I miss my camera.

So earlier this week, I was making fun of people who document/tweet/post every tiny aspect of their lives. “If I eat a meal and I don’t photograph it, did I really eat it? If I have a passing thought and I don’t tweet it, do I really even exist?”

But man, do I miss my camera. I’m totally having an if-I-knit-something-in-the-forest-and-no-one-sees-it-did-I-really-knit-it? crisis.

And how am I supposed to psyche myself up to work on the barn without the promise of self-congratulatory before and after pictures? Sheesh. No fun. I did spend a couple hours last week putting up a new chicken fence in the blazing sun, then pulling it all back down after deciding to range them instead. I never think things through. I’m more of a “work harder, not smarter” type. But their fence is officially down for good, barring a predator problem, which should be minimized by our perimeter fence.  More fun for them, less work for me, and no Kansas-wind-related concerns over my shoddy workmanship. Plus they just look nicer wandering around wherever they please. And without a fence in my way, there’s no need for me to move the hayrack or make access to the hay shelter on both sides, which will make for a sturdier structure because I’ll be able to frame in the back a little.

After the fence debacle, I spent 10 Grammar Girls and 2 Geek Farm Lifes mucking out the chicken coop. Toward the end, I dug up a mouse nest and watched with horror and fascination as Faith caught and swallowed the mom whole! Then Bridgette and Inara teamed up with her to rapidly dispatch the babies. If only they would only forage for mice as ambitiously as they forage for bugs, the coop would be a Barbie Dream House. Okay, maybe not; but at least there wouldn’t be any mouse poops. (As a side note, I really like Mark Bittman–How to Cook Everything is my favorite cookbook, and for the most part, really liked Food Matters–but when he mentioned in the intro that chickens were natural vegetarians, I almost threw the book out the window. No, chickens in nature wouldn’t eat what chickens in factory farms eat, but they’re no vegetarians. They’re as omnivorous as pigs. Or us.)

Anyway, I got to the bottom of the coop and was ready to start installing my new stable grid, when I had to hesitate. There’s a nice, compacted, mostly-level base, and a frame already there on all four sides. It just seems to be begging for a nice concrete slab. So I called a couple of concrete places listed on the Wabaunsee County Economic Development site, and one of them actually called me back (a minor miracle in the country). He’s coming out today to check it out and give me a price. If I can afford it, I’d much rather pay the nice man than do it myself. And then I’ll be able to use the stablegrid Daddy bought me on the ground just outside the coop and sheep shed, which needs drainage at least as much as the structures themselves. Maybe more.

The upside of concrete: easy to clean, raised surface for better drainage, might be cooler in summer.

The downside: may also be colder in winter (but hopefully not with a good layer of litter), pee won’t be able to soak into the ground, and it will raise up the floor level of the barn, which is already sized to only be comfortable for shorties like me & Ron. But it’s not like we actually do anything in there. Activities like shearing and trimming and FAMACHA scoring and blanketing and cleaning out the feeders and waterers all happen outside the barn, where the light’s much better. Pretty much both spaces are just for the animals, and my only time I spend cleaning a couple times a year, and general maintenance like putting down fresh straw, refilling the feeder and waterer, and collecting eggs. Even with someone taller helping out, those tasks are no big deal.  And I just realized I think I miscalculated the square footage when I ordered the stable grid.

I’m hoping we can address the pee issue by grading it slightly, or maybe even having sand-filled holes here and there in  in the concrete? I’m picturing pvc stuck in here and there before the concrete is poured. That may not be feasible unless I’m doing it myself, which I’m hoping to avoid. I’ve got my fingers crossed that hiring it out is close enough to the DIY price that it’s easy for me to rationalize.

So here’s my revised Cupcake Ranch plan, now without a set chicken yard:

The sections with the stripes are paths, probably just mulched with hay or something. They go out to the barn area, and between the hay shelter and hayrack, and also around the hay shelter to the ramp, which will eventually have a little gate (right now it’s continuous fence, so no access) that will take you via the ramp up to the deck that will on day grace the top of the sheep shed. It will be perfect for alfresco dinners and stargazing.

I think I’m also going to keep a 6th paddock on the playground. I’m pretty sure I can use a couple of fence sections to corral it in and make a little corridor out to it. I’ve realized that they don’t care about grain enough to follow me all Mary’s little lamb-style if there’s any particularly succulent grass to be had between the barnyard gate and their destination.

So that’s the new Master Plan, but like I said, without pictures and the promise of future bragging, I’m not overly motivated.

Knitting is equally unrewarding when you can’t show it off. I’m in the midst of what will be a very cute summer garment for Craft zine. I decided to make a kid-sized model of the pattern I’m working on, so if I had to frog it, there would be less work.

That was a stupid plan. I never change my mind on design elements until way too late, so I always have to frog a lot no matter what. And having an extra half-finished miniature version that needs to be frogged and reknit just makes me depressed. So I’ve scrapped the mini WIP and started the real one. Maybe I’ll try it again next time, only REALLY tiny. Like Blythe-sized.

Hm, that’s an idea. I should get a Blythe doll and make Blythe sized models of everything first. Then I’ll have hardly any stitches, plus a matching dolly garment! But aren’t they really expensive? And then she’s always cutting her eyes at you, so impassive yet still judgmental, always quietly plotting. Nothing’s ever good enough for Blythe.