attitude, I am going back to the cute little, movable 5 chicken house.  I'm so proud of myself.

I have a great trick for you.  Next time you buy chicken, get a whole chicken and try this out.  It is a great way to spend less and get a product that has been processed less (it's not cut up at the factory) and have a wonderful meal on the table in less time than what you might think.  One struggle I have experienced with using a whole chicken is that it really does take longer to cook. They do not always cook evenly and can be hard to tell when they are done.  Here's a trick to try.

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees. Get your kitchen scissors, a baking dish for the chicken and place your garbage can right next to your feet.  You do not want to be wandering around the kitchen touching things once you start working with raw chicken.
Remove your whole chicken from the plastic wrapping. I like to do this right in the sink to limit the mess.  Carefully, reach inside and remove the heart, giblets, neck, etc.  Set them aside.  I usually do not use them unless I am making a gravy. You can use the neck with the remainder of the bones when you make your chicken stock, if you wish.  Rinse the bird with cold water, inside and out. Again, being careful of sharp bones.  You need a good pair of kitchen scissors for this.   Basically, what you are going to do is cut out the backbone so that you can lay the chicken out flat. This really helps the chicken cook more evenly and quickly. 

Make the first cut, from head to tail up one side of the back bone.

Turn the bird around and make the second cut right up the other side.

Stay as close to the backbone as possible while making the cuts.  Once you have removed the backbone you can open the bird up almost flat,

If you were here in my kitchen I would show you how this chicken can dance.

Place your chicken in your baking dish and clean up your sink or the area where you have been working.  Wash your hands well. 

I like to make a rub with
1 Tablespon cumin
1 teaspoon of fresh ground black pepper
2 teaspoons smoked paprika
1-2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 teaspoon granulated garlic
1 Tablespoon brown sugar
1 teaspoon ground mustard

Mix all of this in a small bowl. Using your hand, rub the spice mixture all over the chicken, between the skin and the meat.  This locks in the flavor, nicely.  Rub a bit of the spice mixture on the outside of the skin as well. Arrange your chicken breast up and as flat as possible, you may need to press down on it to help it a bit.  Bake in a 375 degree oven for about one hour, check for doneness in the breast with a meat thermometer. The chicken is done when the juices run clear. 

If you have time the morning of your chicken dinner you can prepare a brine to soak your chicken in for 4-6 hours. This really adds a lot of flavor and moisture.

I used about 8 cups of cold water, 1 cup of kosher salt, 1 cup of brown sugar, 1 Tablespoon black peppercorns, 1 teaspoons red pepper flakes, 1 Tablespoon cumin, 1 Tablespoon smoked paprika.   Mix to dissolve salt and sugar, place chicken in brine and put entire pot in the refrigerator for 4-6 hours. When ready, remove your chicken from the brine and discard the brine.  Rinse your chicken briefly and proceed with instructions above for rub.

Enjoy!

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I am happy to announce, to myself, that I made a discovery. It's like one of those feel good books where you find out "that one thing" you have been looking for has been right inside you the whole time. I never lost my whistle, it was right here the whole time. No flashy music or fireworks.

The real issue here is USING my whistle. I need to blow my whistle.  However, I don't care for the tattle tale connotation that this term can generate.  So, let's agree not to let it be that. 

Back in the day, Mom and Dad gave me and the sis each a plastic whistle (mine was white with blue stripe) that was to be tied to our backpack.  We went on some lovely back country hiking trips when we were kids. Being responsible parents, they had emergency plans in place.  If ever we found ourselves "lost" or in trouble, all we had to do was blow our whistle and help would be on the way.

I am blowing my whistle. "TWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET"  For myself, on myself, to myself.

For years and years I have been so caught up in pleasing people and being worryied about what others think that I have lost myself in the equation.  This is an interesting study.  I have fought extra pounds around my waist, cooked lots of food, bought this or that, went here or there and set grand goals.  All valid actions taken generally taken for the wrong reasons.  How will this make me look?  How can I gain the appreciation of others?  Will I fit in when I accomplish this?

Today is a new day. Today I will begin to dismantle this filter that I have been running things through.  I will slow down and spend time listening, feeling, appreciating what I will do and why.

My first priority is my health. Without good health and a strong sense of wellbeing I can see, no, I know, how challenging everything else will be. If I bust my butt to get fit, which I have done many times over, because I am angry about how I LOOK, it is going to be a constant battle. And a painful one at that. I check myself in the mirror, I judge my progress by what I think others see or say, all external, all superficial.  The real, concrete, objective issues, and solutions, are deeper, inside.  I believe that if I work from there the external will be a revelation of internal health. I will look. I will listen. I will discover.

This hit me when I opened a catalog last week from Athleta.  Now, I have looked at hundreds of catalogs and had different thoughts, but this time it clicked.  From "Ooo, I like that outfit, I want to look like her" to "I want to FEEL like that woman looks; strong, peaceful, graceful."

I will pause.  I will question the origin of my thought processes.  This will not happen fast, this will be a journey that I will savor and enjoy.  I will emerge healthier, peaceful, stronger, joyful.

This is day 1.





 

The life of a farm cat

We like to keep a cat or two around on the farm for several reasons, primarily to keep the rodent population down.  They can be good companions, but life on the farm consists strictly of outdoor living and a generally short life span due to the coyote and bobcat population.

My husband will tell you that he doesn't like cats; part of this is due to the sneezes and watery eyes that follow any interaction.  Just as Murphy's Law would state, most of our cats migrate to him.  Trapper was no different; a sleek, black furred character. He truly had 9 lives, returning to the homestead numerous times after long stints of walk-about.

We had a wood pile out in the back yard and when Mike would go out to fill the woodbox Trapper would be waiting on top of the pile, purring and prancing in circles. Leaning over to pick up a piece of wood, Mike's shoulder would become prime perching acreage. Up the cat would leap, making himself at home on broad shoulders.  At first, Mike wasn't too sure about this arrangement. Trapper appeared to be part parrot. Perfectly at home high above the ground, pacing from right shoulder to left, drawing the entire length of his body against the back of Mike's head.  Not being one to stand still for more than 5 seconds, Mike would get back to the task at hand. A large, gentle hand would lower the cat back to the ground.  A load of wood to the box, back to the wood pile and the prancing cat repeated his act.  Losing a little patience, Mike decided to let the pest figure out that perching during chores is not wise.  Cat on shoulder, Mike leans down to finish loading wood into his arms. Hmmm, Trapper creatively keeps put. Now, curious how long this can last, Mike continues to pack wood into his arms, walk to the house and return to the woodpile, occasionally an eye slipping to the side to see where the cat stands.  This becomes a ritual. Man and cat.

Trapper was also part Labrador Retriever.  Many times, we would be hiking out on our property and we would see a sudden flash out of the corner of our eye.  No fear, its only Trapper coming along, on his own terms mind you, but following along just like "Man's best friend".

Trapper disappeared one summer afternoon, never to return from that walk-about. Rumors of his continued existence surfaced late this last fall; a mirage of a black cat at the back of the barn.

We went a few months without a cat, hoping that Trapper would return.  It became apparent that he wouldn't be back this time and that we should probably see if any friends had kittens that needed a home. It didn't take long for a litter to pop up and two kittens came home with us.  Brother and sister were preciously cute. Brother was very outgoing and brave, sister was shy and cautious.  Brother didn't last, disappearing one night within two weeks of arriving. This is always a sad fact of life, which can happen rather quickly on the farm. A few evenings later there was a late night, frantic knock on our door. "THERE'S SOMETHING OUTSIDE!! Pacing in front of the woodshed! The kitten's howling! Come quick!" 

Caution is necessary in this situation. Who knows what might be out there. In our neck of the woods it could be anything from a coyote to a cougar or a bear.  Mike grabbed the shotgun and went to the window to catch a glimpse of the intruder.  A sleek body, fuzzy ears and a stubby tail pacing patiently yet eagerly, back and forth, eyes intent on the top row of stacked wood.  No kitten visible. Two growling felines.

Mike was able to scare away the bobcat that night and the grateful kitten lived to see another day.  A few months later our son brought home a younger sibling of our now fast growing cat.  The two were not fast friends. We had to make some adjustments to help "Tiger" feel at home.

Mildred's big sister was very upset at us for bringing home this small, nuisance of a thing. She did get over it and become quite attached, almost like mother and daughter. Instinct I suppose. However, Big Sis disappeared like so many before her and Mildred has been very slow to recover. The biologist in me wonders if shes....how do I put this.....a little slow.  She didn't seem to be growing much at all. Maybe she was the runt of her litter?  Her shape is quite odd. Our son simply refers to her as "Football". She is small, quite pear shaped and most peculiarly, her tail is still kitten sized.

Poor Mildred was showing absolute no sign of natural "catness". (yes, that is a word)  There is no crouching at small movements in the grass around her. No intent staring at small birds fluttering about.  She sits at the door and waits for us. When we come home she is waiting in the carport and when we go into the house she darts to the back door and perches on the woodbox so that she can see into the kitchen and watch her people. If anyone of us steps outside she purrs, sings precious little meow songs and sits on our feet.

I feel ridiculous admitting my thoughts that someone obviously needs to teach her some cat skills so she can make something of herself.  Someone needs to teach this girl how to stalk a grasshopper, how to spy a bird, to chase a mouse or chipmunk. Perhaps I am that someone.

OK, yes, our son went off to college, I worry, I miss him, but I am not projecting this on to the cat. PLEASE!  Really, don't you think someone should work with Mildred?

She really doesn't know what to do.  Here is a perfectly good mousey toy with a feather tail and all she can do is sit.

Huh! Wait, she's checking it out. She's reaching.  A few simple demonstration rounds and she's curious. No, I did not take pictures of this part. Sorry, folks.

Go Girl!  Get it! Pounce, pounce!  Maybe there's hope for our dear Mildred.

Oh yea baby!  She's got this!

My family can't decide if it is funnier watching Mildred dance or me laugh and take pictures.

Either way, life is good!