Homesteading in the Burbs

Confession: Ian and I don't actually live in the suburbs, despite the blog's title. We live in a small rural community next to the burbs. ("Winiferd in the Small Rural Community" didn't have the same zing as "Winiferd in the Burbs").

Our house sits on a half acre of land, and with that much land, Ian and I have decided to try homesteading.

I grew up obsessed with Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House books (I pretend Michael Landon's shitty show never existed). I always wanted to be a pioneer.

I also wanted to live in a sod house underground and give that prairie bitch, Nellie Oleson, a swift kick in the pants. Moreover, my translucent skin cries out for an omnipresent sunbonnet, but that's another blog post.

Anyways, Ian's obsessed with growing plants, and he and I both want to harvest our own food. Ergo, we've decided to try homesteading.

The Chickens

I suppose it all started with a talk on chickens. Ian listened to a well-known chicken farmer speak of the virtues of being a well-known chicken farmer, and then Ian stared at enormous hens for an hour. That night, we decided to buy four chicks in the spring.

Of course we'll eat the eggs. And of course we'll use the manure for fertilizing. But... should we eat the chickens? Like, fry them and dunk them in ketchup? Barbeque them? Braise them? Make nuggets out of them?

We went back and forth on chicken murder, until I made Ian watch Food, Inc, which made us grimace and feel queasy. Ultimately we decided we would try to slaughter at least one chicken for meat. "Try" being the operative word.

We're not sure if we can kill a chicken, so Ian and I are going to spend the next several months mentally preparing for the gruesome task.

Ian: "We could make Winnie kill her."

Laura: "Winnie will be terrified of chickens. She'll cower."

Ian: "The dog needs a purpose in life. She needs a job."

Laura: "Remember when you wanted to start a guinea pig farm and make Winnie herd guinea pigs? But she's scared of guinea pigs. Remember?"

Ian: "Yeah."

Laura: "Winnie was bred to sit in laps and get haircuts. She's not a real dog."

Luckily, we have a plan: when we buy chicks, we'll buy three for laying and one for eating. We'll name the meaty one Ethel. After about three to four months, we'll eat her.

From that moment onwards, all new chicks meant for eating will be handed the icy-death name of Ethel. Ethel will take on all the happy connotations of the Grim Reaper.

When the time comes to slaughter, I envision the two of us running with machetes raised above our heads and tears streaming down our faces as we chase a squawking Ethel.

Or we might have to get creative.

I, of course, will let you know how it goes.

The Greenhouse  

Ian's currently building a greenhouse out of recycled materials, including old windows and doors he's found over time.

I help Ian by putting all my weight against the greenhouse windows as he hammers things together, watching the dog through the glass doors, and making cryptic comments about the weather.

Laura: "It sure is cold, Ian."

Ian: "It sure is, Laura." 

The Seeds

We bought tons of seed for planting this spring. Ian and I are dreamy-eyed at the thought of growing our own food. I hope publishing this blog post will force us to to commit to homesteading.

If we get lazy or significantly less crazy, I'll stealthily delete this post, as I've done with other posts in the past. Ninja Laura strikes again.

Stay tuned, y'all. Will Laura and Ian turn off Netflix in favor of farming? Will we commit chicken murder? Time will soon tell.