Caroline Gerardo's Blog, page 25

Mother Hen DIY Coop

Chicken MommaOR Chooks Chookies Kooks and Me

Hatched the baby chickens. A recent summary of my ranch adventures:Lost one pullet to pasty butt. Spent three days and nights feeding her drops of vitamin water on the hour. Did you know Siri can learn the names of your baby chickens? This is helpful with an alarm at 3 and 4. Created Kleenex tissue life-safer to keep sick baby from flopping on her back, and the long process of cleaning her bottom. She died.
Next the vicious murder by grey squirrels. I now hunt bushy tails. Two squirrels poked holes in babies and tore one apart.
Horrible deaths, lost sleep and oh my, I’m a Mother Hen.

My house is next to the Cleveland National Forest. Mountain lions, bobcats, coyotes, raccoons and other predators stroll on my driveway. There are two existing chicken coops. One is oversized and the other smaller one I'm adapting into Fort Knox.The nearest hardware store is a forty minute drive away. First, I purchased chicken wire. After securing three rolls to the coop and play yard, I learn it is not strong enough to withstand hungry predators. I plan to use recycled materials. Chain link fence pieces, left over siding and a couple metal posts were found on Free-cycle. Five rolls of welded steel wire, 4 X 4 lumber posts and twenty varieties of wire I bought at Home Depot.Country Living is not photo shooting my ranch for the coop. Painted houses with picket fences and screen windows would be torn apart by animals in a moonlit evening. The play house that your daughters grew out of is not safe enough for my hens. A raccoon tears through plastic.
 
"Raccoons eat plastic zip ties." I told the handy orange Apron at Home Depot.Rolls of wire are to connect walls and ceiling for the play pen. I need to stitch the wire together and have no gaps.
"This ook wire with the nice package cutter is perfect." Orange apron tells me.
This product stinks. The cutter doesn’t trim the wire. The spool hogs the ends. Then when you just need a little a long center piece sticks out of the cardboard. As you ease the piece out to cut the rope becomes tangled in under layers. Send "Ook "frustration packaging to your enemies. Let their hands be torn bloody while they pull for the next piece. I never return purchases. Have you waited in line to face the humiliation of being asked why something doesn't work? Ook sucks, see the holes in my hands.

Another trip to Home Depot.“Do you have metal zip ties?”Strange facial expression from Orange vest guy.“Perhaps in the electrical department?” he answers.“I know metal conducts electricity. I am searching for cable ties that come in packs of 100 or more…”“We don’t have anything like that, what are you using them for?” Frowny face from Orange vest.I explain about the coop. He gives me the crazy lady bored face.

"J clips, hog rings, loxit rings and matching pliers?" I say as if speaking a foreign language.
Okay Orange County isn't the farming capitol of California anymore... Time for a real drive.


I make a third trip over the hill to real farming hardware stores.  Grangetto's sales person complements my cowgirl boots. They have barn owl boxes (next project) rainwater retention and grey water systems. I'm smiling. Next stops Tractor Supply and Kahoots.  


When I am finished I will post images of the darling Spanish Style Chicken High Security Vault and the shoot that opens into a play yard.

Quran #prayersfornice

5:32 Quran
whoever kills a soul unless for a soul or for corruption [done] in the land - it is as if he had slain mankind entirely. And whoever saves one - it is as if he had saved mankind entirely.And our messengers had certainly come to them with clear proofs. Then indeed many of them, [even] after that, throughout the land, were transgressors.مِنْ أَجْلِ ذَٰلِكَ كَتَبْنَا عَلَىٰ بَنِي إِسْرَائِيلَ أَنَّهُ مَن قَتَلَ نَفْسًا بِغَيْرِ نَفْسٍ أَوْ فَسَادٍ فِي الْأَرْضِ فَكَأَنَّمَا قَتَلَ النَّاسَ جَمِيعًا وَمَنْ أَحْيَاهَا فَكَأَنَّمَا أَحْيَا النَّاسَ جَمِيعًا ۚ وَلَقَدْ جَاءَتْهُمْ رُسُلُنَا بِالْبَيِّنَاتِ ثُمَّ إِنَّ كَثِيرًا مِّنْهُم بَعْدَ ذَٰلِكَ فِي الْأَرْضِ لَمُسْرِفُونَ#prayersfornice

War on Squirrels

War

Off rid journey takes a turn.
Roads have narrow parts. Vehicles coming down hill
backs up to allow the struggling a way.
Start with pastoral ideas of turning weed acres into garden.
In plans I drew the compost and hugelkultur beds on the lower acre,
a bit removed from the main house.

After a month of machete, then dig and
pull the heat of summer takes most of the invasive, alien and
not native weeds to dust. They will, like Schwarzenegger
in the Terminator,"be back..." in the spring.

I have two chicken coops. One I remade it into Fort Knox.
I also prepared a "play yard." for the baby chicks. The play pen is an
old dog run with four foot high chain link. This I fortified with chicken
wire and galvanized one inch wire mesh from sides and top. I was thinking
that the only daytime predators were hawks, owls and perhaps the eight
Great Pyrenees who guard the ranch below (they enjoy a wander romp,
coming to my house for treats and to chew up hoses. Don't get me wrong,
Great Pyrenees are bred as guardians but these pups might step on the
pullets.
After nursing babies in warming lights and washing bottoms. I'm mother hen.
I hadn't planned on grey squirrels. I trapped mice and rats but squirrels were not
in the plans. Bunnies- yes - but not squirrels, until yesterday.
Ground squirrels (grey ones)  kill chickens for territory or sport.
This I read after the murder of three month old chicks.
Murderous rodents.

War on squirrels begins.
Sound the fireworks. Load my 22, and the sling shot.
No pass on this road up.
For those who want to comment.
Don't say you feed squirrels peanuts.
Posted below images of other projects
to distract you from furry tails.
succulent coffee table below
and using old copper sheeting as
succulent planters.
The copper will turn verdigris soon.
In discussion with my sister Nori yesterday I
spoke about my home made craft projects.
I'm always making things to give away as presents
Last Christmas maybe you received a herb candle in
a wine bottle or a herb wreath? Pretty things take
twenty some hours to make. Perhaps this year it
will be sunflower seed wreaths or sun dried tomatoes?
See how sweet my tone turned I didn't say a
fur trimmed sweater.




Caroline Gerardo Copyright July 10, 2016 story poetry images are not released for any use

Ghost

Eight miles on Ortega Highway. Find the red gate. A skull and cross bones sign on recycled cardboard posts before the electronic eye.  The metal is smashed on the right.  Look for the transponder hidden, a geo code.
Drive 18 minutes past poison oak. Don't pass neighbors in pick ups with gun racks. Wave at vehicles driving down stream.
The house is haunted. Its not the first time I cohabited with ghosts.
A cabin with river rock facade. Built in the turn of the century with modern plumbing, solar panels, generator and no cell service. No booster corrects the lack of phone availability.
It's summer. Evening breezes push through the black Pines in the front. Tonight it's crisp but no wind. A  friend at work has an earthquake predictor application on his desktop. Every day he shouts out that if the sunset is red, the San Andreas Fault takes revenge.I forgot to take note of the sky at 7:42 P.M.
Dinner made itself in two crock pots. One has chicken with pineapple and soy sauce. Hawaiian rice waits for a stir. Remaining duties: steam broccoli and combine the salad items in the glass containers. Before setting the table, I sit to check a few edits on the work in progress. Carson's laptop is open in the empty seat next to mine.
The iron chandelier overhead begins to sway. It rocks. There's a sound of beep ping of a Casablanca fan or iphone ring tone. Is it the laptop? No it's an earthquake.  One is is due.
"Get in a doorway the big one!"
Flashes where cities burn down and thousands injured without sanitation run through my mind. Did I store enough water, bullets, bandages, dry food, matches and more bullets? My children (college students) follow orders. They join me under the beamed doorway. We watch as the ancient chandelier crashes on the farm house table where I was seated and destroys my son's new laptop.
"House is solid. No shaking - only see it move!" My son points to the million shards of glass and metal on top of his treasured MAC. He puts his arm around his sister's shoulder to relax her fears. At this second I'm proud he isn't concerned about the value of things but the love between us. Then his facial expression changes examining his fish tank with the one remaining fighting fish.
"If it was an earthquake everything would be moving. The water is still."
"Without phone service it's hard to check with if there will be aftershocks," daughter worries.
"It's a fault in the chandelier," he answers.
"Ghosts." she says.
I frown. Rather than skeptical, accept poltergeist theory, "We're kind people. You can stay, we won't harm you," I say with emphasis.
"Mom, don't be crazy."
"Can't hurt." I shrug,  "I'm not prejudice against ghosts."
My kids laugh. Daughter runs her fingers through her bangs, shaking off fears.
The electrical cords that connect with the wires above have wires rusted and frayed. Crystal bells that held the energy efficient bulbs are in pieces, crumbled as plastic wrap.  Carson's new Apple laptop is in worse shape. With the lid opened and light on with thousands of  pieces of the machine scatter. Did the lithium battery  explode?
Our team hugs. We are safe. Another expensive fix ahead, but we survive.

Angel

Angel of peace behind lathe plaster masque ?

4th CRoman Emperor Constantine built The Church of the Nativity.  Jesus's manger is here, not a stable, it's a cave.A priceless lot A piece of landA place of soul 
Samaritan rebels burn it to the ground
6th CEmperor Justinian rebuilds. Survives earthquakes, bombing, bullets, and defacement.A group comes inA gang shoots outA guy is in charge
Take my land steal my heart

7th CFour-foot Door of Humility replaces high arching entry to keep out horsemenA priest chantsA imam bowsA sage prays

Today CNo Visitors, walls too fragile.Rumor is- there are frescoesRestorers compare mosaics to art of IslamI seeI will shareI dream with the angel

Sepia Dust

SepiaCompost builds soil Sepia tones in potted succulentsEarth structure


Rock sifter for road to ranch this machine is 30 feet tall and three trucks long
Dust to dust dust you shall becomeSepia tones cuddle fish grisalle 
Moved to the ranch.debt free Life turnNo more $7568. monthly mortgage.No more Homeowner Association. Arboreal lights in the sunset?
Painted a future.can beHips burnNow a cow bell announces guests.Now miles pf dirt road driveway. Is Pinterest homesteading easy?
Buried beloved dog,under tree.Times turnToday peanut butter rat traps.Today haul huglekultur logsI washed chicken baby butts?
Dust to dustdust you shall becomeSepia tones cuddle fish grisalle 




horse shoes, antique iron
Ancient mortar pestle found in riverbed where I now liveCopyright June 20, 2016 Caroline Gerardo
Images taken on my iphone 4

Yosemite

Slow Down On My Road

Traumatic Brain Injury 
5:00 AM Adelia drives Ortega Highway to work her shift in Mission Hospital Emergency.Adelia Dias descendant of an explorer prays,"Hail Mary no Road Kill today."
 Deer cross, doves rise and motorcycles roar.No in passing solid double lines.Island in the waves of the road.Ignored, scoffed, hurried stealfamily, future and fragile life. 
White foam board note in rear window:
" You Ricky Racer-I've seen 3 no 4 dead on Ortega Highway.Pass, cut off, wreck - less - tardy -Fireworks spread your body parts on the Pacific.Millions of your cells eaten by plankton.Passing is your ticket to the deep. "
The number three crossed out in red pen, left in her pocket from the Triage of last night.

Copyright June 23 2016 Caroline Gerardo photograph of fireworks and story poem all rights reserved

Tree Roots File for V A Disability

e
V. A. promises income.Papers stack, lost, found, scatter…Over the years, trips to the library…Libraries no longer hold book shelves.
He has no access to internet.
He lives by mountains that touch Riverside
(there is no river; but that's another story.)
Documents are due.“Three hundred eleven pages, count them twice,” Dan asks the boy at Kinko’s.Pay for copies (machine at the public library is broken.)Boy says, “It’s cheaper to mail U S Post than Fed Ex.”“No car,” he shakes his head.Dan doesn’t explain he lost his license driving his wife
to the doctor with expired tags in an off road car.Duplicates mailed.
It takes three bus transfers and five miles walking on a swollen knee.
His ear rings with cicadas. Spinning to locate them; there are no bugs, only flies on hamburger wrappers. A Carl’s Jr ad logan: " Support Veterans. " The space on each side of the letters aches his bad teeth. As when biting into the paper wrapper missing the burger.
At the office in Long Beach in the spring, he inquires about the package. Interview set in three months. A Veteran’s Affairs intern decides his life.That day, he’s up at 3:00 AM to ride the bus again. A familiar track keeps ghosts from muttering about Vietnam. These thoughts he sunk in a muddy puddle of his mind.
Three chairs are filled in the lobby of the V A office. Twenty one men wait in line.In the interview room at a wooden table, a young woman looks over her computer.“Have a seat. Please get out two forms of I.D.”He shuffles for his California ID as she types.“There are one hundred questions. Answer promptly to get the interview closed on time.”He nods. She asks questions about years of service, employment and familial status.“What is the one incident you recall as being traumatic?”He thinks of hundreds jumbled together. He cannot pull one into a brief story.“There are so many.”“One please.” She says not looking at him.He summarizes Chu Lai. Operation Starlight sounds cheerful in battle history but being shot, pulling a buddy, finding him missing legs doesn’t make him smile towards the end of the tale.“Why did you not file before?”“Shame,” his answer is one word.After forty minutes she announces, “Thank you, that is all.”He is dismissed. As he closes the door behind, he wonders about the men lined up in the lobby. Useless almond trees become firewood. The image uproots his emotions. Now outside, a hot rush of tears waters his cheeks.“Should have let her see…” He clears his face with his sleeve.On the walk home there is a mirror balloon, now missing the helium, caught near the bus stop. He examines it hoping for a sign. A birthday wish sent to heaven, now fallen in his way. Objects foretell events, this is a good omen. Perhaps he passed the test. 


Tree roots photograph and poetry copyright Caroline Gerardo June 20, 2016

I've been thinking about Lt Col Ben Pollard. This story is not about him. I wore his Vietnam MIA silver bracelet in my High School years. After years of captivity and torture he did come home. He now lives in California. I often keep him in my prayers. To all those who serve for our freedom, thank you. Did you wear one of those? I lost mine long ago, but not the memory

Tree Roots Uprooted Filing for V A Disability

e
V. A. promised income.Papers stack, lost, found, scatter…Over the year, trips to the library…Libraries no longer hold book shelves. He has no access to internet. He lives in the mountains that touch Riverside (there is no river; but that's another story.) Documents are due.“Three hundred eleven pages, count them twice,” Dan says to the boy at Kinko’s.Pay for copies (machine at the public library is broken.)Boy at the counter says, “It’s cheaper to mail U S post than use Fed Ex.”“No car,” he shakes his head.Dan doesn’t explain how he lost his license driving his wife to the doctor with expired tags in an off road car.Duplicates are mailed. After three bus transfers; and five mile walk on a swollen knee, his ear rings with cicadas. He turns to locate them, but there are no funny bugs, only flies on hamburger wrappers. Carl’s Jr advertisement: support veterans aches his bad tooth. As when biting into the paper wrapper missing the burger.At the office in Long Beach in the spring, he inquires about the package. Interview it set in three months. A Veteran’s Affairs intern decides about his life.August, he’s up at 3:00 AM to make the bus again. Three chairs in the lobby. Twenty one men wait in line.In the interview room at a wooden table, a young woman with big glasses looks over her computer.“Have a seat. Please get out your two forms of I.D.”He shuffles for his California ID as she types.“There are one hundred questions. Answer promptly to get the interview closed on time.”He nods. She asks questions about his years of service, employment and familial status.“What is the one incident that you recall as being traumatic?”He thinks of hundreds jumbled together. He cannot pull one into a brief story.“There are so many.”“One please.” She says not looking at him.He summarizes Chu Lai. Operation Starlight sounds cheerful in battle history but being shot, pulling a buddy, finding him missing legs doesn’t make him smile towards the end of the tale.“Why did you not file before?”“Shame,” his answer is one word.After forty minutes she announces, “Thank you that is all.”He is dismissed. As he closes the door behind, he wonders about the men lined up in the lobby. Useless almond trees become firewood. The image uproots his emotions. Now outside, a hot rush of tears waters his cheeks.“Should have let her see…” He clears his face with his sleeve.On the walk home there is a mirror balloon, now missing the helium, caught near the bus stop. He examines it hoping for a sign. Objects foretell events for him and this is a good omen. Perhaps he passed the test. 


Tree roots photograph and poetry copyright Caroline Gerardo June 20, 2016