This Mean Old House

Our downstairs is completely torn apart.  The items in the storage closets have been housed in the garage since July.  The furnishings are stacked in the center of the room, covered in dusty plastic. The hallway and bedroom closets have no walls.  Long channels have been cut through the ceilings to expose the floor above. 

The reason for this catastrophe is the installation of the first ever central heating system in our house. We paid dearly for the privilege of nearly freezing last winter. The $400-$600 /monthly electric bills moved that gas furnace right to the very top of the list of renovations. The new furnace needed a place to be, so we had to expand the utility closet. Salt, being an architect, naturally decided this would be a great time to change the configuration of the downstairs guest rooms, because architects decide stuff like that with the same ease that I decide to buy a new comforter set for the bedroom.

In short, our basement is a construction zone, but let me tell you a little about the do-it-yourself experience from the perspective of a novice.

You know those reality shows where the homeowners help with demolition and finish the job in what the show purports to be the same day with enormous grins on their faces? The homeowners always start out energetically heaving sledgehammers and gleefully tossing large fixtures into a dumpster. They laugh as they kick down walls like they were made of papier maché. It looks like so much fun. 

Now that I’ve done a demolition, I know those happy-go-lucky, dust covered homeowners really spent the day in the craft services tent munching on muffins, while day laborers ripped the studs out and painstakingly removed every last remaining nail head.  Oh, I’m sure someone occasionally calls those homeowners away from the break table to get a shot of them helping the host lift something heavy, but there is no way they do a full day of demolition and have the energy to smile.

My first day of demolition went something like this. . .

8:30 – 9:30 a.m. – I remove the baseboards from the hallway and closets, scraping my hands on the floor with the pry bar. 

9:30 –9:40 a.m. – Find my gloves and begin tackling the trim around the doorways. 

9:40 – 9:50 a.m. – Push and pull with all my might on the trim around the doorways.  Try to think of ladylike sounding curse words and settle on growling in gibberish, until Salt comes to remove the trim from around the door.

9:50 – 9:55 a.m. – Try knocking out dry wall in the hallway. The sledgehammer bounces off of the wall several times.  Salt demonstrates how to find the sweet spot with one’s foot. 

9:55 – 10:00 a.m. – Miss the sweet spot.  Spend a few minutes trying to extract my foot from the wall. In the meantime, Salt finishes removing the door frames and begins removing drywall surrounding one of the closets.

10:00 -10:30 a.m. – Remove the dry wall from the hallway.  Begin tackling the nail heads from the studs that will be remaining in place. If we don’t have a craft services tent, we should at least have a production assistant bring us lattes.  Note for next demolition: hire a personal assistant (PA).

10:30 a.m. – 2:00 p.m.  – For three and one half seemingly endless and unrewarding hours, remove nails that were put in by an OCD contractor who was clearly afraid the linen closet would fall down if the dry wall was not secured every three inches by a nail. I have two blood blisters on my thumb from pinching it under the hammer and have hit myself in the face twice when stubborn nails gave way suddenly.

2:00 – 2:10 p.m. – Take a break from removing nails to take out a stud. Pound on the stud for a couple of minutes, then look helplessly at Salt. Salt rips it out with his bare hands. I explain, “I could have done that, but I have these blood blisters.”

2:10 – 2:15 p.m. – It’s time to assess the damage. I’ve been up and down the step ladder so many times, my thighs and gluts are screaming. My shoulders and neck are stiff and sore. My blood blisters need bandages. The joints in my hands are completely swollen and bruised from pounding against the pry bar. I can no longer close my right hand. We’re not even half way done with the demolition. House 10, Diva 2.

2:00 p.m. Time to tear out a stud.

2:15 – 3:30 p.m. – I decide the house is mean and endeavor to remove more nails just to show it who is boss.  Trip up and down the ladder a few more times.  Hit myself with the face with the hammer handle pretty hard this time.

3:30 p.m. – Officially exhausted to the point where I am more of a danger to myself than the house. Note for next demolition: hire day labor in addition to a PA.

4:00 p.m. – My last ounce of energy is spent lifting my arms to wash my hair. It’s time to lie on the sofa and die.  Salt is still downstairs working. Shouldn’t the camera crew be taking the victory shot of us high fiving each other in the rubble by now? I couldn’t lift my arms anyway. I dare the DIY Network to show up on my doorstep. I’d give them a piece of my mind. On second thought, I’m too tired for that too.

In summary, it took three weekends to finish the demolition, and I probably only did a quarter of the work. I’m not as fast or able as Salt.  Partly it was because I didn’t have a PA to raise my beer bottle in a toast to success at the end of the day, so I had to conserve my energy.  Mostly, it was because I try not to be in the same room with a sawzall for a variety of reasons related to me being klutzy menace to myself and others.

After the demolition, it took three more weeks for Salt to install the duct work, and six painful weeks for the furnace company to complete the installation of the furnace.  This last was only made possible by the heroic efforts of the company’s salesman, who spent weeknights at our house for three weeks.  Ultimately, the furnace was fired up just in time for the first cold snap of the season. We received our first gas bill after a full month of heating which was $80. .  and the entire house is warm.

Central heating is an amazing invention. It is now my second most appreciated household convenience, after running water. Someday, we’ll get the downstairs put back together again, hopefully before the satisfaction of being warm wears off.

Monsters in the Dark

Autumn is the cold and damp season here at 6600 feet above sea level, which gives us the unusual experience of waking up to a yard socked in by clouds. The days are getting shorter too, so we go to work in the dark and come home to a few fading minutes of light to work by in the evening. On a particularly cloudy morning last week, I made my way to the chicken coop in the dark through a dense cloud obscuring my vision for all but the few feet in front of me. In the beam of my flashlight, I could see wisps of mist shifting in the air like sodden ghosts.

Yes, it is the season for ghost stories, but instead I have a monster story. It is a true story of something that occurred last October. I've been saving it to tell you now.

It started with the snow. We'd been getting light, but frequent snow for the previous couple of weeks, which is not unusual in the autumn.  There is also nothing strange about finding deer tracks in the fresh snow around our house each morning, but earlier that week I had also seen paw prints on our deck and around the yard that looked like those of a cat.

One morning walking out to the chicken coop in the dark, flashlight in hand, I noticed as I rounded the garage that there were larger paw prints intermingled among the deer tracks. We hear coyotes every night and see them frequently tracking the deer from a distance. I was suddenly wary.

Approaching a deer in the dark is dangerous enough, but running into a coyote is even more troubling. Besides my own safety should I startle one in the dark, I am not particularly keen for the coyotes to be on the property taking notice of the chickens. With a flush of concern, I tightened my grip on the flashlight. I swung the beam around to make certain there was nothing else in the area as I made my way to the safety of the barn. At least, I thought it was safe.

The entrance to the chicken coop is inside the barn. As I opened the outer barn door that leads to their inside run, I noticed that they were unusually quiet that morning. Usually, they are at the coop door clucking and pecking in anticipation of freedom, but not on this particular morning. The coop was still and eerily silent. Expecting a sense of relief when I entered the barn, my concern about the tracks outside was quickly renewed.  Could an animal make its way into the coop somehow? 

I called out my usual song. "Hey, hey, hey, chicka-bay-bay-bays!" Silence answered.

Trying to shrug off the mounting tension, I stayed on task. Ignoring the fact that there were no chickens waiting impatiently on the other side of the coop door, I unlocked it and swung it open before making a perfunctory turn to drop the flashlight on a shelf nearby so I could have both hands free for the scratch bucket.

As I was shifting the flashlight to the shelf I saw something in the narrow beam of light, something huge and grey. It registered in my brain just as I settled the flashlight into place. The shaggy, grey mass was crouched low to the ground, lumbering slowly toward the doorway, exiting the coop. 

I started and cried out. What could this be? A possum? A raccoon? How? Had it chewed its way in? These thoughts flashed through my mind in the millisecond it had taken me to jump away.

I had no time to regain composure as I recoiled in horror. Even in the darkness, my unaccustomed eyes could make out the dark mass of the grotesque monster relentlessly plodding toward me. My poor hens! Poor me! What deadly, sharp teeth and powerful jaws it must have in its terrible maw. And claws... Did it have claws? My mind raced. My heart pounded.

I took several slow steps back. My eyes were wide with horror and I could not look away from its lumpy, headless, misshapen body...

In the dim, indirect light provided by the flashlight I had just set aside, my eyes adjusted and I realized that its bulbous body was the same shape, size and color of our rooster, Javier. His down-turned head had been outside the pool of light during the instant I saw it. His feathers had been fluffed out to insulate against the cold, making him look even larger than usual. It might have helped to have worn my glasses too.

The hens were slowly rousing from their deep sleeps on the frigid roost. And after hearing a few coos from the room, I knew everyone was safe.

It goes to show that our minds can make us see the things we expect. On this particular morning I expected to find a monster in the chicken coop rather than chickens.

Typical for me it was a lot of drama about nothing, but there were consequences.  Once Javier had sensed weakness I had to put up with two days of him posturing and threatening me when I came in the coop. We worked it out with lots of petting to show him I'm not scared. He detests, but tolerates, being petted. My little monster.

Now, I just have to remember my glasses and hope I don't mistake a coyote for a chicken another time.  Happy Halloween!

The Rooster Whisperers

I love my rooster.  From a human perspective he's a little stinker on his best days, but as roosters go, he's pretty great.  He keeps his flock in order. He pronounces his reign at the top of his lungs frequently enough to keep the other roosters in their own yards. He protects the girls from predators and each other.  He calls them when there is food. His frequent mating keeps the egg production up.

He can be pretty brutal with the girls. He believes in his testosterone-bathed, cashew-sized, bird brain that it's all for the best... and they believe it too. If one considers that he is the vanguard between the girls and predators, their survival role is simplified to coming when called or getting out of the way when he sounds the alarm. Whether the girls like him or not isn't relevant.  Some cling to his side seeking protection from the other girls and a prize spot when he finds a treat he wants to share.  Others steer clear of him, as though they were polarized magnets.  It's a working system and he knows how to run it.

If hens are ambivalent about roosters, imagine how rare it is for a farmer to love a rooster.  I'd heard so many horror stories of aggressive, attack roosters that I was a little nervous about bringing one home. Javier certainly is an intimidating size, and he was not happy about being taken from his home by complete strangers.

We were lucky, though, that he had been handled a lot by his previous owners, so he wasn't completely terrified of humans. Still in his early days here he didn't trust us and was intent on being in charge. Or at least that is how the rooster whisperers might have described his dilemma.

I've found the rooster whisperers on various blogs and message boards about chickens. They are a highly controversial group of chicken farmers who are usually shouted down for their recklessness and blind admiration of all demonic poultry.  Most of the whisperers say they've never met a bad rooster.  All of them say that neither threatening, nor assaulting, nor running in terror will induce a rooster to behave with any semblance of rooster-civility. Based on my limited experience I have reason to believe the rooster whispers are right.

The trick, they say, is to think like a chicken. In chicken-think, humans are potentially threatening, a status that garners the aggression of roosters protecting their flocks. Brandish a stick in any direction, wave your arms in the air, talk excitedly and the rooster will think one means to hurt him. This triggers an aggressive response from posturing to outright attack. Given this, one would think the goal would be to be non-threatening, but roosters tend to read that as submission. They also sense fear and read that as submission too. Roosters react to submission by being more aggressive in order to establish dominance. A rooster, as I have observed, will almost certainly jump at anyone he thinks he can bully.

The rooster whisperers focus on creating a balance between exerting dominance over the rooster, being benevolent toward the rooster and being a predictable element within the flock. An easier way to think about it is establishing mutual respect in which the flock keeper respects the rooster as the head of the flock and doesn't disrupt his order.  The rooster in turn is taught to treat the flock keeper as a peer, which is not a friendly relationship in rooster-think. Peers are competition, but not necessarily subject to attack. A good peer relationship among roosters is more like aloof acceptance.

When I first got Javier, I was very intimidated by him, but I tried not to let him see it.  That was easier said than done, because he was prone to making sudden, skittering sideways runs at me, which almost always made me start and gasp. I usually managed to stay firmly where I stood, and eventually recover the presence of mind to take a couple of sideways steps back toward him. We would square off in our side-facing crouches studying each other with one eye, until I would relax my shoulders and calmly walk away with my chin held high as if my point had been made.

One rooster whisperer I follow espouses picking them up when they get ornery.  The difficulty here is catching them. Salt can  catch Javier every time, but even if I catch up with Javier I often fumble the hold. Fortunately in those early days Javier was just as uncertain about my abilities as I was about his, so he didn't make a serious advance on me.

It was during that time that Javier began his current practice of taking scratch from my hand. I used it as a means of getting him to approach me and of gaining his trust. The old food bribe worked, but there is a price.  The little stinker bites. Fortunately, he doesn't bit hard.

To this day, the girls race for the scratch I throw on the ground, while he stands perfectly still glaring at me insistently, waiting for his handful.  When I put my hand down his beak dives into my hand and begins biting. Sometimes he eats, but usually he just bites me as he calls out excitedly, "tuck, tuck, tuck, tuck, tuck!" This is his rooster-speak for "Look here, girls! I've invented food! Come look! I'm amazing!" And they do come running to eat out of my hand, while he steps back to look on in pride. When the scratch runs out, he starts glaring at me again. We repeat this until I'm bored with it. For his part he is never tired of insisting I serve him so he can bite me and claim credit for the tasty treats he gifts to the girls. Stinker is definitely the best description for him.

Once I got used to being bitten by a rooster, I stopped being frightened of Javier. I've learned, however that he never lets his guard down and neither should I.  The first time he really squared off with me, worked out spectacularly in my favor because I didn't even see it coming. I was leaning over feeder, pouring in some fresh pellets, when I felt something solid hit me hard on the back of the leg. It didn't hurt because I was wearing galoshes and I was too busy concentrating on not spilling the feed to be startled. I didn't even react.

I realized what must have happened in the couple of seconds it took for me to finish filling the feeder. When I was done, I calmly stood up and turned around.  The guilty scoundrel was alone with me in the coop, still eyeing me with raw disdain.

I thought, "I'm still bigger." I took two measured steps toward him then swiftly leaned down and grabbed him around his body, catching his feet in my hands, pinning his wings with my arms.  I stood up and pulled his body toward mine. As soon as his wing contacted my chest, he leaned his head into me and his body relaxed into mine. I stood there stroking him for a moment as though soothing a baby.

Then I held out my arms to let him go.  He leaped to the ground and barked angrily at me. His eyes flashed daggers before he turned to stalk away. Boys don't want to be hugged by their mamas, especially in front of girls. Roosters are no different, so we don't have these sorts of confrontations often.

Indeed, nowadays, I enter the coop looking for him. We look each other over in silent acknowledgement and then I carefully step around him to go about the chores. He follows me, I think partly to make sure I know he's still in charge, partly to show the girls he's on guard for them, and partly to make sure I don't suddenly drop a watermelon rind or other treat that he needs to distribute to the girls. With only one rooster to my account, I can't say that I'm a rooster whisperer, but Javier and I have found our way to mutual respect. He may be a stinker, but he's the the stinker in charge of my chicken coop.

On being a success...

If you didn’t know by now, I will tell you that I don’t know anything about farming.  I spend a great deal of my “free” time reading and thinking about chickens, soil, preserving food, garden pests, etc. just to get myself up to speed on projects that are flying at me as fast as the seasons change. I am on a sharp learning curve when it comes to all matters of the mini-farm, which is why I talk about it so much. As a farm diva, I flounder in ignorance, overwrought and overwhelmed by every project. I am not competent.

But in my other life, my professional life, I am truly a master at planning meetings. (Allow me to take a moment to think of Ganesha as a reminder that a true proficient never stop learning.) I handle numerous meetings over the course of a year, but every year I have one large conference on a scale that consumes my life. I work long hours and weekends, taking calls and answering emails from home. I become the hub of communication assessing needs, placing orders, directing activities, and solving problems in a complex logistical system that I create and that grows larger and larger as the first day of the conference approaches. My co-workers who have been recruited to assist in these projects have noted that I seem unflappable regardless of how much is going on or how large a problem has just been thrown at me. Of course, the advantage of being the hub is the ability to see the entire picture, but my biggest advantage is that I’ve done this a lot, for many years. I know I can handle it. There’s not much to say about it. It’s just what I do. 

Knowing what needed to be done this past spring when my conference was rolling around, I had planned ahead to have everything buttoned up on the mini-farm so I could focus those last few weeks on my conference. All went well until the last week, when Salt had to leave town on a business trip. Initially, this only meant to me that long days would be longer, I didn’t realize I would be getting a lesson in the depth of my humanity. Enter Linnea. . .

Linnea

Linnea, you may recall, is one of my chickens, whom I had no intention of spending time on during those few days Salt was away other than to give them food, water and shelter. What I didn’t know that week was that Linnea was sick. In fact, she was dying.

I had noticed her struggling through some tall grass when I went out to feed the chickens one  evening, but when I returned an hour later to lock the coop for the night, I saw she had not gone inside. Shortly, I realized she wasn’t walking or standing. Hopeful, I picked her up and set her down a few times. Every time, she collapsed, until the rooster jumped on her back and one of the other girls pecked her head. I had no idea what was happening to her, but I knew she wouldn’t be alive in the morning if I left her to the flock’s tender mercies.

Thinking I really didn’t have time for this, I scooped her up and took her inside where I deposited her in a dog crate while I searched the internet for clues. It was eight o’clock at night. I hadn’t eaten. I was tired. I had meetings in the morning. Linnea fell on her side, her feet sticking out at strange angles, her chest heaving with every breath. I had no idea what to do and the internet search had been inconclusive. 

The best advice for the multitude of problems that could be causing her symptoms was to give her water. I put a dish in her crate, she lifted her head to the edge and collapsed into it.  Fantastic! I was drowning a chicken! I pulled her face out of the water, and waited for her sneezing to subside. Then little by little I fed her water with an eye dropper, until she fell asleep.

I thought that this little mercy would just be a parting gift before she left for the happy pecking grounds. I woke in the night to give her more water. . . still alive. And in the morning, still alive, she lifted her head. My first foggy thought of the day was, “Great.  Now I have to do something about her.” And to my surprise, because I can surprise myself, my next thought was “I can’t leave her here like this. I can’t go into the office.” Understand, I was five days away from the start of a conference. I had meetings to attend. I had problems to solve. I had last minute orders to place. I had people waiting on me to know what to do next. And, I had no intention of letting Linnea die alone of dehydration. I didn’t have any idea if she was going to live or die from whatever had made her sick, but it was definitely not going to die from neglect.

I’m pretty sure that my grandparents would have opted to break her little neck and have done with it at that point; and I had hoped I’d be such a pragmatic farmer. At that particular moment I wanted to cut my losses in such a simple way, but my conscience was nagging at me. Could I really break a chicken's neck, because it was inconvenient to my work schedule?  Ignorance was still nagging at me too. I really had no idea why she was sick or how bad it was, having had no basis of comparison.

I finally decided to take her to the local veterinarian.  Mind this is not a farm vet, and most farm vets don’t deal in chickens anyway, because most farmers just wring their necks when they are sick. Prize show chickens – yes, people really show chickens for prizes -- go to avian specialists half-way across town and pay premium prices. I happened to know our local vet owns chickens, so I decided to take my chances there.

An hour later, I was standing outside the veterinarian’s office when it opened, irrationally dressed for work with a chicken in a dog crate tucked under my arm. When I explained to the receptionist that I had a sick chicken, she said, “Oh. . . and you’re here to put it down.” Conflicted between the my shock at her stark pronouncement and the indignation at the idea I couldn’t figure out how to break a chicken’s neck, I managed to stammer politely, “Uh. . . well. . . let’s take a look at her first.” 

The veterinarian was more diplomatic when I explained the situation; cautiously suggesting that I could take it to an avian specialist for tests. “No, she’s a layer hen,” was my firm, swift response, which I hoped made it clear that I was under no illusion that this was a $20 chicken. I just wanted to know generally what might be wrong with her and to give her a chance if she had a chance. After a brief examination, the vet concluded that it was a respiratory infection that may or may not be cleared up with an antibiotic injection. I consented to the injection, and five minutes later I was back on the sidewalk with a $60 receipt, more knowledge than I had before, and the same dilemma I’d had all night.

Linnea couldn’t be left alone.

I've certainly had to set aside personal interest for the benefit of others before. Indeed, an attitude of self-sacrifice for the service to others is what drives the best meeting planners through the eighteen hour long days of conferences. But, never before, had I had to make a choice between my attendees or my team and a bird. I was ridiculously, ineptly, and unexpectedly the only person Linnea could count on at that moment to ease her suffering. I called my boss from my cell phone, “I’ve still got this sick chicken and she can’t get to food or water by herself, so I’m on my way into the office with her.” That moment on the sidewalk is one of my finest moments of my career as a meeting planner, because it was one of my finest moments as a human being. Kudos to my boss for overcoming the stunned silence with, “Let me see if there’s something we can do and I’ll call you back.” I am aware that an office building is no place for a chicken, but I had to be at the office and I had to give Linnea water every couple of hours and I was determined to do both. . . and I did.

My boss called back as I was pulling up to the building, and told me they had found a space in the covered garage where I could park. It was a sheltered, temperate, airy, safe place to leave her crate while I worked. I gave Linnea some water and raced upstairs for a flurry of meetings. Five meetings, four phone calls, three emails and two hours later I was back out the door with a brief case full of notes to work on at home. When I got to the car, Linnea was sitting up by herself for the first time, so I held her water dish up to her beak. She gulped from the dish. Hallelujah! 

Linnea spent the afternoon napping at my feet while I worked in my study. By late afternoon she was eating and her breathing was easier.  I left her water and food dishes with her overnight and in the morning she was crawling around the crate. A crawling chicken is a little sad to watch, but in this case it was a vast improvement.

With Linnea able to get herself to her water, I left her alone for the day. That evening we went to the garden where she made a wobbly attempt at standing. Over the course of the next few days she progressed from taking teetering steps to being able to stand and walk for several minutes. I gave her an extra day to recuperate before moving her to back to the coop, where she stayed in a large brooding cage for a few weeks until she was strong enough to join the others.

Indeed, Linnea lived. 

I don't think I am Linnea's hero for saving her life; she could just as easily have died in my care. Rather, what happened with Linnea touched me very deeply by giving me that rare glimpse of myself at my best. We all do the right thing every day, but usually our lives are arranged to make our choices easier. We don't always notice or give ourselves credit for the sacrifices we make. 

In the aftermath of this, I had another excellent conference and have earned an asterisk next to my "Meeting Professional" title that reads: "Crazy Chicken Lady." While this epithet may have once mortified me as a mark on my professional reputation, at this point in my life I'll wear the mark proudly. You see, my definition of success has changed. I certainly want to be a great meeting planner and to be great at caring for my chickens, but above all I want to do best at being my best self. I feel assured that on that day when Linnea was so sick, I managed it. Success!

Racing Hail: A Gardening Adventure Story

Courtesy N. Russell

A few weeks ago I finally removed the shade covers from the garden.  The plants had hardened against sun scald and the there were no forecasts of hail bearing thunderstorms in the next week. The garden flourished in the sunlight.

Non-gardners might find it useful to know at this point that one does not work every day for six months nurturing seeds to the light, just to let a hail storm shred the plants before harvesting.  Consequently, I keep an eye on the weather with a mind to returning the shade covers should thunderstorms threaten, and this weekend was no exception. There were two thunderstorms predicted for our area on Sunday afternoon and late night, neither had indications of heavy winds or hail. The first storm never materialized, and the second arrived early. We were sitting down to dinner when the first rain drops began to fall. Shortly, it became a heavy rainfall. A while later, Salt observed that a pea sized hail had begun to fall. Knowing that pea sized hail could be the precursor to something much bigger and preferring to remain in the warm, dry house, I chose to hope for the best. In spite of this decision I kept a wary eye on the deck where an occasional hail stone would collect.

Shortly, the phones began to ring and buzz and beep.  Living in a rural area, we can not count on the nearest metropolitan area news to provide current coverage on anything short of a tornado. The county makes up for the difference with an emergency alert system that sends texts, emails and robocalls whenever anything important is happening in the county. It's a fantastic system that covers everything from thunderstorms to washed out roads to ice conditions to missing children.  When both of our smart phones begin sounding off with message alerts at the same time, we know something is up in the county.

On that rainy Sunday night the alert was for a thunderstorm -- noted -- with large hail developing --rats. It was time to stop acting like the lady of the manor and brave the rain. Mind, I was in a hurry, and it was raining so hard that I knew I would get soaked anyway, so I eschewed a raincoat and shoes. I knew I would regret that decision as soon as I opened the back door.

The first blast of cold air struck me with a force of a full body blow. As if in response, the blood retreated from my hands and feet. (It's called Raynaud's Syndrome and it happens to me all of the time, though not usually so suddenly.) I kept moving forward, and within two steps my sundress was drenched and clinging. At the bottom of the steps my bare feet landed in two inches of ice water. I rushed toward the bin where the shade covers are kept. Shivering by then, I remembered that I had put the covers in the greenhouse. 

At this point, Salt had made his way into the yard. He had the good sense to wear shoes. He and I raced through the puddles and mud across the yard to the greenhouse, where I fought with the wet latch on the door. When it finally gave way, I burst inside and began grabbing the shade covers and throwing them to Salt. He ran ahead, while I wrestled with the greenhouse latch again.

By the time I returned to the garden he was half way through covering the first bed. I was performing a mental triage to prioritize which plants needed the most protection, so I went first to the lettuce. I grabbed a rolled up cover and began trying to unknot the ties that were keeping them in tidy rolls. My wet, numb hands fumbled with the string as I ran clumsily on unfeeling feet through the garden. The hail picked up as I went to cover the sweet potatoes. By this time, I was oblivious to the pouring rain, the hail was remaining pea sized, but it was falling more intensely, stinging my shoulders and head.  I began to wonder if we would be driven back in the house with the task unfinished, and determined to stay out as long as I could.

Finally, with the last cover in place we ran into the house and straight down the hall to the bathroom. Responding to my cries of "Oh, I need a hot shower! I'm going to freeze to death! Oh, I need a hot shower!" Salt deftly opened the hot water valve for the shower and leaped out of my way. I pulled off my sopping wet sundress and tossed it aside. There was a loud splat as it landed in the sink. I rushed into the shower. Even though the water had not warmed it was still warmer than my skin. I felt the blood come back into my hands and feet as the bits of muddy mulch and straw washed toward the drain.

After a brief hot shower, I dried off and put on a warm dressing gown. I stepped out of the bathroom to see that the rain had stopped. The storm had passed. Good thing we got the shade covers put on.

Courtesy N. Russell

#farmdiva

Aviculture for the Egg Buyer

This spring we began selling eggs. With most of the girls laying an egg a day, we were facing the possibility of eating omelets for breakfast, egg salad for lunch, and quiche for dinner every day. At one point we had eleven dozen eggs in the refrigerator. We were drowning in eggs and detested the idea of wasting them, when we could sell them and recoup a little of the money we spend on feed.

It actually takes a lot more work to sell eggs than one would think.  Selling eggs by appointment involves a lot of emailing back and forth to answer questions about the eggs, to confirm the pickup schedule and to make certain the buyers know where to go. Despite the inconvenience of selling, it is surprisingly satisfying, primarily because my customers allow me opportunities to talk about my new favorite subject... chickens.  We do have one customer who only thinks of the hens as organic egg factories, but he is the annoying exception to the rule.

Not only do people have a lot of different opinions about chickens and eggs, there's actually a lot to consider in raising layers. Customers have preferences for fertilized eggs, organic eggs, free range eggs, and humanely produced eggs. I give out information on breeding, cleaning, housing, foraging, diet, behavior, and egg anatomy. Some of the more common topics of discussion with customers are:

1. The eggs need to be washed.  Chicken coops are filthy, so the eggs have to be washed at some point. Store bought eggs will have been washed, disinfected and sprayed with a coating of mineral oil to reseal them. The oil isn't as good a seal as the one the hen puts on it when she lays the egg, so we don't wash ours. Unwashed eggs will stay fresher longer, but they have to be cleaned before they can be handled around other food. Our state requires a health statement on the box of eggs, but it doesn't really address the need to wash the eggs, so we make certain customers get the full explanation.
2. Our eggs are not certified organic, though organic practices are used. Organic generally means that the chickens are not exposed to pesticides, toxic chemicals or antibiotics. We feed our girls organic feed and scratch. We don't use pesticides anywhere on the property, so even their forage is safe. Nonetheless, the girls dig up and eat Goodness knows what in the yard. They get kitchen scraps as treats. We reserve the right to save their little lives with emergency antibiotics.
3. Old eggs float. The way to tell if an egg is fresh is to drop it in a glass of water.  The more buoyant the egg.  The older it is.
4. Wrinkled eggs are a result of improper timing. Eggs bump into each other inside the chicken, cracking and mending as they go.  The egg itself is no different than other eggs, except for the warped appearance.
5. Chickens are omnivores.  They eat feed, seeds, weeds, worms, grasshoppers, caterpillars, slugs, mice, bits of string, scraps of paper, eggs, each other... The list goes on. Omnivores. 
6. Chickens are modern day dinosaurs. No kidding. They screech and shriek and growl like the soundtrack of a Jurassic Park movie. Whoever animated those movies had to have spent hours watching their mannerisms.

I was a bit embarrassed when one couple, wanting to promote humane poultry practices, asked

Paddocks Around the Chicken Coop

exactly how much square footage per chicken we had. At the time it was 32 square feet per chicken indoors, but only 3 square feet per chicken outdoors, which is poor in my opinion.  Since then Salt has installed a paddock system to give the chickens access to a different outdoor enclosure every week, while the other enclosures rejuvenate. Their outdoor space has grown to 27 square feet of outdoor space per chicken, which is far beyond the recommended minimum, especially when combined with the indoor space.  The paddocks are not entirely secure against digging predators, but the hens are only out during the day when these predators are rare. A shade cloth is hung over the paddock to deter hawks.

We have one customer who was so interested in raising hens of his own that I invited him and his girlfriend over to meet the girls and discuss housing and flock management practices. They rode out on their motorcycle one blustery, sunny day and sipped coffee while we talked about housing practices and behavioral problems. Then we took them out to the coop, which was a mess at the time, because we practice deep litter method of composting in the coop during the winter time.

After a winter with the coop windows closed the air smells pretty ripe in there, so it's difficult to keep any romantic notions about how great it is to have chickens. Our customers were able to collect their own eggs that morning, one of which was so fresh the bloom hadn't dried. It was gratifying for the girls to receive thanks and praise for all of the hard work directly from their customers.

Ayam Cemani Rooster and Hen, Copyright chickensales.com.au

Sometimes our customers teach us a thing or two. I recently learned that eggs from black hens, especially ayam cemani hens, are prized for spiritual cleansing ceremonies.  I don't have any of the beautifully black pigmented ayam cemani chickens, but Olive and Helga's eggs are apparently good enough to dispel evil spirits and restore a healthy aura. Good girls.

Despite all of the egg sales we are far from breaking even. The investment in building chicken paddocks, the new windows we needed for the coop, the upcoming insulation project, et cetera is all adding up.  Still, one can't fault the hens for not pulling their weight.  An egg a day is hard work. It's not like I could do it.

Coop Windows with Hail Damage

New Windows on the Coop

How Does Your Garden Grow?

I've learned enough over the past year not to call my harvest a success until after it has been stored away. White flies, fungus, mosquitoes, calcium deficiency, hail, frost, and my new nemeses -- slugs -- can descend upon the garden any time.

Potatoes

I will say that the transition from indoor seeds to outdoor plants went better this year than last. Perhaps it was starting earlier and planting later. Perhaps it was not packing them up for a big move in the middle of the spring. Perhaps it was the two weeks of hardening in the greenhouse that we didn't have last year. It could just be dumb luck, but there was very little shock at transplanting and very little sun scald this year.

Tomatoes and Chicken Coop Mulch

So far this year the biggest problems have been slugs. I knew something was wrong when I found a tomato plant stripped with the stalks chewed up with no culprits in sight.  Finally after a few days of inspecting I saw a tiny slug on the straw. Some online research into organic slug trapping yielded many choices, but I settled on beer traps. Slugs love beer so I have been fishing out five or six slugs a day.  The chickens think they are delicious. The damaged plants are coming back strong.

The biggest success of the garden so far is the mulch we made this winter.  I was able to use the straw that we composted in the chicken coop this past winter as mulch for some of the beds.  This mulch had been picked over for hay seeds and mixed with chicken dung over the course of several months. It does all of the good things mulches do, such as shading out weeds and keeping the soil moist, but it also amends the soil with nutrients from the chicken dung. The downside is that it can only be used with produce that doesn't actually contact the soil.  For instance, lettuce growing in chicken manure isn't a good idea, but tomatoes suspended high above the chicken litter are safe.

Per usual, some plants are doing well and some are struggling with the elements, while I am still puzzling my way through trial and error. I spend a lot of time looking and wondering and reading, but here's the report card so far:

Butter Lettuce

• Tomatoes: A-,  The tomatoes began blossoming while still indoors. They are doing fantastic outdoors, but could use some sunnier weather.
• Peppers: C-, Ugh... will the peppers ever grow?  They were planted at the same time as the tomatoes, and are one-quarter the height.
• Basil: B, The Basil is growing well, but fungus has taken out a few.
• Potatoes: A+, The potatoes are growing like wildfire and shading the lettuce.
• Lettuce: A+, Despite challenges from slugs the lettuce is growing very well and it's delicious.
• Kale: B-, The kale took a while to really get started.
• Corn: B-, The corn did great indoors, but took a few weeks to adjust to the outdoors. It seems to be doing well as the weather has warmed up.
• Cucumbers: C-, Per usual, the cucumbers won't grow and won't die. What's that about?
• Pumpkins, Butternut Squash, Ronde de Nice Squash: B-, The squash all look fantastic, but are not really doing much.
• Sweet Potatoes: A-, The sweet potatoes are growing in fits and starts.
• Onions: A-, The third time replanting seems to be a charm.
• Parsnips: A, doing great as usual.
• Carrots: A-, The carrots could learn a thing or two from parsnips.
• Sugar Snap Peas: B-, The peas are beginning to show a few pods, but seem to be struggling.
• Black Beans: C-, The black beans had a great start, but have struggled since moving out to the greenhouse.

It's hard to say how we'll finish out the year, but does the year really finish?  It won't be long before it's time to put in the winter kale and lettuce.

Spoiled Rotten

Springtime is possibly the worst time to have a crush of work at the office, because there is inevitably much to do at home, which is why I've disappeared for the last few months. Since that day in January when I was ordering seeds, we have been spending every weekend engaged in some springtime preparation at home. At work, the months of April and May were given over to managing a conference for 200, a two day administrative meeting, two other small meetings, a series of educational tours, an additional room block and other duties as assigned.

Between work and home, I was literally working sun up to sun down. Planning meetings is a glamorous job... in theory.  Meanwhile, chickens and seedlings don't hibernate until the last invoice arrives. Did I mention I had a sinus infection the whole time? Then there is the chicken that almost died when Salt was out of town. (More on that in a later blog.) It was so hectic that one foggy Monday morning, I had just finished hauling the trash to the end of the drive for pickup and decided that the walk back to the house would be my serene two minutes of weekend.

Despite all of this, the truth is I am blessed to have an occupation at which I am good enough to be given the difficult projects. (It wouldn't be fun if it were easy.) As far as the farmette goes, I think I am spoiled rotten. We call the tasks associated with maintaining the farmette "chores," not because they are onerous, rather because there there isn't a better word in English to describe such a variety of tasks we want to do and need to do... and then there is love.

More often than not I have found myself in the middle of doing my "chores" and wishing I could be doing something else, usually another chore. I am caught between the desire to languish in the moment while I am working on the task at hand and the excitement of starting the next one. When things get too busy, it's easy for the enjoyment to give in to the need to be efficient and for the excitement to start the next job to give in to the desire to be done. Still when things are too busy, as they have been, there are those moments like the fog shrouded walk down the driveway or the silent courtesies that pass between the rooster and myself or the thrill of seeing a small leaf reaching up from the dirt. In those moments, I may be exhausted and rushed, but I know I am lucky to be there.

I'll be writing more soon to update on what has passed in the last few months. For now, please know that we're still rushing a bit to make up for being out of town, but it's a much more manageable pace. The seedlings are going into the garden, the ladybugs arrived in the mail, the chickens are enjoying the warm days, and the rainbows have returned.

Photo by N. Russell

Year One: An Inventory of Necessities

It was one year Friday that we closed on the mini-farm. A lot has changed, and a lot has not changed. There is certainly much left to do, but I'm less concerned about that today as I think about the things I've gained that I wouldn't want to do without. Obviously, Salt is at the top of that list. I am enjoying the chickens much more than I ever imagined. Inept as I am, it turns out that I like gardening pretty well too.

There is always something to do, which suits me if it doesn't always please me. I'm one of those people who likes to work hard and then be done with a project. I've been required to make peace with the fact on the rare occasions I complete something, I'll have about ten minutes to snap some pictures as a nod to my sense of accomplishment. "Atta-girl... on to the next thing."  With all of the projects and problem solving, this city woman has had a steep learning curve. It's one thing to see a farm, it's another thing to be responsible for it and live there. 

I impress myself with how much I've learned and I sigh thinking about everything I need to learn next. Nonetheless, in taking stock I've decided to share a list of the tools I wouldn't want to do without. This is as much for feeding my own sense of gratitude as for arming any of you who may be thinking about embarking on a mini-farm of your own. 

10) How to Grow More Vegetables by John Jeavons: There are only two books on this list, really. While this book says it is about growing vegetables it is really about making good soil and using that soil properly. Having never read a book about dirt, I learned that it's a much more interesting subject than one would think. Even if you don't garden you should read this book. It will blow your mind and you'll never see dirt the same way again.

9) The local newspapers:  We take the local metropolitan paper on weekends so that we can get the full advantage of a big city paper with arts news, sports updates and advice columns, but we also take the county newspapers and newsletters in order to get the events calendars and follow the unfolding drama of county politics. This last is surprisingly entertaining. As a newcomer to the area I can't say that I have an informed opinion, but I do marvel at how our local leaders (elected, appointed, and self-appointed) behave with such open contempt toward one another. It's better than Jerry Springer for the over-the-top drama and intellectual bankruptcy, but it's worse because these people aren't even being coaxed by a producer. The black and white, soy ink, sections of the newspaper are also good for making seedling pots; the remainder is kindling.

Javier and the Girls Enjoy a Good Book

8) Storey's Guide to Raising Chickens by Gail Damerow: This book was a great comprehensive primer, which helped me raise my girls from chicks to hens and keep them well. I still had a few mysterious issues that weren't covered by the book, but most of those issues were handled through the discussion groups at www.backyardchickens.com. Granted, the books set me up for the big virus-cancer scare, but in the end One-Eyed-Olive benefited from the extra attention. The book's greatest failing was the black and white photos of chicken butts that did nothing to assist with sexing chicks, but the color photos on the internet didn't help either. In general, it's a great book for everyday problems, if those problems include planning coops, dealing with broody hens and discouraging cannibalism.

7) The Internet: I could most certainly survive without a smart phone or my desktop computer, but I'd have to keep at least one for access to the Internet. The Internet was where I went, when I was afraid One-Eyed-Olive had Marek's disease. It's where I look up facts on vegetables I'm considering for the garden. It's how I got advice on taming my rooster. It's where I shop when I don't have time to go to town. Salt and I keep our calendars, shopping lists and freezer inventories in the cloud so that we can share them with each other. The Internet has been a great time saver.

6) Timers: Living in the country and working in the city, means we have to automate quite a few things. The barn lights, the heat lamps, the crock pot, the seedling lamps all need to run on a schedule even when we can't be there. It's a far cry from having a smart home, but the timers work just the same.

5) A barn cat: We have a snake, a lizard, a house cat, a farm dog, an ornamental dog, and nine

Lucy

chickens. We have recently adopted a barn cat, who can not be put to work until she is ready to call us hers. Her job will be to control the mouse population, because they are everywhere. The mice are in the barn, potting shed and chicken coop, and I imagine a few have found the house. They're fat and sleek and unconcerned about our presence. I detest mice, and I put my foot down when Griffin started catching them for fun.  Not only is he allergic to meat protein, but he sits on my lap, so there was no way I would let him become a mouser. Watch out mice. Lucy will be on patrol in just a few more weeks.

4) My barn coat: Unlike someone in our home who has five of every kind of coat, jacket and vest, I only have five basic coats.They cover a variety of dress occasions and weather conditions, but only one of them is machine washable. Who knew that turning straw in a cold chicken coop kicked up so much dust or that I could safely tuck two eggs in each of the four pockets or that carrying firewood with pockets full of eggs is a bad idea? Well, real farmers knew. I just guessed it would be a practical coat and it turned out I was right.

3) My work gloves: A diva must protect her hands, so I have several pairs of gloves now for different purposes. Leather, cotton, rubber gripped gloves each have different special uses, but the glove I'm most surprised to find useful are vinyl surgical gloves. They must be replaced frequently, but they are excellent for planting seedlings, which requires a lot of dexterity and digging through soft dirt.

2) Running Water: As discussed in my blog entry "What Happened When Things Got Worse" I learned that the worst thing that can happen is not to have water. I've learned to appreciate water and grey water a great deal. Chickens, pets and humans all need water more than I ever realized.I am so grateful for hot showers and for not having to save dishwater for flushing the toilet.

1) My boots were the best investment ever. They aren't particularly durable. I'll be buying new one's this summer. They are still warmer, drier and less expensive than replacing street shoes. I've often been in too much of a hurry to change shoes before checking the chickens and have found that the combination of slush, dirt, straw and chicken dung creates a unique type of concrete that dissolves glues, shrinks leather and leaves a permanent coating of dust. My rubber boots on the other hand clean up with a hose and stay looking pretty enough for a diva. Salt wears Bogs, which are warm and durable, alas they don't come in floral prints.

So there's the list of resources I've found useful over the past year.  Next year I'm thinking about studying bees and delving deeper into the practicalities of county zoning regulations. Maybe we'll get that burro we keep talking about, so stay tuned there's lots more to learn and a lot more mistakes yet to make. I'd be remiss not to say that I'm glad we did it and I'm looking forward to seeing what happens next.

#farmdiva

Pi Day: 3.14.15

This year we celebrated Pi Day on 3.14.15, paying homage to that mysterious number that has made so many things possible. To be absolutely honest, it was  partly an excuse to throw a party, but it helped that Salt and I both think math is interesting. Yes, I used the words "interesting" and "math" in the same sentence.

As a schoolgirl I was always dubious when one of my classmates would pronounce some aspect of math as useless for anything but theoretical applications, though they usually expressed themselves less elegantly, "Why do I need to know this? I'm never going to use it." My skepticism at these proclamations and the recalcitrance of my bored classmates both proved to be self-fulfilling prophesies, as I've found that whether or not one uses math outside of a classroom is largely a matter of choice. I know plenty of people who will add and subtract on calculators and guess at the rest of the math problems that face them on a daily basis. Some people are very good at guessing too, and I suspect those people have undiscovered genius in mathematical theory.

I don't care too much for theorizing in mathematics, I just like to solve the problems.  Almost every day, I ask myself "What if..." and start calculating in my head. One time I read about a train accident in the newspaper and realized the article gave all of the information necessary to calculate the force with which the train struck. After a moment of silence for the victims of the accident, I did the calculation. I can't say the answer was illuminating, because to this day I still don't really know what a Newton of force is capable of doing, but most people (especially calculator devotees) will forgive my ignorance when the conversation turns to space launches and accidentally dropping stemware.

My use of mathematics on a daily basis is more than anecdotal. I'd rather add long columns on paper than search for a calculator.When I'm making the long pilgrimage to my hometown through hundreds of miles of grassland, I spend most of the trip calculating and recalculating my arrival time at various points along the trip. I rarely call my bank if I want to get an amortization, because it's more fun to build a spreadsheet of my own that I can use to play with different payment methods. Salt will tell you that I'm addicted to budgeting; not following a budget, rather calculating budgets. I really love spread sheets with complicated algorithms and logic strings.  

Knowing this about me, it should come as no surprise that I also measure and calculate for our mini-farm projects as well.  How many cubic feet of fill do I need for the raised beds? If one side of the case is 36-inches long on the outside, how long should the lengths of the interior supports be? Although I have far more applications for the Pythagorean Theorem for calculating the length of the hypotenuse of a triangle to make sure the brackets I'm cutting will fit under the shelves, sometimes it even comes in handy to know how to calculate the area of a circle... enter Pi (π).  In case you were sleeping in Geometry class, it's the ratio of the diameter (D) of a circle to its circumference (C). It's a constant, which makes it possible to measure circles, but it's also an irrational number with no apparent end ...a mathematical mystery?

My mother who majored in Mathematics has been greatly amused at the state legislative attempts to truncate Pi's value to an even 3. Some legislatures are particularly keen on legislating science to conform with a simpler understanding of the world, so it makes sense they would care less about accuracy and more about not having to recall as many as seven digits. Note that when calculating the circumference of a circle (C = πD) using a truncated Pi, the truncation would cause the calculation of the circumference to come up a bit short. This hardly matters in the world of just wanting to get the answer right for the test, but in practical applications it means air must be let out of tires and product designers have to go out of state to obtain round parts that fit. I don't know what the fine is for adding a couple of digits to Pi for calculation purposes, but just in case my mother proposed (and I concurred) that we should serve "Legislated Pi(e)" at the party -- one with a sliver missing to adjust the circumference.

Our party was great.  Salt made Frito Chili Pi(e) with chili from an Emeril Lagasse recipe he found. It was fabulous. Our neighbors stopped by with Pi Day treats of their own and we toasted the amazing ability to measure round things.

It is an amazing thing, even if I use the Pythagorean Theorem more.  I would like to celebrate Pythagoras Day, but that may be a great deal more controversial in our home given the way that Pi Day sparked one of the few big arguments that Salt and I have had. You see, I made spaniko-Pi-tas for our office in honor of Pi Day, and asked people to calculate the hypotenuse of the pastry triangles, given a=2.5" and b=2.5". Salt said the pastries were misshapen, the measurements weren't accurate and the triangles were not exact right triangles. I said the shape was close enough, these were pastries rather than machine parts, and I could set the assumptions at anything I wanted since it was my word problem. We had a big debate involving (or in front of) the entire office that was resolved only by eating the pastries. What is the hypotenuse of a pastry for which the measurements of a and b have been rendered to nothing?  Zero.  Salt still insists they weren't proper triangles to begin with. Like Pi the great hypotenuse of pastry debate continues, but what is a holiday without an ugly family disagreement that turns into a decades long grudge match or Py, Pi, ...Pies in your face? 

Happy Pi Day!

#farmdiva

Becoming a Major Utility Company

Who is the next greatest energy producer in the country? Us. That’s who. Well, at least I feel important now that we own a solar power plant.

Salt and I didn’t intend to become a major utility company when we moved out to the country, but it seems to be our calling. We knew we were about to become a water company when we bought a house with a well and dropped several thousand dollars on a water pump, filtration, and treatment system.  Living in one of the sunniest places in the country, adding solar panels seemed like a logical next step. Interestingly, having  solar panels on the house, means partnering with the rural electric cooperative to buy and sell energy from one another. We buy from them when we don't produce enough and they buy from us when we produce more than we need. You're welcome, Consumers.

Call it common sense, rugged individualism or being green if you like. I prefer to think of investing in solar energy as the perfect marriage of form and function, civilization and nature, artistic expression and pragmatism.  In other words, the budget works out, and our property value goes up, and it's a clean energy source, and the panels look really cool on the house. We didn't do it to impress anyone, but that is an added benefit. Apparently, it is chic to be green. 

Lest I sound too proud of myself -- which I am most certainly too proud of myself -- you should know that the solar installation company did most of the legwork. We provided them with our utility usage for the past year. They provided a diagram of the panel installation, an estimate of how much energy would be generated in a year, a cost for installation, and information on financing including the monthly cost. Once the agreement was signed and the financing approved, the installation company took it from there.

We haven't heard good things about the longevity of the equipment used in most solar leases, so we were more interested in buying it outright. The panels we purchased have a 24 year warranty and they certainly are pretty. Sleek, polished, lightweight, gleaming in the sunlight, they are lovely.

I've been asked by several people how we could afford it.  Truly, the cost can't be justified by everyone, even in our region because of issues such as shade trees and orientation to the sun. The prices on solar installations have been dropping, but we were still pleasantly surprised when it became affordable enough for us to finance it.  That is to say, the cost of financing is lower than our utility bill. 

If you want to assess it for yourself, there are a few factors that impact the cost effectiveness of installing a renewable energy system. The first is whether you have good enough sun exposure or wind on your property to make it worthwhile. An installation company should be happy to assess that issue with your home's coordinates and a screen shot from Google Earth.  (Just give them your address and they'll do the rest.) 

If it's feasible then you'll want to consider money matters. Most people know there is a federal tax credit available to homeowners can who install residential renewable energy sources. For those of you who don't know about it, this is a 30% tax credit, meaning that 30% of the installation expense can be subtracted from the taxes you owe. (This is different from and better than a tax deduction.) Some states, counties and municipalities also have tax credits available, but you'd have to check where you live.

A lot of people don't realize that if their property is on the grid they can sell excess solar or wind power to their local electrical utility company. The installation company should assist you in navigating this arrangement with the electric company if they don't take care of it entirely.

Most renewable energy installation companies will help with financing. Potentially this could be like financing a car through the dealership, but that was not our experience. Our installation company was very straight forward about the cost and the loan terms. They did use the financing as a sales tool, but they didn't use it as negotiating leverage. They gave us a recommendation on the installation, an estimate of how much power that would generate annually, a total cost for the installation, and a breakout of the monthly cost of financing. When we talked to the bank the cost was almost exactly what we had been told and the installation company put the loan information in the purchase agreement as a record of what we had been told.

Even with the reduced or eliminated electric bills along with the potential for selling power to the electric company, installing solar or wind may not be for everyone. My answer to the question of how to afford solar (or wind for that matter) is to look at three factors:
1) affordable financing;
2) cost comparison between financing and just continuing to purchase power; and
3) tax credit eligibility

Financing

Affordable financing is pretty simple to figure out. Can one afford to pay a loan or not?  You would have to start by getting a bid from the installer, so you'll have a cost to work with.  The installation company will likely offer you a finance package, but you may want to check with your own bank or credit union to compare rates. All things being equal, the installation company is probably going to make getting a loan more turnkey. Ours broke the bill into two separate parts so there would be two separate loans: one for paying over time and the other to be paid off with the federal tax credit -- more on that later. You might look at the loan numbers and think that you might be able to make the monthly loan payment depending on the savings you will have from producing your own electricity.  That's when you'll want to do a cost comparison.

Cost Comparison
A cost comparison can be done one of two ways.  The first way is to look at your monthly usage and monthly production potential then factor in the sale of excess production and the purchase of energy during production slumps. It looks like this:

(Last Year's January Electrical Usage in KWHs - Estimated January Production in KWHs) X Price/KWH = January Electrical Costs

Do this for each month and then add together each month's income or expense to get a total for the year. Then multiply your the estimated monthly loan payment by 12 months and add it to the annual energy cost. Compare that with the total of your annual electric bills from last year.

The one problem with this method is that the production estimate you receive as part of the installation company's bid may not be broken down by month. If that's the case then a rough estimate can still be worked out, by working off of the assumption that production and usage will even out over the course of a year. This allows you to make a comparison based on average usage, but it leaves out the income you will receive in high producing and low usage months. 

Click for Larger View

 Here is a sample of what it looks like with real numbers...

Click for Larger View

This sample is roughly based on the installation on our house. You can see that the After Installation Cost on Line H is not much lower than the Current Cost on Line D. In our case we decided that it still makes sense, because the loan financing our installation will be paid off in 12 years. After that, our electrical cost will go down to the amount listed on Line F, though one should plan on setting aside extra money for repairs.

Tax Credit Eligibility
Another issue to consider is the federal tax credit. When we financed our system, the company actually gave us two loans.  The payment of $167 covers the loan on 70% of the cost, and we started paying that loan right away.  The other loan covers the cost of the 30% of expenses that we will get back as a tax refund when we apply for the credit of this amount. The loan terms on the second loan include language making it interest free with no payments due until the loan is 18 months old.  That is to allow us enough time to file our taxes and recoup the refund, which we will then use to pay off this smaller loan. Ultimately this keeps the payment on the larger loan down, which is part of the sales tactic used by the installation company. It’s all good, but the important thing to remember is that if the tax credit is handled in this way one shouldn’t plan on spending that tax refund on anything except the loan repayment. 

The bigger issue is whether you can actually get the full refund for the tax credit, because you must have withheld enough in taxes over the year and not owe too much in taxes. For example, if you are eligible for a $9,000 tax credit, but owe $24,000 in taxes before applying the credit, you’ll still end up having to pay the government $15,000 and not have a refund to pay any loans or expenses. There is a similar problem if you haven’t had enough withheld from your income over the year. If you are eligible for a $9,000 tax credit, but haven’t had $9,000 withheld in taxes then you won’t receive the full refund.  In this event it is possible, however, to apply any excess credit to your next year’s taxes. There are online calculators that can help you estimate the correct amount to have withheld from your taxes.

Bear in mind that I am not a tax expert, more of a tax enthusiast, so please look this up for yourself or talk to a tax professional before making a decision. For full information on how the tax credit works, check out these websites:

http://energy.gov/savings/residential-renewable-energy-tax-credit

http://www.irs.gov/pub/irs-pdf/i5695.pdf

I hope this information is useful to those of you considering a similar venture. Salt and I will be most happy to wish you success as fellow energy barons. Cheers!

#farmdiva