As my Facebook friends already know, last week my order of 25 Barred Rock chicks arrived. A sweet, cheeping box of fluff balls who quickly imprinted on my hand, so that they come running when I scrabble my fingers in the straw. I could sit for hours in the cozy chicken coop, just watching them stretch their tiny wings and dash back and forth like zany fuzz rockets.
And this morning, that's just what I did. Spent hours in the chicken coop.
You see, yesterday I noticed that a few of the chicks were being somewhat negligent in the personal hygiene department. Their yellow puffball bums had some unsightly goo hardening menacingly. I thought that surely this was normal, that it would crust and fall off, and the chicks would go on their merry ways.
Not so the case. This morning there was a lot more ugly chunky bums, and one chick in particular seemed to be suffering ill effects. So I asked Google "why do my chicks have poop stuck to their bums?" which prompted a barrage of websites and forums discussing the topic. The widely accepted answer: "Pasty Butt".
This is not to be confused with "pastry bun" which I would much rather have had 25 of today.
The causes of pasty butt are much debated, as are the cures, but the agreed-upon necessity is that the butts must be cleansed. Apparently this dried up gunk clogs the works, so to speak, and for a tiny chick a plug in the pipes spells imminent death.
So out I went, bucket of warm water, a box of Q-tips and a bottle of mineral oil in hand. Some people recommended holding the chicks' bums in the warm water until the poo softened, then wiping it off. Some said to use a damp cloth. One person admitted that "we are ruthless. We just pull it off - sometimes a little fluff comes off, too, but then there's less for the poop to stick to!"
My trusting little gaffers came running up to my hand, eager for whatever they thought I was giving them to eat. I think that first chick was awfully surprised.
As it happens, there is a silver lining to this spectacle. I now know how to chink my log cabin. I'll use chicken poo. It sticks to everything and turns into concrete once it's dried!
At first I very gentle cradled the little chick to my bosom and delicately daubed with a dampened Q-tip. The chick looked shocked. It began to struggle a little more as my ministrations became somewhat more vigorous. Sure enough, it's vent was completely covered, and no doubt it was relieved to finally be able to make a movement. On me.
I tried to soften the goo with mineral oil on chick #2. It doesn't work any better.
The next chick I cupped in my hand and submerged it's infected area in the warm water. It screamed. The rest of the chicks rushed over to investigate this strange screaming bucket.
The poo did not soften.
Halfway through the job, I was grabbing chick after chick, holding them head down, bum up to the light, and roughly rolling the wet Q-tips at the base of the... cabin chinking. There was a group of bullies that pecked at the drops of dirty water that rolled down my crossed legs. Every now and then one would leap up and try to peck the feet of the chick being treated. They started scrambling up my lap, beady little eyes plotting further torture for whichever sibling I was holding. Wretched little beasts had already forgotten their own humiliation despite their raw little bums bearing witness to the atrocity.
So I spent the early hours of my day scrubbing nearly 25 chick bums. Something I did not expect to do. Ever. When I left the coop, most of the little creatures had resumed their normal routines; hopping around, pecking at the specks on the walls, trying to jump on top of the waterer... but a few remained forlornly huddled under the heat lamp looking damp and dejected. I can only hope that their bums soon dry and their feathers grow fast!
Monday, 10 September 2012
Sunday, 9 September 2012
Sweet Sweet Success
You may recall my initial Plan for Success, which did not include cake decorating.
I think it was Robbie Burns who told us that the best laid plans of mice and men go aft agley, and that's precisely how my plans went. As a newcomer in a small community, I decided to take a blanket-marketing approach and basically tried to do everything I could - door to door window painting sales, bargain-basement ceiling paintings, fancy cake on display... even two different business cards for separate endeavors. I figured something was bound to stick.
Unfortunately, as it happens, cake is pretty sticky. And cake orders started coming in.
Now, I only tried out cake decorating on a whim. One time at a farmer's market I was applying henna to a market-goer's hand, and someone mentioned that it looked a lot like icing. She said "you could probably decorate cakes, too!" So I did. And yes, I could.
I found it somewhat stressful, those early cakes. I was attending the School of YouTube, learning from the self-proclaimed masters. The ones with webcams, anyway. But there's only so much one can really learn from watching a home video on frosting a cake... I figured I'd be less stressed when I'd improved my technique. Seems like all I could see were flaws - major ones. Lopsided layers. Bubbles in the buttercream. My Very First Wedding Cake nearly sent me to the looney bin when my worst nightmare came true and I frosted two layers with the opposite colors! So instead of the tiers going green, cream, green, cream, green they went green, cream, green, green, cream! And I was almost out of icing and I had to scrape it all off and oh boy I nearly lost it.
And at first I thought, wow, the baking of the cakes is kind of a bummer. I wish I could make someone else bake the cakes, so I could just decorate them. Just do the "fun" part.
Then I'd be frosting, and I'd think - well, this base coat is really irritating. If only I could get the cakes pre-frosted, and then I could just do the "fun" part.
After that came the decorating details, piping little swirls or flowers, writing messages in buttercream... and I'd think gee whiz, my hands are so shaky for this. Wasn't this supposed to be the "fun" part?
And then I'd get to wash up all the greasybutterystickysugary dishes. I think by now you all know how, for me, dishes are SO NOT the fun part!
Delivering cakes is not so great either - a nerve-wracking ride in the Suburban, balancing a teetering confection, trying to keep the dust out and the flies off and the bumps to a minimum and my arms are aching and why is it so sunny just on the one side of the cake so all the icing gets soft and shiny and good grief are we there yet??!!! Even OtherHalf says "oh I hate this part. Even I get stressed out."
Apparently, the "fun" part is having the recipient of the cake go all wide eyed and goosh "Oh! It's beautiful! It's wonderful!"
Even getting paid almost felt like a let down - it's the part where I look at the cash (usually as it's leaving my purse!) and I think hmmm... I spent two weeks painting viola petals with egg whites and sprinkling them with berry sugar, then two days baking and washing up after baking, and made two extra trips to town for special flavouring, extra butter, and then more icing sugar... I had one insane day of trying to get my buttercream to crust in the humid heat of my fly-infested kitchen, yelled at my kids to "get outside already!" and forgot to feed my husband, and missed two nights of sleep for worrying about how to make it all just perfect. After deducting the cost of materials for this cake, I made about $0.27 an hour. People call it a Labour of Love. I'm not feeling the love.
I had two cake orders this week. One was a wedding cake which had very thoughtfully been booked several months in advance. This gave me many opportunities to remember about it, and have mini panic attacks throughout the summer. The second cake was a last-minute frenzied affair, which gave me two days of full on anxiety, including baking into the night, which didn't matter since I only had nightmares about the fondant once I finally fell asleep. Realizing the potential for disaster, but also seeing that this business was really taking off, I was determined to Make it Work. I did my best to eliminate added stressors - I preplanned the meals for the week; crock pot affairs involving minimum prep and clean up. I wrote "Cake" on the calendar on the days I knew I'd be fully devoted. GiantBoy wrote "every one hide!" beneath my "cake" message. I didn't erase it.
Sure enough, the week was a never-ending one, and insanities popped up out of nowhere - my chicks arrived a week early, necessitating extra time spent prepping the chicken coop; a box of pickling cukes were donated to the cause, so jars had to be found and washed, another trip to town for lids, and the smell of boiling vinegar late into the night; one evening I take the blame for - a perfect evening for a horseback ride with Tweeny that I just couldn't pass up... it was a week where a day lasted a month but there was no time for anything anyway. The cakes were made, delivered, and the evidence washed away.
And I'm throwing in the towel. Literally, as in I got every single tea towel dirty this week as part of my "keep the flies off!" campaign, and figuratively, as in I've tasted success and I don't like it.
Well now doesn't that just beat all. She whines and snivels and wants to be successful and a big fish in a small pond and all that, and just when she's turned a corner, just as she's made cakes for the rich and famous of Boyle, sparking a Beat the Jones' cake ordering frenzy, NOW she's complaining that she's busy and tired and doesn't like it?!
Yup. Welcome to the intricacies of my brain.
Although, to be fair, I don't think it's entirely a "now I've got it and I don't want it anymore" thing. As previously mentioned, I've never really been that keen on the cake decorating. Some have been fun - cakes that I've designed for friends or family, cakes that I've worked on in secret, anticipating the reaction when they're unveiled. But most of them have been torture of varying degrees - and even though I know I can do them well, I know they taste great, I know my customers are thrilled - I can't seem to stop feeling higher-than-the-daily-recommended-dose of stress when I'm working on them. I've been having a hard time finding any "pros" at all, never mind enough to actually outweigh the "cons".
In short, the cake decorating business is no fun.
I know, I know, jobs aren't always fun, life's not always fair, and cats don't always land on their feet. Blah blah blah. The bottom line is, I'm a pampered pet in my marital affairs, and I am not required to contribute one iota of financial support to our family, and therefore I don't have to do jobs that aren't fun. And if anyone doesn't like it, well, I already said life's not fair. My position is due to the fact that I am not a feminist, and therefore I expect my husband to take care of me, which he does quite cheerfully. So.
I know more cake orders are bound to come, and I cringe when I think about turning them down, 'cause I don't really like saying "no". But I only need to recall the extreme unpleasantness in my household during this past week, and I'll find the inner strength I need to stick to my decision. I am crossing "cake decorator" off my list. It will return to the category of thingsIcandowhenIwantto.
This will leave me with more time for the Good Stuff, on which I will be reporting as it occurs. As a matter of fact, I currently have a batch of old fashioned pickles fermenting in my pantry - more on that and other Home Farm experiments in posts to come.
I think it was Robbie Burns who told us that the best laid plans of mice and men go aft agley, and that's precisely how my plans went. As a newcomer in a small community, I decided to take a blanket-marketing approach and basically tried to do everything I could - door to door window painting sales, bargain-basement ceiling paintings, fancy cake on display... even two different business cards for separate endeavors. I figured something was bound to stick.
Unfortunately, as it happens, cake is pretty sticky. And cake orders started coming in.
Now, I only tried out cake decorating on a whim. One time at a farmer's market I was applying henna to a market-goer's hand, and someone mentioned that it looked a lot like icing. She said "you could probably decorate cakes, too!" So I did. And yes, I could.
I found it somewhat stressful, those early cakes. I was attending the School of YouTube, learning from the self-proclaimed masters. The ones with webcams, anyway. But there's only so much one can really learn from watching a home video on frosting a cake... I figured I'd be less stressed when I'd improved my technique. Seems like all I could see were flaws - major ones. Lopsided layers. Bubbles in the buttercream. My Very First Wedding Cake nearly sent me to the looney bin when my worst nightmare came true and I frosted two layers with the opposite colors! So instead of the tiers going green, cream, green, cream, green they went green, cream, green, green, cream! And I was almost out of icing and I had to scrape it all off and oh boy I nearly lost it.
And at first I thought, wow, the baking of the cakes is kind of a bummer. I wish I could make someone else bake the cakes, so I could just decorate them. Just do the "fun" part.
Then I'd be frosting, and I'd think - well, this base coat is really irritating. If only I could get the cakes pre-frosted, and then I could just do the "fun" part.
After that came the decorating details, piping little swirls or flowers, writing messages in buttercream... and I'd think gee whiz, my hands are so shaky for this. Wasn't this supposed to be the "fun" part?
And then I'd get to wash up all the greasybutterystickysugary dishes. I think by now you all know how, for me, dishes are SO NOT the fun part!
Delivering cakes is not so great either - a nerve-wracking ride in the Suburban, balancing a teetering confection, trying to keep the dust out and the flies off and the bumps to a minimum and my arms are aching and why is it so sunny just on the one side of the cake so all the icing gets soft and shiny and good grief are we there yet??!!! Even OtherHalf says "oh I hate this part. Even I get stressed out."
Apparently, the "fun" part is having the recipient of the cake go all wide eyed and goosh "Oh! It's beautiful! It's wonderful!"
Even getting paid almost felt like a let down - it's the part where I look at the cash (usually as it's leaving my purse!) and I think hmmm... I spent two weeks painting viola petals with egg whites and sprinkling them with berry sugar, then two days baking and washing up after baking, and made two extra trips to town for special flavouring, extra butter, and then more icing sugar... I had one insane day of trying to get my buttercream to crust in the humid heat of my fly-infested kitchen, yelled at my kids to "get outside already!" and forgot to feed my husband, and missed two nights of sleep for worrying about how to make it all just perfect. After deducting the cost of materials for this cake, I made about $0.27 an hour. People call it a Labour of Love. I'm not feeling the love.
I had two cake orders this week. One was a wedding cake which had very thoughtfully been booked several months in advance. This gave me many opportunities to remember about it, and have mini panic attacks throughout the summer. The second cake was a last-minute frenzied affair, which gave me two days of full on anxiety, including baking into the night, which didn't matter since I only had nightmares about the fondant once I finally fell asleep. Realizing the potential for disaster, but also seeing that this business was really taking off, I was determined to Make it Work. I did my best to eliminate added stressors - I preplanned the meals for the week; crock pot affairs involving minimum prep and clean up. I wrote "Cake" on the calendar on the days I knew I'd be fully devoted. GiantBoy wrote "every one hide!" beneath my "cake" message. I didn't erase it.
Sure enough, the week was a never-ending one, and insanities popped up out of nowhere - my chicks arrived a week early, necessitating extra time spent prepping the chicken coop; a box of pickling cukes were donated to the cause, so jars had to be found and washed, another trip to town for lids, and the smell of boiling vinegar late into the night; one evening I take the blame for - a perfect evening for a horseback ride with Tweeny that I just couldn't pass up... it was a week where a day lasted a month but there was no time for anything anyway. The cakes were made, delivered, and the evidence washed away.
And I'm throwing in the towel. Literally, as in I got every single tea towel dirty this week as part of my "keep the flies off!" campaign, and figuratively, as in I've tasted success and I don't like it.
Well now doesn't that just beat all. She whines and snivels and wants to be successful and a big fish in a small pond and all that, and just when she's turned a corner, just as she's made cakes for the rich and famous of Boyle, sparking a Beat the Jones' cake ordering frenzy, NOW she's complaining that she's busy and tired and doesn't like it?!
Yup. Welcome to the intricacies of my brain.
Although, to be fair, I don't think it's entirely a "now I've got it and I don't want it anymore" thing. As previously mentioned, I've never really been that keen on the cake decorating. Some have been fun - cakes that I've designed for friends or family, cakes that I've worked on in secret, anticipating the reaction when they're unveiled. But most of them have been torture of varying degrees - and even though I know I can do them well, I know they taste great, I know my customers are thrilled - I can't seem to stop feeling higher-than-the-daily-recommended-dose of stress when I'm working on them. I've been having a hard time finding any "pros" at all, never mind enough to actually outweigh the "cons".
In short, the cake decorating business is no fun.
I know, I know, jobs aren't always fun, life's not always fair, and cats don't always land on their feet. Blah blah blah. The bottom line is, I'm a pampered pet in my marital affairs, and I am not required to contribute one iota of financial support to our family, and therefore I don't have to do jobs that aren't fun. And if anyone doesn't like it, well, I already said life's not fair. My position is due to the fact that I am not a feminist, and therefore I expect my husband to take care of me, which he does quite cheerfully. So.
I know more cake orders are bound to come, and I cringe when I think about turning them down, 'cause I don't really like saying "no". But I only need to recall the extreme unpleasantness in my household during this past week, and I'll find the inner strength I need to stick to my decision. I am crossing "cake decorator" off my list. It will return to the category of thingsIcandowhenIwantto.
This will leave me with more time for the Good Stuff, on which I will be reporting as it occurs. As a matter of fact, I currently have a batch of old fashioned pickles fermenting in my pantry - more on that and other Home Farm experiments in posts to come.
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