Guess what we got?

Little Grey says hello. 

Second Thoughts on Butterflies

I must confess found myself wanting to kill butterflies yesterday.

Ever since I was little, I have liked most sorts of bugs. I loved butterflies and moths. I wanted a pet praying mantis to keep on a string and catch pesky flies and misquotes. I was the advocate for fly spiders, those black, fuzzy, stocky-legged, hopping arachnids, and when their indoor lives were threatened I usually managed to remove them to the safety of outside using a cup and sheet of paper. I'm not fond of all bugs, but the only ones which consistently give me shivers and call out no amount of sympathy are cockroaches.

Butterflies? Why would I want to kill such harmless pretty things?

Let me explain. If you came to visit, I could show you the scenes of carnage wreaked by those "harmless" flying worms. These horrible scenes are found mostly on our little red cabbage plants. I pulled the worms off in disgust the first time I thought to look. Holes don't appear by themselves.

But let me tell you how those holes get there, may I?

First, it starts with an egg, generally hidden on the underside of the doomed leaf.

See those specks? The eggs are the size of a comma or smaller. Usually there are more than one. After a while (I'm guessing a day or two), out comes a tinsy weensy worm, barely bigger than the egg, threadlike and "cute".

The first act of said "cute" worm is to devour its surrounding and grow rapidly.

Now, I've begun waging a battle. Every few days I try to inspect each vulnerable leaf and carefully clear it of those tiny white specks, before they become large green monsters-er, worms. Our newer cabbages, thus far, are relatively hole-free. But every time I step outside, there are the butterflies, fluttering about like white petals, flitting from flower to flower... and hanging around the cabbages. I begin to make some connections.

I like cabbage. I want my family to be able to eat bountifully from our garden. Worms will eat it first if given the chance. Butterflies make worms, and more worms make more butterflies to make more worms. I might be bigger, but there are more of them. Who will win?

So, yesterday I gave our cat Bella permission to munch on any butterfly she might catch. And I wondered how hard it would really be to begin squishing them all myself.

Thus goes the spine-tingling backyard drama. But would you believe there is a spiritual application as well?

Here it is. Butterflies are like sins which appear harmless, fun, and pretty. But they have dire consequences in our lives. We must be constantly on guard, and we must have help!


Are we the gardener or the cabbages? Well, we are called to put away sin and things that entangle us, to resist the devil, to wield the Sword of the Spirit. In those ways we are like the gardener, and must be diligent and wise. The realization that butterflies were gorging themselves on our cabbage was the final thing that clicked. In a similar way, the best call to action against sin is the realization of what is at stake, of loving the good that is being lost.

But even with our best efforts, we cannot defeat sin alone. In that case, we are as helpless as the cabbages. Praise be to God, the Master Gardener, for saving us from the worms!

Bye bye, birdies

(Written this summer)

I have a sad tale to tell. Don't worry, it is not quite a tragedy, and no one dies. Yet, it involved saying farewell to some dear feathered friends and our hopes of our own fresh eggs.

The birds had seemed happy in their newly moved coop and run. They were nearly six months old, the golden age when chickens usually start producing their little treasures for their fond owners to eat. We were all fond of them, and still thrilled with our counter-cultural experiment that seemed so obviously practical. "Why doesn't everyone have chickens in their backyard?" I kept asking. Though we were still a bit anxious that neighbors not become bothered by our fowl, their quiet clucking was never anything so loud as some dogs' racket.

Our story started one fine morning around 6:15. It was fine, that is, until we were awakened to a horribly croaking squawk from the back yard. First I thought maybe a neighborhood cat had found it's way into the coop and was killing my birds. But on investigation, there seemed nothing wrong with them at all. They took turns making the dreadful noise. I tried talking with them, pleading with them, distracting them with fresh food and water. But in vain.

Then I found an egg.

It was cracked, as the first ones are generally weak-shelled. And I remembered that of course, this is what they do when they begin their egg laying. They have no clue what's going on! Later when they figure out they aren't dying, they just make very loud pleased sounds. A couple things

I should mention about this neighborhood. It is not wealthy or extravagant, but tidy and neat and well-trimmed, like a middle-aged business woman who likes people to be predictable and respectable. It is not the country, not does it seem to show any signs of encouraging farm-like, country-ish endeavors. The houses are rather close together, too. People there, especially in summer, are most likely not eagerly getting up at 6 a.m. to listen with pleasure to what sounds like a chicken's dying shrieks.

I can't say I would blame them. I could have enjoyed just a bit more sleep myself.

Well, we could not just let the dear old things croak away until we had an angry mob at the back gate. I could see that happening any minute. We hastily constructed cages out of crates and boxes and put the noisy things in the garage, which thankfully muffled some of the noise. Then it was a somber time in the house, a time of facing the facts.

We decided that, as good an idea as it had been, we had to say farewell to the feathered ladies. For the sake of peace and tranquility.

Then there was the question of what to do with them. No, I was not ready for chicken soup...not quite. Their noise was maddening, but they were my friends. And am not yet a tough enough country girl to learn to wring or slit necks. Thankfully, after a few phone calls, we found them a good home out in the country, with a sweet former homeschooling family, amongst other birds of their own feather.

Besides coming home to an empty, dejected coop, the saddest moment was after Mrs. L and I put the chickens in their new home. She reached into a few nesting boxes and gave me seven lovely eggs to take home. White, brown, and a beautiful blue-green. The colors of eggs I would have bean gathering every day, if it were not for

The Noisiness of Croaking Hens and the Nearness of Cityfolk Houses.

(Could be a book, hu? Or maybe a 50s-style sci-fi film, with creepy music and corny special effects?)

Things gained from the Chicken Experience:

1 - Before starting any such crazy project as backyard chicken raising, one should do extensive research! It would have saved lots of time, supplies, chicken feed, and emotions to have remembered or known how loud they would be. Sounding louder, of course, because they were so near neighboring houses. With some things, I'm sure it works just fine to jump in and learn as you go. But that didn't work for us and chickens.

2 - Even though the Chicken enterprise didn't work the way we hoped, I learned a lot, and hopefully can someday have a chance to try again. Perhaps I might live in the country again. In the meanwhile, I am firmly resolved to keep my hand striving after ways to live frugally, creatively, and to be a homemaker and farm-girl in all the ways I can that don't endanger any chance of friendships with the folks next door or across the alley.

3 - Because of getting in touch with the L. family again, I've since been buying their eggs at an extremely reasonable rate. which is a blessing. At least I do get to enjoy "my" chickens' eggs, even if I can't see their perky selves each day. We've even enjoyed a few guinea eggs now and then, too! I've been encouraged by this opportunity to buy locally, to have such a connection to what I'm feeding my family, not to mention a deepening relationship with a godly Christian farm lady who won't hesitate to step into the chicken coop in heels and a skirt. :)