Before you "bawk" at the idea, urban chicken keeping is on the rise these days. What was once a way to get by during the depression era, has now come back into vogue thanks to those who are keeping coops of their own. Have you thought about engaging in this agricultural hobby? If so, then you are not alone. There are a number of benefits to raising your own chickens. Not only can you grow your own food, eat fresher and healthier, you can also use chicken waste to fertilize your own garden! Not only that but it is a wonderful way to introduce your family to small scale "farming." 
    Before buying any livestock, be sure to check with your HOA or city ordinances to insure that you CAN keep chickens on your property. Then research the types of chickens that might be right for you as well as the number of birds you will be able to accommodate. Make sure to network with other chicken keepers in your area to see how they do it and to look at coop designs. You will want to make sure that your coop is built of strong material and that it is safe for the chickens. 
    Purchase your feed before you bring the birds home. Food can be purchased in a number of locations so ask around to find the best deals and the best selection. Once you have the animals in place, spend time getting to know them and read their "cues." Animals will communicate, but you have to take note of what they are saying. Of course it goes without saying that your coop should be cleaned daily and that your birds should have plenty of the necessities at their disposal. With so many chicken keepers out there and a wealth of websites dedicated to the hobby, there's nothing stopping you from going to the birds! 

I'm not a master gardener by any stretch of the imagination, but I have a bit of a green thumb and I enjoy getting out in the dirt and producing something that looks great or that can feed my family. However, there are some plants that give me fits. I can't grow celery to save my life. I don't have the space nor the patience to understand how corn grows (even though I live in Indiana) and I'm not in the mood to get a headache over some exotic variety...

Trees aren't my speciality either. 

So I must confess, I am a little amazed at how well my Earth Day tulip tree is doing. I picked up this tree (well, it was a stick at the time) at Indy's Earth Day Festival and I placed it in a bag of water until Mother's Day when I decided to take a chance and replace one of my trees that died in the drought with this little guy....I'm a little afraid of how well it's doing. Within no time the tree began to bud and bloom and it's grown faster than I ever thought possible. I mean, it's been my understanding that trees aren't easy. They can be deceptively beautiful and then turn on you. Yes, it's the state tree which means it "should" do well...but I "should" eat broccoli too and I don't, so why shouldn't a tree have a mind of its own? 

When I was a kid, I planted a pine tree that was promptly killed in a freak lawn mower accident and at one point I was determined to build Narnia in my yard with the seeds from those helicopter things that fall from the trees each spring. (Sadly, my mother wouldn't let me water the forest with the hose and my dream of living in the woods was over before the first sapling emerged from the Earth. Needless to say, I am thrilled with the current development and I am in hopes that my little guy can survive an Indiana winter and come out strong. 

It gives me a good feeling to think that I started this tree at such an early stage and that as it grows, perhaps I will be able to share the story of its planting with future generations....it just goes to show that sometimes, you have to "give trees a chance." 

My mother had one very simple rule around the house: Don’t make a mess.

All gifts had to be vetted for their mess potential and anything that could get into the carpet, stick to surfaces, or require a bath was vetoed. I was not allowed Play-Dough, clay, paint, Magic Sand, Silly Putty, and all bubble gum was rationed from a special cabinet. I had an Easy Bake Oven, a Snoopy Sno-Cone machine and a foot-powered blender that made Kool-Aid, but it was never a good day to use any of them.

People ask me why I don’t cook and the reason is very simple-my mother didn’t believe in cleaning up after me! I was not allowed to do anything more than open a can of corn, lick the bowl after she mixed a cake batter or get some juice from the fridge (depending on how full the pitcher was.)

Unfortunately, I was a kid who liked to make things and one day while watching some science show on Nickelodeon, they showed an easy recipe for a toothpaste alternative using ingredients found around the kitchen. Excited, I immediately went into the kitchen to gather up the baking soda, baking powder, and salt, which was located high above the stove and required a stool, two phone books and a coffee can to reach. (I’m telling you, the woman went to elaborate lengths to avoid messes.)

I happily emptied half of each container into a giant zip-lock bag, shook it up and took it into the bathroom to try out. When I was finished, I wrapped the whole thing in a yellow paper towel, hid it in my bottom desk drawer, put everything away and forgot about it.

A year later, my mother found it while conducting a mass cleaning of my bedroom on her day off. Let’s just say a two-pound bag of white powder in my bottom desk drawer was enough to give her a coronary. Gingerly she tasted it in hopes of discerning what exactly she’d found in her 11-year-old’s room but with no previous narcotics experience, she had no clue what “it” was supposed to taste like. She threw the whole thing into the trashcan, took out the garbage and prayed the police wouldn’t come knocking.

I swear it took her three hours to work up the courage to ask me what I had hidden in my drawer. Busted, I became flustered and offered up explanations that did little to help my cause.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I knew you would be mad if you thought I had been messing around with it.” I pleaded.

“Julie, for God’s sake, what IS it?” She demanded.

I will never forget the look on her face as she learned that I was the “tooth powder” Czar of the Eastside. I couldn’t tell if she was relieved that it wasn’t that “other” thing, if she didn’t believe me or if she was ticked off that I had been fooling around in the kitchen in the first place. “Well, I threw it out,” she declared, determined to have the last word in the argument. “That kind of thing might attract ants.”

“That’s OK,” I assured her. “Now that I have the recipe, I can always score some more.”

Fathers represent a “gold standard” when it comes to the three B’s: Bravery, Brawn and Brain. They are simply the smartest, strongest and most steadfast person in a child’s life. Case in point: I rarely beat my father in Jeopardy! I didn’t stand a chance against him in Trivial Pursuit, could not best him in a foot race or a push-up competition and did not possess his level of confidence when it came to checking out all of those frightening “house settling” noises that only occur in the middle of the night.

            However, I do remember all too well the moment I outwitted the man in the field he considered his true dominion: Home Improvement.

            It was the summer that I announced I wanted to build a shed in the backyard. My 8X8 model was simply not enough for my needs and Dad and I decided to bond over the new construction. We had a great time tearing down the old structure and planning for the new one.

            While shopping for cinder blocks and other foundational supplies at the local home improvement store, my father picked up a few bags of pea gravel to serve as the stabilizing material for the blocks, which would be partially buried below the grass line.

            As the one paying for this caper, I couldn’t help noticing what the gravel cost and suddenly wondered if there might be an alternative material that would be better suited for the job. Against my better judgment, I decided to speak up.

            “Hey Dad, why aren’t we using Play Sand in the holes instead?” I asked.

            I assumed there had to be a reason for his choice. There always was. The man was a firm believer in the measure-twice-cut-once theory so surely he had thought this all through and had a reason why gravel was preferable.

            You can imagine my surprise when he looked at the gravel, went into a contemplative stance and thoughtfully said, “You know? You may have a point there.” (I swear I nearly asked him to repeat it because I couldn’t believe my own ears.)

            Encouraged by his willingness to hear me out, I suggested that wetting it and settling the sand ourselves would provide an even and more cost-effective way of leveling the blocks. I almost burst with pride when he removed the gravel from our cart and headed over to the sand pile to select three bags for our project. I don’t know if I was more excited about saving money or the fact that I thought of something he hadn’t, but I suspect it was a combination of both.

            As it turned out, the shed was Dad’s last “big” project and remains one of the best lessons in building that I ever received. I learned the importance of planning ahead, having all of your materials in place before you need them, having a realistic understanding of what you can and cannot do, and above all…if you learn enough-you just might outsmart your Dad every once in a while! 

 Hey Everyone!