We now have a pet turtle. Her name is Turtle. Yeah, well. Roy came home with Turtle the other day, claiming to have rescued her from the middle of the road. “I kept her because I thought Libby would like her.” Yeah, right. I said, “Libby?” And he laughed and admitted that he was just reliving his childhood. As it happens both he and Libby love turtles (and pretty much anything else creepy-crawly, including snakes and lizards). And one of the charming idiosyncracies of this property we live on is a series of old stone fish ponds in the woods. One is still holding water, so Roy is creating Turtle paradise over there. (Turtle is a large Painted Slider, by the way. She also happens to be female, so now with Ellie the Lovebird, Cocoa Bunny, and 8 hens–not to mention Libby and me–Roy is outnumbered here by females, 13 to 1! Tough luck.)

It’s funny though—this concept of reliving our childhoods. Because I seem to be doing exactly that here on the farmette. Or maybe it’s not so much reliving my childhood (I didn’t grow up on a farm), as it is trying to recapture that spirit of wonder and fun I had as a kid. I say trying, but it’s not really an effort—it comes easily around here.

The other day I was hanging the laundry out on the line—an activity I adore for its Zen-like peacefulness—when I realized I had created a fort out of our quilt. I stood underneath it, looking out on the fields like a rabbit snugly in its hole, and remembered the forts my friends and I used to make by draping a blanket over the twin beds. I felt safe and happy and a little bit giddy.

Then there’s the rope swing that Roy rigged up on a branch of the giant maple in the back yard. (This is the massive tree—more than 10 feet in diameter at its widest point—that gave us maple sap this winter and provides beautiful dappled shade for  all kinds of outdoor activity, like the tomato seedling repotting project I’ve been obsessed with.) Anyway, Libby loves the swing, of course. Especially when Dad pushes it higher than high. But Susie loves the swing too—loves arching back to look aloft at the world going by in a whirl of undulating maple branches against a smeary, smoky blue sky.

Little thrills are hiding everywhere. This weekend we found two blueberry bushes in bloom on the property—oh joy! There are wild raspberry canes all over the place. A little thatch of wild asparagus is poking up beneath the kitchen window. Barn swallows are building a nest in one of Roy’s work bags in the shop. And we think a turkey hen has built a nest in the maple grove.

But I’d have to say that the chicks (now more like little hens) are still providing the biggest thrills around here. On Saturday—that rare warm and sparkly day we haven’t seem much of this spring—we moved them out to their permanent home, the chicken coop. Libby and I stood sentry at the coop door while Roy carried each hen from their brooder box in the mud room out to the coop. He started with Martha and Opti, the two Buff Orpingtons who are so big and so friendly that not only do they love to be picked up, but they will stand still to be petted. Perky, our nimble and self-confident Sicilian Buttercup, came next, followed by pudgy Miss Personality, Oreo. Sugar, Jelly Bean and Chippy are a bit skittish, so Roy brought them next to last. Bringing up the rear was our tiny Little Squawker (above), who still has some baby chick fuzz on her.

At first The Ladies (as Roy calls them) were overwhelmed by such a big space. They all huddled in one of the five nesting boxes, sticking close for comfort. But once they realized their food and water were out in the middle of the new space, they started to investigate and romp around. Pretty soon it was Party Central again, and everybody was hopping up on roosting bars and staring out the viewing window. (Staring in the viewing window is a fun way to keep an eye on them. I call it the peep show.)

The whole moving-day adventure was so much fun for all of us (not just the actual 8-year-old among us) that we felt the need to take silly pictures of ourselves at the coop door. And we celebrated by making grilled pizza Saturday night, with chef Libby at the controls.

Up until today we limited the chicks’ new world to the inside of the coop. But late this afternoon, Roy nailed up a ramp, opened the door, and welcomed them to come on down and explore their “yard” (an enclosed pen). This in itself was pretty hysterical as nobody wanted to go first. Predictably, Martha made the first tentative foray halfway down the ramp, and Roy carried her the rest of the way. Slowly the others crowded at the door, looking at Martha having fun in the grass. “What do we do?” they seemed to be saying to each other as they stared down the ramp. One by one, they finally all hopped down (except for Little Squawker, who kept her perch at the door). We didn’t stray too far, as we didn’t want to leave them alone just yet. But watching them is hardly a chore. It is totally fun and fascinating. More like a privilege, really.

This coming weekend holds another thrill—we’re planning to open our farm stand for the season. We’ll have a small selection of salad greens, arugula, radishes and seedlings if all goes as planned. I’m sure the weather won’t cooperate, we’ll be up all night washing greens, and there will be any number of bugaboos to work out. But I’m not worried. As I am prone to repeating—It’s all good.

We have a jumper. We haven’t called 911 yet, but when we found Martha (one of the big gold Buff Orpingtons) on top of the water jar in the brooding box, we knew the chicks were getting frisky. It’s amazing how fast they’re getting their feathers and learning to stretch their wings. They can all fly/hop/jump from one end of the box to the other if startled, though fortunately they don’t all jump at once. It’s tempting to build a bigger box, but they’ll be ready to go outside in a few weeks. Meanwhile, I do my best to keep the box and their water and food dishes clean. They sure can trash a place—worse than teenagers.

The girls all have names now, thanks to Libby and our friends Eliza Peter and her son James who came to visit weekend before last. Eliza and James brought along the family dog, a golden-colored Labradoodle named Opti, and Libby decided one of the Buff Orpingtons should be named for Opti (far left). The littlest and prettiest bird (and also the friendliest—she loves to sit in Roy’s hand–see top photo) is named Perky, for my mom. Yes, it’s sort of an odd Mother’s Day present, but I thought she’d get a kick out of it as she likes animals. My Mom’s real name is Pauletta, but friends have called her Perky for years. (She is perky—and pretty, too, so it’s only fitting that our beautiful little Sicilian Buttercup be named for her.) Oreo (above right), one of the Barred Rocks, definitely gets our vote for Miss Personality. Every time I try to take a picture inside the box (difficult), she comes right up to the camera. Also, along with Martha and Opti, she heads for high ground whenever possible; these three generally hog the little roost Roy built for the box. The other gals—Jelly Bean, Little Squawker, Sugar (Eliza’s pick, short for Cinnamon Sugar), and Chippy (looks like our resident chipmunk), are camera shy and less adventuresome.

Keeping up with the toddler chicks has been easy compared to the garden work over the past few weeks. We’re still prepping beds, as our soil is full of rocks. If you want to see a humorous illustration of Mars vs. Venus, you can watch Roy and me in the garden using two very different methods to get rocks out of the soil. I basically kneel or bend over and hand-pick them out after turning a patch of soil over with a fork. Roy has built a portable screen that looks sort of like a soccer or hockey goal that he can shovel dirt through and watch the biggest rocks roll away. His method is (somewhat) quicker, but I think mine is more efficient!

One thing I’m crazy about, though, is the simple little screen (far left) Roy made me from hardware cloth and a few boards. I use this to cull out twigs and stones from soil to make a fine mixture to sprinkle over tiny seeds after planting, instead of spending money on a soilless mix. Actually, I’m always excited when I hear the table saw screeching or the compressor hissing in the shop—I never know what Roy is going to come out with, like this recent appearance (at right)—a new gate for the chicken pen.

We also spent the better part of an evening splayed out on the newspaper-covered mudroom floor transplanting all the tomato and basil seedlings out of six-packs and into 4-inch pots. The numbers are not as crazy as last year, but we still have 200 seedlings, all of which need light. So Roy had to reconfigure the seedling shelves (which he built last year with the idea that they’d be easy to break down and reassemble) to accommodate more lights and taller plants. (The extra lights came from Roy’s shop–now he has to do without until Memorial Day!)

The really great news is that everything I planted outside a few weeks ago is coming up. The pea vines are a couple inches high. That’s my crazy teepee trellis at (near)right. I don’t plan to sell peas this year—I just wanted some for us—so I grabbed a corner for them and made this contraption out of our bamboo stock (also saved from last year) and string to keep the birds out and to provide support. My first batch of arugula and radishes are thriving, so I went ahead and popped the PVC pipes in the ground and draped the Remay over them for early flea-beetle protection (photo, far right). My baby bok choy and about 12 different kinds of lettuces have germinated, and we got the onions, the leeks, and the first batch of potatoes planted. I’ve also been working on an area outside the garden where perennial herbs will go.

It’s all very satisfying, and every morning I wake up excitedly, head out to feed Cocoa the bunny, and to check out the garden, too. I especially love a foggy morning like this past Friday. Something terribly romantic about the mist and the green colors fading to grey. (Romance was on my mind, I admit, as I was watching the royal wedding. No, I am not related to Kate Middleton, unfortunately!) I snapped a few pix of the garden and then trotted over to the north side of the property—an area called The Grove which had fish ponds in it years ago and now has hundreds of daffodils waning and lilies of the valley coming on under the maples.

The fish ponds were the purview of Farmer Greene, who built this place. And since we love all things green, we’ve started calling our little operation Green Island Farm. Might be more accurate to call our version a mini-farm at this point, but it’s wonderful to imagine all the different iterations this place has taken over the years—the food that’s been raised and grown and gathered on this piece of land over the last few hundred years, probably beginning with the Wampanoag Indians. We’re still hoping all this digging is going to turn up an arrowhead.

I really don’t think I’m rushing things. I mean the seed catalogues arrived over a month ago. And so I’ve started to pester Roy about building our seed-starting shelves. I know we really don’t need to start the tomatoes for two months, but, you know, I like to be ready. Yes, it’s hard to think green when the garden looks like it does right now—all shades of grey and white. But I can’t help it if I’m kinda prone to over-excitement. (I got into a lot of trouble as a small child with this—I almost got kicked off a week-long stint on the Romper Room TV show in 1966 because I wouldn’t sit still. Apparently an ice cream bribe calmed me down. No surprise—that still works.)

Anyway, we are living in a new place this year, and we’ll be able to have our garden right out back. It was a lot of fun being at Native Earth Teaching Farm last year (and being near our neighbors, the baby goats), but it was a strain to shuttle back and forth every day. This year, it could be a blessing or a curse, but all we’ll have to do is tumble out of bed, pull on our boots, set the coffee off and head outside. There’s a lot of work ahead for us in preparing the garden here (see above!), but it’s an ample space that’s been gardened in the not-too-distant past. It sits up high and has plenty of sunlight. I can’t wait to work in it—of course after Roy builds the fence! I know, I’m bad—I will help him, I promise.

This year, we’re going to narrow our market crops to just a few things: greens, beans, potatoes, and tomatoes. And I’m going to use the rest of the garden in two specific ways for us. In part, it will be a kitchen garden, with plenty of greens and herbs for our everyday summer eating. (I can’t wait to get Ellen Ogden’s new book, The Complete Kitchen Garden.) And it will also function as a storage/winter-eating garden, with carrots, onions, potatoes, beets and turnips for the cold months. I’m not going to grow much in the way of squashes, eggplants, and peppers. They take up a lot of room and we don’t seem to eat as many of these as we do tomatoes and greens. When we need them, it’ll give us a good excuse to go to the farmers’ market and to barter with friends, too.

For the market garden, I’ve already ordered our tomato seeds and our potato and onion sets. (I told you I couldn’t wait.) I ordered mostly organic from the fabulous Fedco company in Waterville, Maine. They have incredible products at great prices. I’m trying out a couple new cherry tomatoes with great names and descriptions (love those seed catalogues!): Honeydrop Cherry Tomato and Be My Baby Gene Pool Cherry Tomato. We joined with our local Homegrown folks (a group of avid vegetable gardeners who meet once a month here on the Island to swap tips) for the potato (also from Fedco’s Moose Tubers division) and onion orders (from Dixondale Farms), so we’ll be saving a little money there. I’m trying to do the garden on a much smaller budget this year, so I didn’t splurge too much; I still have lots of viable seeds from last year, too. (At least I hope they’re viable). But since I’m such a nut about greens (both cooking greens and lettuces) and Fedco will hook you up with a small packet of lettuce seeds for less than $1.50, I went ahead and ordered some new lettuce varieties to try, including Flashy Green Butter Oak Lettuce and Speckled Amish Lettuce.

Oh, am I ever excited. I’ll let you know when we start the real work. And I’ll also let you know about the other big excitement coming around here—baby chicks! Future laying hens—at last, we’ll have our own eggs by fall if all goes well. (Of course, Roy is going to have to build a chicken coop, too—but he’s already designed it!)

P.S. Recipe blogs will return soon. I am strapped to the computer putting the final touches on my book manuscript, which will (please cross your fingers) be delivered to the post office next Monday…