It split in the rain—yes, we finally got some—so was an emergency harvest.

I first grew Mr. Stripey in my community garden plot in Arlington, Va. I was taken with its coloration and sweet, mild flavor.

I’m picking Mr. Stripey from my garden right now, and he’s still a stunner.

Saturday morning I went to collect the eggs and found these:

Notice anything unusual about that third egg from the left? It’s ginormous! To its left are two guinea eggs, and to its right are three typical-sized chicken eggs. Who says that pullets start out with tiny eggs? One of my girls is a rock star. Poor thing!

I accidentally cracked this giant egg on the counter, so I went ahead and investigated. As I suspected, it was a double yolker!

Way to go, little hen!

I don’t eat eggs, so I scrambled it up in some leftover bacon grease and used it as a high-value training treat for some down-stay practice with Tucker. He thought it was delicious!

August 2 and I notice the first red leaves among the sumac at the edge of the field. My neighbor’s bringing hay, one round bale at a time in the back of a pickup, into their barn. Brown leaves drift and eddy around my car as I drive down the road. Fall’s on its way, and the extended heat wave and lack of rain are accelerating the process.

It wasn’t until I lived this close to a piece of land that I really noticed these changes, and how they creep so suddenly so fast. It’s August and I can still feel last winter’s chill in my body. Time to wisen up to the accelerating wheel and lay myself down on a hot rock by a river and let my belly get sunburned.

I spent three hours in the garden this afternoon, sweating it out in 100-degree heat indices. I’d neglected the garden for too long, and with our two-week stretch of 90+ temps and no rain, things were looking bad.

With the hose running all the while, I cut my losses and pulled out the squash-bug infested pumpkin vines. It makes me sad as I find pumpkins to be one of the most rewarding plants to grow, and I’ve had success with them in other gardens. But these vines were so infested that I knew it was better to get rid of them. There would be no Prince Charming this fall.

With the vines removed, I faced the challenge of how to dispose of them. Burning is the recommended option for infected crops, but I didn’t want to clear out the fire pit and sacrifice all the firewood it would take to get things good and hot. Then I had a flash of inspiration: my flame thrower. It targets blistering heat that no bug could survive.

I dumped my refuse in the driveway and went to work. Squash bug eggs went from this:

To this:

I wish I could take the flame thrower to the infested beds to get the rest of the buggers left hiding in the straw, but I fear the heat would damage beneficial worms and microbes. My next inspiration involves turning Mr. King Guinea, who has taken it upon himself to harass his ladies and the hens, out into the garden to free range and pick up the remaining pests. There may be more damage to crops than critters, but I may just give it a shot.

I took this pic last week right before a massive heat wave hit. Shown are squash and zukes, box choi gone to seed, kale, chard, yellow and green beans, eggplants, peppers, cabbage, cukes on the trellis, tomatoes, and pumpkins—as well as cutting flowers and herbs.

With last week’s heat indices around 115, the garden’s gone round the bend and started its midsummer decline. The squash bugs polished off my yellow squash plant and are most of the way through a Black Beauty zucchini. The pumpkins are running for their lives, breaking out of the fence trying to escape the squash bugs that do their damage from the base of the stem up the plant. I’ve never had garden with a squash bug problem before…I handpicked eggs off as I found them, and squashed adults to no avail. Any tips other than to get a greenhouse or use row covers? I tried neem and insecticidal soap, but no luck. I’m about ready to cut my losses, pull up the pumpkins and zuke, and toss a guinea or two in the garden to go after the little buggers.

Peaches from Chiles.

A few weeks ago I ordered a HenPals chicken nest box for my hens. They were rapidly approaching laying age, and I wanted to be prepared. Other projects got in the way, though, and it was just last weekend that I could clean out the coop and install the nest box. I figured that since my hens turned twenty weeks old—pretty much the earliest they could start laying—on July 17, they had plenty of time to get used to the box before biology kicked in.

I am really pleased with this box. I ordered it online from a Georgia farmer who makes them by hand, and whose wife writes a great blog: Life on a Southern Farm. The nest box is well made and an incredibly good value compared with the commercially manufactured metal boxes. And I am proud to support an American farmer instead of a Chinese factory.

Anyway, I hung the box up last Saturday, and I know the hens were checking it out. And then last night I went in the coop, and this is what I found—on the floor of the coop, not in the box!

I first picked up that very dark egg, and I thought, hmmm…this doesn’t look like a guinea egg. So I rooted around the pine shavings and came up with four eggs! I had been getting two guinea eggs a day (on the far left above). Something was definitely up! Either both hens started laying on the same day, which would be amazing but not impossible, or I missed an egg that had already been laid.

The poor things picked a inopportune time for this development—we are stuck in a miserable heat wave with temps around 100 degrees. Despite the fan I have running on high through the coop 24-hours a day, all the birds are showing signs of stress. Some stress-induced feather picking is happening on some of the guineas and the hens, just like it did during the hottest days last summer.

I compared my first chicken eggs with mature chicken eggs (the three on the left above). I am really impressed that my girls didn’t start with little “peewee” eggs but produced some pretty good-size eggs on their first try. I am so proud of my little hens. Now if they will just realize they are not guineas and start laying in the nest box instead of the floor of the coop. All in good time, I suppose…Now I’m off to add some ice cubes to their waterer!

Last night’s full moon is nicknamed the Full Hay Moon.

Fitting, then, that I came home to find a neighboring farmer had cut the back pasture for hay. It made for great vole hunting for the pup this morning!

Who’s a big farm dog now? Tucker looks right at home in the hayfield—just like his greatgrandfather and greatgrandmother. Now if I only had some cows or sheep to complete the picture!