I know I haven't yet told you about the first 7. I've been avoiding it...soon I'll spill the beans. But there's no avoiding disaster #8, the mushroom log we've been relying on for shiitakes for our fall one-block dinner. Which is in 5 days.
Luckily, Far West Fungi will replace incorrigibly moldy logs for its customers, as long as they're reasonably satisfied you haven't mistreated your log (stored it on the floor next to the trash, for instance.) In the meantime, does anyone have suggestions for how we can keep our next log mold-free?
I
hate when our chickens molt. Why nature insists on this cockamamie ritual once
a year is beyond me. It’s a real killjoy around the water cooler when members
of other One-Block teams compare the bounty of their projects and we on Team
Chicken stand empty-handed. You see, I possess an unreasonable tendency to
competitiveness, and to hear how productive the other teams are makes me
downright envious.
Team
Bee? Oh yeah?! Well… flying bugs don’t have an ‘off-season’, they just keep making
more bees when the old ones retire or get lost searching for nectar—that’s kind
of cheating. Team Cheese? Spotlights are on them as they begin testing batches
of all kinds of cheeses. They’re out in the test kitchen now practicing with
all their fancy-schmancy equipment. Show-offs. Team Mushroom? The new kids on
the block who got lucky with their first crop. Besides, you’re growing fungus!
Hel-looo! My shower wall does the same thing without me having to do anything
at all. And as far as Team Escargot is concerned, all I can say is things are
moving pretty slow over in their camp.
Fall
used to be my favorite time of year. The harvest is in full swing and here in
the West our weather is distinctly better than anywhere else in the country:
warm and dry. Dinner can be a hot bowl of soup or chili. I can watch football and
baseball at the same time. But ever since we got our chickens it’s now the
season of my discontent. The chickens molt. They stop producing eggs. They
become antisocial. Basically the Oakland Raiders of our One-Block Diet league.
At
any other time of the year, our birds are exquisite looking. But during the
molting season, they’re just freakish. Carmelita, who’s feathers normally are a
dazzling display of burnt red tinged with metallic greens and blacks now looks
like someone had been preparing her for a stew, but stopped to answer the phone.
And Ruby—who has always been the avian equivalent of that Catholic schoolgirl
played by Molly Shannon—looks like she could use a tiny
parka. Her neck is full of empty feather pockets that make her look more like a
lizard than a hen; not something I want to take questions on at the office
show-and-tell.
The
worst is poor Ophelia. She’s our Ameraucana with the inflated crop. I went out
to visit with them the other day and caught a peculiar sight: Ophelia’s molted
crop. It looks like the bird has a boob. I’m not kidding. One right in the
middle of her chest. And it’s not small either. It’s still covered in feathers
but the sides around it aren’t—or at least there are less of them—so it looks
augmented.
This
causes me great stress. The way to treat an impacted crop is you have to
massage it. I don’t think I’m comfortable with that right now. Imagine an
impressionable coworker stumbling in on that scene. It would be even worse if they
didn’t stick around for an explanation, slowly backing away as if they didn’t
want to interrupt a bit of bird debauchery. The damage it could cause our
inner-office relationship would be irreconcilable.
And
to make matters worse, the coop looks like the scene of a recent pillow fight.
The floor is covered with feathers. It seems I’m out there every other day
picking up enough plumage to Frankenstein together a completely new chicken.
All
of this and not an egg to speak of for weeks. In the office, we employ an egg
sign-up sheet as a way to gift fellow coworkers half a dozen eggs whenever we
fill a carton. Right now tacked over the sheet is a sign that reads “No eggs.
Lazy chickens. Stay tuned…”
The flooring of our coop has caused some trouble over the seasons. I've scoured the blog for any mention, but it seems none of the saga ever made it into a post. The record, then, lives in photos.
This post recounts Ophelia's crop failure. Notice that the flooring is straw:
What was omitted from all of that Ophelia drama was that her crop was impacted because she was eating all that straw.
This post was in the middle of the health problems (hence the yogurt regimen and Elizabeth's daily crop massages) and you'll notice that the floor is bare. We'd gotten rid of the straw but hadn't figured out what, if anything, should replace it.
It didn't take long to realize that bare soil a) gets muddy and messy when wet, and b) smells when pooped on. So by this post, we'd switched to large bark mulch.
The bark mulch works really well for us. We can add layers to it should it get messy or start to smell, and we can muck it out pretty easily when it's time to do a deep cleaning. It's actually due for a mucking. The bark is piled up so high that we're having trouble opening the door to the coop!
A passerby recently commented that it is cruel to have chickens standing on bark mulch because they can't scratch and dust-bathe. But actually, they can and do all the time.
This is the least exciting picture ever, but it's my proof that the girls can kick the bark and scratch away.
We use wood shavings in the lay boxes because it keeps them nice and soft for egg-laying (less cracking when there's a fluffy landing). We decided against using them for the entirety of the coop because Ophelia still seems to enjoy eating them.
So that's how we do it. We are curious about how other keepers of backyard flocks handle flooring material. Margo recently learned that the folks at Full Circle Dairy in the San Joaquin Valley house their chickens on SAND!
Our shiitake mushroom log gave us such a lovely first crop. Then came the weekend.
The log on Monday. Not pretty.
The poor thing was so dried out it was practically weightless. Plus, green mold was beginning to creep over its surface.
I called Ian Garrone, co-owner of Far West Fungi, seller of the logs, and asked for advice.
"Well, the green mold likes the same environment as the fungi," he said. "Most people freak out about it. But it's natural. Just soak it for 24 hours in water with a little bit of bleach." How much bleach? "Half a capful for every three gallons. Then take it out and wipe off the mold."
The shiitake log, beneath a plate and topped with a weight to keep it from floating.
This bucket caused a bit of a stir among the cooks in our test kitchen the next morning, who couldn't figure out what the nasty brown stuff might be.
I put the log back out on the table in a fresh clean mold-free bag, tied it near the top as it had been, perforated it carefully, and hoped for the best. The best did not happen.
Four days later: serious mold.
So I called Far West Fungi again, and this time John Garrone answered. John is Ian's brother and the co-owner of Far West. I described the situation.
"The molds flourish in the same environment as the mushrooms," said John. "Try scraping it off again, putting it in a brand new bag, and letting it rest for two or three weeks."
Resting for a mushroom log means being wrapped in the bag rather tightly (to discourage the mold) and being left alone. After a couple of weeks, if and when we begin to see--instead of mold--a little brown popcorn-like nubbin, that will be the log's signal that a mushroom is about to emerge. We should then unwrap the bag and re-tie it at the top, giving the log some space to shoot forth mushrooms.
Oh, another tip from John: Don't keep your mushroom log in the kitchen. Mold spores from kitchen trash can apparently travel and fix on the logs' surface. So now the recuperating log and the oyster mushroom log, which at least is not molding, are hanging out with me in my office.
They share space with bags of unwashed quinoa, old honeycomb, a Tupperware container of homemade salt, weird shriveled-up potato fruit, all of our chicken's first eggs (just the empty shells), and an old vial of brewer's yeast...souvenirs of our one-block diet so far. I realize that my office may sound the tiniest bit freaky, but it really isn't, ever since I moved the vinegar crocks to the kitchen...they were kind of, um, overpowering.
I’ve always lived
along the Pacific Coast, from the torrid tropics of Mexico to the temperate
rainforest of Northern California, so I have no experience with the kind of
cold weather that gives winter a bad name. For advice in about beekeeping in a
cold climate, last week I asked readers and Sunset Facebook fans how they prepare their hives for a harsh
winter.
Elizabeth Connelly
writes: I just attended a beekeeping seminar in NY today, all about Preparing
Hives for Winter (given by Chris Harp and Grai St. Clair Rice of HoneybeeLives.org).
I'll be removing empty frames and comb, moving frames together, and staining
the outside of the supers with homemade propolis-stain (so the supers will
better withstand the elements). I'll also be feeding my bees bee tea, to
strengthen their immune systems over the next few weeks.
Andrea Cohen says: Our bees seem to do OK here in northern New Mexico without
any special protections so long as we leave them adequate honey stores to
over-winter. We got about 110 12-oz bottles from our hive this year—our best
harvest yet! The supers were stacked about 6 feet high.
Marcee Pfaff advises that she is making sure they (the bees) have plenty of
stores. She is also moving frames together to create the right ventilation and
space for them to move up in the hives as the season progresses.
The folks at
BackYardHive.com in Colorado sent me an article on overwintering bees. I was
chastened by their advice about harvesting honey from a top bar hive. Since in winter the bees need
plenty of honey, you should take only the last two frames
of summer honey from the top bar hive. Gulp—we harvested 8 frames in
September, and the hoped for fall harvest never materialized as the weather turned nasty and hot and shut down the nectar flow.
BackYardHive.com
is selling a “hive duvet.” You can buy them in fancy colors, and if you live
where that cold white stuff falls from the sky (you call that snow, right?), it
seems like they'll help keep your bees warm.
We may not get
really cold weather here in Coastal California, but Kirk Anderson at Backwards Beekeepers in
Southern California reminded me that all is not perfect in paradise. “We
don't have winter really. But we have Ants. And we have a time of no
nectar ... from mid August 'til October more or less. It
is difficult to feed because of the ants.”
Yes, we know about ants.
On a bright
note, spring comes early for us. Kirk says, “Spring
here for me is when the peach tree blooms in China Town. This is about the end of
January to February.” In the San Francisco Bay Area, spring comes with flowering ornamental plums.
I’m counting on our mild winter, suburban gardens with year-round flowers, and
our early spring to get our girls through.
I have to admit I’m
a sucker for gross TV. One look at my DVR season-pass index and you’d think a
15-year-old kid was living in the house. Ever watchThe
Verminators on the Discovery Channel?
Sick! Monsters Inside Me on the Animal Planet? Aahsome! I Survivedon Biography? Only good when someone grapples with an
underfed animal or overactive shredder.
Watching this niche genre of programming fills me with pure
unadulterated pleasure, but I never expected it to advance any knowledge I had
to where I would recall information I learned and use as a basis in recognizing
a real-life problem.
It just shows to go ya.
Robust rodents
Last April, Team
Chicken noticed that rats were getting into our coop (Click here for article). I’m mean
who’s kidding whom? Chicken feed looks like something you’d buy in a pet store
to feed your guinea pig. And ours was a copious supply frequently spiked with a
trail mix of other goodies, served up freely in a bright shiny tray. 24/7. A
veritable varmint apartment.
No worries. We tracked down all entry points and covered them up
with bricks. Yeah, bricks. You got a problem with that?
Did someone say amateurs?
More recently, I
happened to be in with the hens and noticed a small gap where a fence that doubles
as the back of the coop meets one of the many adobe walls we have here on the Sunset campus. On the
adobe wall, I noticed the telltale sign of a rodent portal: a darkened blotch
of grime caused by the excessive rubbing from the dirty, rancid, oily fur of a
rat—something I learned while watching “The Vermimators.”
You still with me? Good, ’cause it gets worse.
The fence I mentioned before? It wraps around two sides of the
coop and looks like board and batten siding. Of the seven or eight battens,
three were covered top to bottom with that same rat grime. Like someone had
painted it on. With a brush made from the pelt of a volunteered rat. And to
make matters worse, a narrow ledge about a foot below the top of the fence was
covered in rat poo. Enough to fill a small shoebox.
Clearly a violation on my vomit meter.
And all of this combined with the fact that some of the smaller
holes we had left unplugged seemed to grow exponentially overnight. Oh, and the
bricks? I think the rats pushed them out of the way.
Fear sets in
During an impromptu
meeting of Team Chicken, it seemed our imaginations got the better of us. Could
there be rat droppings in the chicken food? Were the chickens eating it? And if
they were eating it, were we slowly killing our coworkers by giving them our
chicken eggs to make their omelets?
Are there a million
pieces of rat poo underneath the mulch in the coop? What about urine? Could the
hantavirus be present and might we succumb to it were we to breathe it in?
I never signed up for this.
Watching it on television is one thing, but to have the image of a
sea of rats pouring over ground you’re standing on is another. I was having
constant anxiety about the soles of my shoes.
The meeting adjourned, but not before we concluded with the
following: we were all mortified; we were shocked it had gone on unnoticed for
as long as it did; we’d get someone else to fix it. Not because we’re above it,
but because at some point one must realize their own limitations. We’d like to
think of ourselves as rookies in training when it comes to our chickens. When
it comes to rats, we’ll leave it to the professionals.
Posted by: By Sunset, October 28, 2009 in Team Chicken
by Brianne McElhiney, Sunset Assistant to the editor-in-chief
I'm sure your backyard chickens love donuts. Does that mean you should feed them these tasty glazed delicacies? Probably not. Following the tragic death of our chicken Alana, we had the vet investigate her cause of death by performing a necropsy (read more about it here). The determined cause was kidney failure, but the vet also remarked that Alana had excessive amounts of fat in her system. "More fat, more flavor," I typically say, but since we are not eating our chickens, we need to keep them lean and healthy in hopes that they will live long, happy, egg-bearing lives.
How to feed your chickens:
Free-choice feeding is the easiest. Rations are left out at all times and your chickens may choose to eat whenever their hearts desire. This way they will never go hungry. Although free-choice may sound great, rats will also have the option of eating whenever they please. The feed may also get wet and dirty if constantly left out.
Restricted feed will require a bit more time on your part, but it will prevent your chickens from overeating and they will be so excited to see you when you come bearing food. Feeding your girls twice a day is typically sufficient, but make sure each of them gets enough. Otherwise they may resort to cannibalism (no joke).
Range feedingsounds easy, but this may require a bit of regulation. Chickens can become destructive if they stick to a single area of your yard or property. To encourage even grazing, position waterers and feeders away from their home and throughout the grazing area. Scattering scratch in different areas each day will also help prevent overgrazing in a single area. Be sure to barricade any areas of your garden that you don't want your chickens to eat (vegetable beds, flowers, etc.).
What to feed your chickens:
What one feeds a chicken is determined by the chicken's age and purpose and the time of year. The best way to provide your chickens with a balanced diet is to purchase ration from your local feed store. Rations available include:
Chick ration
Broiler ration
Pullet ration
Lay ration
Breeder ration
If you decide to allow your chickens to range feed on the grasses around your home, be sure to provide them with the following supplements to ensure balanced nutrition:
A bit of salt - deficiency may result in fewer and smaller eggs and can lead to cannibalistic behavior
Instead of feeding them cookies as treats, feed them scratch. Scratch is much healthier for chickens than cookies and they love it. You may also use it to train your chickens to come when you call them, and if you throw it in their coop, they will stir up the bedding— helping to loosen it up and keep it dry. Seeds are also chicken-pleasing treats.
During molting season your girls will need more protein. Feathers are 85% protein and adding more protein to their diets will help speed up the process resulting in happier chickens. Low-fat, no-sodium cottage cheese or dried cat food are two good options.
Unlike your children, your chickens will gladly eat their fruits and veggies. Feel free to give them any produce you may have lying around.
How much to feed your chickens:
This will vary on the season and the temperature. Typically aim for about a cup per chicken per day. During the colder months or during molting, give them about a 1/4 cup more each. Don't over-do it on the scratch because it will throw off the percentage of protein they need in their diet. A handful or so once or twice a day is plenty.
We harvested and we threshed, but I'd been totally avoiding the next step in quinoa processing because I was scared of making a total mess and losing our seeds.
Margo came to me and told me what I already knew: It was time to figure out, once and for all, how to separate the seeds from all the leaf and stem debris.
We experimented with a few methods we'd heard about. We tried out every single strainer in the kitchen to see if one was magically the right size to keep the seeds but let the debris pass -- no luck. We tried stirring bowls of the mess to see if the debris would rise to the top -- no luck.
There was no avoiding it -- it was time to winnow.
Winnow - to separate the chaff from the grain by using air currents
We set up a small fan on the floor and laid a sheet down to catch the debris. We placed a baking sheet a few feet in front of the fan to catch the seeds. Looking back, I'm not entirely sure why we didn't do this outside. One reason may have been that we didn't get to this until 6pm on a Friday night, and it was practically dark out.
We rubbed our hands together, letting the seeds and debris fall downward. The quinoa was heavier than the chaff, so it fell to the baking sheet. And the remaining debris blew onto the sheet (actually, it left a fine sheen over most of the test kitchen. We turned the sheet into a U shape by draping it over chairs on either side...that helped some).
I don't know why I'd been so scared. It worked marvelously.
We only got through about a fourth of our harvest, but in that hour or so, we became successful winnowers. Our quinoa began to look like something you could buy at the store.
Google the term ‘chicken hawk’ and you’ll
find a handful of varying definitions. For instance, chicken hawk can refer to
someone in the public eye who fervently supports war but actively avoided
service. It can be used to describe a person who spends an inordinate amount of
time trying to get stuff for free. Or, when someone who decides for whatever
reason to get a Mohawk-style haircut but then at the last minute opts to leave
an inch or so of hair where it should be shaved, not fully committing to the
look. They’re now sporting a chicken hawk.
When I hear the
term chicken hawk, I think of this guy:
We’re getting
progressive in the business of raising chickens here at Sunset. For almost two
years, our hens have been cooped up. Literally. Unaware of the considerable
pleasures that lay just beyond their reach in our test garden. Impounded.
Scratching in an area so small I couldn’t park my car in it.
But recently, Margo
True, Sunset’s Food Editor and shepherd of our One-Block Diet franchise, rushed
into my office and proclaimed, “Release the chickens! We must put them out to
scratch to their hearts content in our garden! Free to feel the sun and able to
dine on bugs and slugs. Free to release their bowels into our soil and
fertilize the earth so that our crops are nourished and thrive!” (I may have
paraphrased a bit)
“Plus, they’re fat
and need exercise,” she added with slightly less vigor.
When Johanna
returns from vacation, I’ll have to remind her of the hawks.
Chickens are
chicken.
It happened late
last spring. I was out tending to the flock when off in the distance a predator
bird let out a loud screech. The reaction from our chickens was nothing short
of amazing. All six birds stopped what they were doing and froze. Completely.
Like a gaggle of feathery statues, they cast a vacant stare up at the
corrugated plastic above our heads. For like 20 seconds. Amazing because it was
basic instinct in its finest form.
We got a glimpse of
these magnificent birds this past summer when temperatures here in Menlo Park
reached a scorching 104˚. A family of hawks (we couldn’t identify but we think
they were red-tailed) visited the fountain in our center courtyard.
They had no doubt
come to drink and bathe. The question was, at least in my mind, were they
looking to feed?
Chicken running
And to say our
chickens are skittish is nothing short of an understatement.
On Elizabeth
Jardina’s (Fact-checker, chicken blogger) last day at Sunset, she wanted to
spend time with them outside the coop (pre- Johanna’s contraption) and enjoy
them in our garden free from wood and wire. Standing there it was hard to
ignore the similarities. The birds, scratching new terrain, grabbing
low-hanging fruit from tomato plants. And EJ, with a ticket to Prague in her back
pocket and plans to return to school in pursuit of a master’s degree. It was a
poignant moment. A moment shattered by a tiny black finch.
Yeah. A dumb little
bird.
From the corner of
my eye, I saw the finch dart overhead and out of sight. But that tenth of a
second was enough to send poor Ophelia over the edge. She took flight, like a
bat out of hell, from where she blissfully dined on cherry tomatoes, over our
compost piles and into the secure confinement of the coop. Her reaction was so
overtly prudent it sent the others into an unprecedented panic.
So after seeing
Johanna’s chicken run, I posed the question to Team Chicken: What about the
hawks?
From the hawk’s
perspective, our chickens enjoying the limited freedom of our garden within an
oval-shaped fence may look like this:
Margo’s solution for now is to chicken sit
while they are set out. Besides, there’s no going back. Now that they’ve had a
taste of freedom, they scurry back and forth at the front of the coop when we
approach it, like an inmate dragging a tin cup across his prison bars. And Ruby
doesn’t shut up. I’ve heard that once you show chickens there’s life outside
the coop, they always want out. I’m tentative but willing, and hopeful that as
we approach Halloween, we’re not creating our own little monsters.
The weather is definitely autumnal around here. Veronica’s
beehive is sporting a snazzy entrance reducer to reduce the possibility of
robbing as the neighborhood bees search out unprotected honey for their winter stores. And we’ve got work to do to prepare our hives before winter descends.
We did. Veronica has 120 mites in 48 hours (we forgot to
take the board out). Not good, but not hideous, especially since we haven’t
used any controls other than a drone frame trap this summer. We’ll be treating for
mites, and soon.
Veronica’s covered with these disgusting creatures. We
squash them when we see them, but we’ve got to figure out some kind of trap
that actually works.
Califia’s bees are clustering towards the entrance of her
top bar hive, leaving the the rear of the hive empty. It’s awe inspiring to run your finger
along the observation window glass and feel the change in temperature—the glass
is nice and warm where the girls are huddled, and chilly at the rear of the
hive. We still have to remove the honey super from Veronica (it's mostly empty since we took most of the honey in the middle of September) and we want to make sure
everything is ready for winter inside the brood boxes.
4. Make sure both
hives have enough honey to last through winter.
We’re not too worried about this. Our Mediterranean climate
means we pretty much have flowers blooming year round.
In fact, in the San Francisco Bay Area, winter mostly means
you wear a hoodie over your tank top. We just don’t have really cold weather.
We’re curious how beekeepers keep their bees warm and happy in places where it
actually snows.
Readers, if you’ve got an apiary, what do you do to ready your bees for winter? Comment on our blog, or on our Facebook page, and I’ll collect them
into a post for next week.
Posted by: By Sunset, October 19, 2009 in Team Bee
, Team Mead
by Brianne McElhiney, Sunset Assistant to the editor-in-chief
The first round of fermentation for our mead is done, and I am feeling great about it!
We racked our honey-wine for the first time the other week, meaning we siphoned off the vibrant clear mead into a new carboy leaving the nasty looking dead yeast cells and the mysterious brown fleck at the bottom of the old one.
Vanessa and I siphoning the mead into a clean new carboy, while being careful not to disturb the sediment on the bottom of the old one.
Before we replaced the stopper and airlock on the new carboy, preparing it for the final round of fermentation, we decided to have a little taste test. I don't want to sing the praises (do, re, mead...) too soon, but ours tastes pretty good compared to many of the others we have tried, both homemade and professionally made. Perhaps the mysterious brown fleck was beneficial.
Tasting mead- From the left: Assistant to the Editor-in-Chief Brianne McElhiney, photo intern Vanessa Speckman, imaging specialist Kimberley Burch.
Our honey has menthol note from the eucalyptus trees in our area, resulting in a slight medicinal flavor in the mead, but the draught is still rather enjoyable. Meads reach their prime a few years into aging, so we are very excited it tastes as good as it does this early in the game.
We have now moved the mead into Sunset's wine cellar for another month or so while the fermenting subsides, then we will rack it again and bottle it for aging. The mead will be ready to drink in a couple months, but it will be best if we let it age at least a couple years. I'm not sure we will be able to wait that long.
With our new mushroom logs suddenly exploding with fungi, the members of Team Mushroom tackled the logs with sharp knives. It was easy and fast--took us all of five minutes.
Shiitakes on the left, oyster mushrooms on the right.
"They look like something out of Dr. Seuss!" said associate food editor Elaine Johnson. They were definitely the cleanest, most pristine mushrooms I'd ever seen. You could almost mistake them for porcelain, were it not for their fragile texture.
I cut up a few shiitakes and sauteed them in olive oil.
They were curiously fragile and tender, without the heft and chew I normally associate with shiitakes. Some of us loved them; others missed the meatiness. I suspected we'd waited too long to harvest the mushrooms, Their caps had opened so much that they looked like Victorian parasols.
I called Far West Fungi, the producers of the logs, and talked to sales manager Ian Garrone. He confirmed that we should've harvested them as soon as the caps had opened, when their edges were still rounded. An overly mature mushroom is soft, "like a really ripe banana."
As long as I had him on the phone, I thought I'd ask what the log itself was made of, since we'd all been wondering. The answer was surprising: basically, it's the shroom itself. Here's Garrone's explanation:
Birth in a petri dish. Germinated mushroom spores are added to a petri dish of agar (a seaweed extract) and potato dextrose (food for the baby fungus). Within days, mycelium--the rootlike filaments that are the main body of the fungus; what we call mushrooms are merely the fruits--start to appear and form a white ring in the dish.
Adolescence in a Mason jar. The petri-full of mycelium is cut into wedges. Each wedge goes into a jar filled with red oak sawdust mixed with rye seed or red-oak seed, and the jar is chilled. The mycelium begins to run through the jar.
Maturing in a bag. The jarful of mycelium gets dumped into a bag of more sawdust and, this time, rice bran. Mycelium growth continues for another couple of weeks. "This is what we call your master spawn bag," says Garrone.
Grown up and ready to fruit. A small bit of the master spawn is added to yet another bag of sawdust and rice bran and given lots of water. Now the mycelium really takes off, creating a spongy loglike chunk as it weaves through the sawdust. (Remember the last time you were walking on a nice, soft forest floor? That's probably because mycelium were underfoot.) We received our log in the mail, and mushrooms popped out within a week.
This is exactly the method that Far West Fungi uses to grow its mushrooms for sale at farmers' markets all over the Bay Area. Without even knowing it, we're using what the pros use.
What can we expect from our log? It should give us two or three more "flushes" of mushrooms about four weeks apart--until the mycelium runs out food. Will it die? The brochure advises us to "retire it to your garden where it will enrich your soil." I wonder if we'll see a mushroom or two sprout from that spot. Hmmm. Hope so.
Before I finish, I'd like to introduce Team Mushroom's new co-leaders:
The Spore Sisters: Assistant to the editor-in-chief Brianne McElhiney (left) and associate food editor Elaine Johnson.
I was inside the test kitchen yesterday, waiting to show our hives to a visitor from The New York Times, and a bee flew in the open door.
EEK!
She probably smelled the honey we had wrapped up on the table waiting to process. Or perhaps she was just curious. Either way, she got trapped on the window— you know the way flying bugs get trapped trying to leave through the closed window. Poor thing. She worked herself up into a frenzy.
I tried frantically to wave her out the door. I was, of course, not panicking for myself, but worrying about what could happen if she flew farther indoors, into the offices of my coworkers who are allergic to honey bees. That would not be good.
I first tried distracting her with the beeswax we had for show in the kitchen. Not interested; much too busy trying to break the glass with her buzzing.
Then I had another idea. AH HA!
I quickly unwrapped the tray of honey, stuck my finger in to get it nice and gooey, went up to the window and held it out to her. Nothing like honey for a good distraction. She stuck out her little proboscis (tongue) and started sipping. I then easily walked out the door—closing it behind me—with her on my finger and giggled in delight as she sipped (her proboscis really tickled underneath my fingernail!) until she’d filled her little belly with the sweetness.
I searched for someone to share this moment with, but everyone was inside, bent over their computers transmitting our December issue. I was left alone outside.
So I thought I’d share the moment with you. And now you know, if you ever get a honey bee stuck in your house, dip your finger in some honey and follow my lead.
It's true -- our chickens are overweight. The vet told Elizabeth that part of the reason Alana got so sick was obesity and that our birds would benefit from some exercise.
Margo approached me about how to get our flock into shape. I didn't tell her at the time, but I immediately thought of the book Yoga for Chickens, by Lynn Brunelle.
Seeing as a yoga class for chickens would probably be pretty ineffective I decided to go another route. I used chicken wire and rebar to fence off an area in the garden and let them spend the day free-ranging and enjoying the change in scenery.
The area was part mulched path and part just-harvested beds. Both areas provided ample excitement for the girls. There were bugs! Worms! Snails! Fresh dirt to scratch!
Ruby, so excited by all the new dirt, forgets to wipe her beak.
Smart chickens know it's important to stay hydrated while working out.
Hopefully between increased exercise and some potential diet changes (like not having food available 24/7) our girls will stay healthy and shed those extra pounds.
My birthday is tomorrow, and a box from Denver arrived at work today. It's always exciting to see what goodies Mom and Dad (mostly Mom) have picked out. In addition to some new underwear and a 2010 planner, I got this:
It's the most incredible chicken bag EVER (trust me, this is not the first chicken purse I've received on a birthday).
It looks so realistic that I had to give it a turn in the lay boxes. I'm going to be styling this weekend!
My mom said she got it at the farmers' market in Santa Fe, should any of you want to track down your own fabulous chicken bag. Good luck!
Posted by: By Sunset, October 7, 2009 in Team Chicken
By Johanna Silver, Sunset test garden coordinator
I noticed something surprising about our girls after feeding them cucumbers the other week: They went straight for the seeds and left the rest of the juicy fruit to rot on the ground.
The only other time I raised chickens was the year of my life I spent as a teacher-in-residence at Slide Ranch in Marin County, CA. The flock we kept was pretty different from the spoiled Sunset girls. They didn't have names; they were taken to the axe (not the vet) if they fell sick; and they often ended up in soup (not that we didn't love them. I LOVED them).
Feeding was also handled differently. The Slide Ranch flock was fed a crumble mix once in the morning, allowed to free-range all day, and would devour kitchen scraps at night. By contrast the Sunset girls have access to a crumble all day long, don't free-range, and don't finish kitchen scraps. The Slide Ranch hens might leave a few peels or stalks that weren't appealing, but they never would have let juicy cukes slip by.
Are our chickens really as spoiled as I think they are? Does having access to crumble all day fill them up more than free-ranging would? What has made them so picky as to only eat seeds?
We'd love to hear your experiences. Does your flock finish their tasty kitchen scraps?
As team beer readied for it's next batch, we had to decide what type or style of brew to make. We finally decided to use ale yeast because we don't have the facilities to control the cooler fermentation required for a lager beer.
Ales take a shorter time to ferment; as little as 2 weeks compared to at least a month for lagers. Ales are a top fermenting yeast and lagers are bottom fermenting.
We used a Wyeast liquid stain called Northwest Ale which we purchased from Williams Brewing, a home brew supply distributor located in San Leandro, California. They produce a catalog but we found the Northwest strain on their website.
There are several types of ale yeast. We chose a liquid yeast, which comes in a package of wort with a bubble inside containing the desired yeast strain. You need to introduce the two, so to complete this act you slam the palm of your hand on the package and feel to make sure the bubble of yeast that was contained in the wort is now broken, which introduces the yeast and the wort.
At this point you need to vigorously shake the package to make sure the wort and yeast are well mixed.
The wort acts as a food source for the yeast to feed upon and multiply. The package stated that the yeast would multiply into billions of cells. I'd hate to be the person responsible for doing the counting. Sorry, my weak attempt at humor.
The yeast cells can be killed by excessive heat or cold during shipping. Our advantage is that William's is just across the Bay and is usually delivered within 24 hours.
You can also purchase yeast in a dry form but it is rumored to be less pure then liquid yeast. I have tried this style and found it to be much faster to start fermentation and less expensive then liquid yeast but you won't find the varieties of different strains that you find in liquid yeast. It really comes down to what you personally fell comfortable using.
To give you an idea of the many different strains of yeast you can use for fermentation, Williams catalog has 15 types of liquid ale yeast alone. Each strain of ale yeast has it's own nuance to achieve a certain flavor and aroma. Some examples are bready, malty and fruity. Some yeasts ferment dry and others will leave a distinct malt character. There are yeasts that originate in Britain, others considered American and still others are categorized as European.
The temperature range in which the yeast is active also fluctuates between strains. And you thought all yeasts are the same. The fun part about making your own beer is that you can virtually make any style of beer you like.
It's really amazing what recipes one can conjure up for a batch of beer.
Ask a person if they like wheat beer, for example, and you don't know what kind of wheat beer they actually prefer. There are strains that will produce flavors that will make a dry, tart and crisp beer, there are strains that supply a slight clove flavor and there are those that provide a banana, clove and vanilla flavor. The interesting part is that they all start with a basic wheat beer base and are deviated by the different strains of yeast introduced into the wort for fermentation.
Ever since we found a giant morel mushroom in our compost pile, we've been thinking about adding Team Mushroom to our growing list of one-block diet projects. Well, last week, with fall on the way, the thought of cooking up a bunch of earthy mushrooms was just too tempting, and we went ahead and ordered a couple of grow-your-own "mini farms" from Far West Fungi, in Santa Cruz.
They were not impressive upon arrival. They looked so much like moldy loaves of bread that I worried they might get accidentally trashed.
Shiitake loaf on the left; oyster mushroom loaf on the right.
They came on Thursday. Tiny nubbins had formed on Sunday. Today it's a freaking forest. We'd better start cooking!
by Brianne McElhiney, SunsetEditorial Assistant to the Editor-in-chief
About a month ago Margaret and I were out at the hives having a go with the bees, when one crawled up my suit leg and stung me on the thigh. Perhaps I was being an irresponsible beekeeper wearing a suit ten times too large, defeating the purpose of elastic around the ankles, but in nine months I had never been stung at work while wearing this absurd ensemble. "No big deal," I thought. I have been stung a time or two (or ten). I couldn't get into my suit to get the stinger out immediately, so I finished what I was doing, then managed to retreat from the hives for stinger removal. Five minutes later I got stung again on my ankle. Still, no big deal. " I'm just building up my immunity," I rationalized in my head and I quickly brushed out the second stinger.
About a half hour later when Margaret and I were inside cleaning up, I began feeling really hot, then cramps took over my body, then vomiting ensued. No swelling or trouble breathing, but these cramps were killing me (similar to what I would imagine child labor to be like). No joke. I have a very high pain threshold, but this was the worst I have ever experienced.
To the ER we went, where I received an IV and morphine, but no concrete answers as to what the problem might be. I hadn't experienced any abnormal swelling from the bee stings, so those had been written off as the problem, but the cramps would not lighten up. One nurse suggested it might have been a kidney stone, a worthy suggestion. I'd like to give a shout out to the doctor who INSISTED the torrential pains were menstrual cramps... You were wrong. A few hours later the pain subsided and I was released from the ER a bit shaken up, but feeling fine.
During the next few weeks I embarked on a mission to get to the root of this bizarre episode. A few doctors visits and many tests later, the diagnosis was a honeybee allergy – not kidney stones and definitely not menstrual cramps. Baffled by the whole ordeal, I naturally had a few questions for allergist, Dr. Toby Levenson of Allergy and Asthma Associates of Northern California.
BMc: I wasn't allergic to bees before, but I am allergic now. How did that happen?
Dr. L: People can develop allergies at any point in their lives. While some individuals build up immunities from multiple exposures to an allergen, others will develop sensitivities. Frequent exposure can cause your body to build up IgE antibodies against the allergens, which will then produce common allergy symptoms and sometimes very severe symptoms.
BMc: I didn't swell up or have trouble breathing. Can bee allergies produce different symptoms?
Dr. L: Absolutely. Allergic reactions can come in the form of hives, flushing, low blood pressure, vomiting, weakness, headaches, cramps, abdominal pains...
Dr. L: In the past, doctors would crush a whole bee on your skin and wait for a reaction, but that wasn't very effective. Venom allergies can now be detected through blood work and by performing skin tests.
BMc: If in fact someone is allergic, can anything be done to alleviate the allergy?
Dr. L:Desensitization is highly effective. Studies have shown that after desensitization you will be at the same risk as someone without the allergy. Typically this requires getting a shot once a week for 2-5 years... usually on the higher end of the scale for venoms. Rush immunotherapy has been tried, but far too often patients have had severe reactions to the higher potency shots. To avoid being stung, do not wear perfumes, avoid grassy areas, refrain from wearing bright floral colors and don't harass hives of any sort.
Now you may be wondering...
Q: Are my beekeeping days over?
A: At Sunset, yes. They are sadly at an end. I would not want to be a liability to this wonderful company, but I will still be helping with Team Bee projects and harvesting frames of honey. Although, I may try to join up with Team Chicken and Team Cheese. I will also still be Captain of Team Mead.
At home, beekeeping will carry on. From this point forward I will be taking extra special precautions not to get stung, beekeeping only with a buddy, and keeping my new EpiPen, Benadryl, and Predisone close by. I am currently in the desensitization process, so hopefully in a couple years the allergy will be no longer.
Q: Am I nuts?
A: Probably, but I just can’t imagine walking away so easily from this hobby I’ve come to love.
This season's crop of butternut squash is growing up a metal arbor. The trellis is thick enough to support the weight of the squash without buckling, and the squash are holding on without any help. I'm pretty in love with how well it's worked.
I'm really posting just to share the picture of the one, little squash, totally stuck in the trellis. He's wedged in tightly and won't budge.
