Cold Weather Chickens

The chickens seem to be tolerating the colder weather. They are as eager as ever to leave the coop in the mornings—especially if it has rained the night before. At night they huddle together on the perch sharing body heat, and puff out their feathers to create pockets of warm air and increase insulation. Last week when the temperature dropped into the 20’s their water fount froze but there was no notable difference in the hens’ behavior. Most mornings find them on the perch in the coop calling to be let out and that particular morning was no different. They didn’t seem to feel the cold at all.

The first question from visitors to the coop is often “what will you do with the chickens in the winter?” I’ve consulted a few books on the subject, the best being Fresh-Air Poultry Houses by Dr. Prince T. Woods, and, even though some authors suggest a heat lamp for the henhouse when temperatures are below freezing, the consensus seems to be that the hens can tolerate the cold pretty well, especially in a climate such as ours. Their down feathers provide great insulation, and the benefits from the fresh air outweigh the risk of exposure to the cold.

We’re actually more worried in the summer when temperature can soar into the high 90’s; chickens are much less tolerant of the heat than they are the cold. Our henhouse is very well ventilated with an open ceiling (except for the hardware cloth) and several ventilation holes on the sides. Of course, the coop is totally ventilated with only hardware cloth for walls and the hens have free access to the run everyday.

We are still getting 3-4 eggs daily from our 4 hens, so we don’t feel the need to extend their day by adding a light to the henhouse. We probably won’t install a heat lamp either as our days are rarely, if ever, below freezing, and we can always buy a heated poultry fount to keep them in fresh water.

New Beginnings

Today marks the beginning of my last week of employment, which is bittersweet for me. I have spent the last eleven and a half years working in a variety of roles for a management psychology practice; although I’ve never officially had a title, perhaps “Jack of all Trades” would be most appropriate. I have developed relationships with some wonderful people within several client companies who I will miss interacting with. I’ll also miss the challenges they have presented.

My decision to leave can be put simply as unhappiness, to the point of having difficulty getting up and out the door each morning and having little patience, and in some cases respect, for the people I work with. This has been building over a number of years and began to affect my mental health and my life in general. So, after many discussions with my ever supportive husband, it was obvious that I needed to either accept that I would likely never be happy at work or make a change. I decided to make a change and follow my dream. It was hard to let go—we get so attached to what is familiar in our lives regardless of whether it is good for us or not; it is often the unknown that scares us.

Beginning next week I embark on a new journey. I will be spending my days in my studio instead of an office. I am equally excited and anxious… well, maybe a bit more excited. This has, after all, been my dream for a long time, and I am lucky to have wonderfully supportive friends and family who encourage and believe in me. I’ll blog about my adventure as I go and will post my website once it’s built.

Wish me luck!

Talking Turkey

This past September I tried to order a pasture-raised heritage turkey for our Thanksgiving meal, only to find that I was too late. Disappointed, I put myself on a waiting list at Nature’s Harmony Farm in Elberton, GA in the hopes that someone would fail to pick up their order. Alas, this didn’t happen. So, off to the supermarket I went to buy a frozen turkey just like everyone else. Photo credit: Curt Gibbs, ExperienceLA, Flickr

A few days after Thanksgiving I received an email from Nature’s Harmony announcing that they were taking orders for next year; I
immediately put down a deposit. Next year I’ll be serving a beautiful and delicious heritage turkey to my family and friends. At $7.00 per pound they are not cheap, but, even though it will hurt my bank account, a healthy, cruelty-free, pasture-raised, naturally reproducing turkey is “priceless” to me.

Wait, “naturally reproducing?” “Don’t all turkey reproduce naturally?” The answer is an unequivocal “No.” Turkeys sold at the supermarket—mainly the Broad Breasted White—no longer reproduce on their own and depend upon humans for artificial insemination. They have been bred by industrial agriculture to develop faster and produce more breast meat. Their large breast, coupled with the fact that they have shorter legs than standard breed turkeys, can make it impossible to stand, let alone climb atop a female for the act of perpetuating the species. I find this very disheartening and a bit scary. Maybe one day soon I’ll have the courage to follow in the footsteps of Novella Carpenter and raise a heritage turkey of my own, but I’m not quite there yet.

If you are interested in having a heritage turkey grace your table next year, go to Local Harvest to find a farm near you.

The Great Escape...

Earlier this week, during a heavy downpour, with flash flood warnings, I received a call from my daughter to tell me that Buffy had made a run for it, or rather a fly over, if you will. I guess she had had enough of being picked on by the other three chickens, one of whom is particularly large and unrelenting in her pursuit of letting Buffy know who the boss is.
You see, Buffy has spent the last several weeks in a state of broodiness, refusing to come out of the nesting box of her own volition, day or night. The other girls took to taking turns in the remaining box, but should two of them feel the urge to lay at the same time, well, one of them was out of luck. Regardless to the amount of scolding, Buffy wasn’t budging. It was pitiful actually. Since a broody chicken won’t lay eggs, she either sat on the eggs of the other chickens eggs or else on an empty nest. We would take her out a few times a day to make sure she ate, drank, and got some fresh air, but she would hastily make her way back up to the box as soon as we went inside.

When she finally did give up her quest to “hatch an egg” and came out of the hen house of her own free will, she was met by three somewhat miffed sisters. They wasted no time in letting her know her club card had been revoked. That first evening, I heard loud squawking coming from the hen house and went over to investigate. Buffy was trying to get up on the perch to sleep (for first time in weeks), but Letty wasn’t having it, pecking at her and trying to knock her off the perch. I’m not sure how it ended up that night, but Buffy has been spending her days with a little distance between her and the other girls.

So, she flew the coop, over the 6’ tall privacy fence, into the alley behind our house. My daughter and her girlfriend found her outside the back gate, soaked and visibly shivering, but each time they tried to get near her, she ran or flew further away—did I mention how fast she is? They managed to get her to the threshold of the gate using long sticks to encourage her along (that way they didn’t have to get too close), but just as they thought they had her, she turned around and flew down the alley into the backyard of a neighbor. This prompted a text message to me stating “Buffy is about to die” as there was a large black lab in residence who was barking frantically from the back deck. Luckily, he seemed unaware of the chicken in his yard, focusing his full attention on Amanda and Rena.

Amanda walked around the block to the front of the neighbor’s house, by this time as soaked as Buffy, knocked on the door and announced that her chicken was in their backyard and would they mind bringing in their dog so she could retrieve it… “Your chicken?” This prompted a brief discussion about where exactly in the neighborhood we lived and help in rescuing said chicken. Traumatized, but none the worst for her adventure, Buffy was caught—after trying to stuff herself through a slat in the fence—and returned to the safety of her own backyard and the lukewarm welcome of her big sisters.

Chicken Coop and Run

Free range chickens are a beautiful thing, but if you’re an urban farmer these free spirits can wreak havoc on your garden. We (aka Mr. Man) built gates to enclose and protect the vegetable garden in the spring, but the girls managed to nibble at everything planted at the perimeter as well as those plants that grow tall; they just perch on the top rail and snack at their leisure.














We loved letting them have the run of the yard, until they decided to nap on the backsteps and poop all over the patio, and then there’s the disturbance of the landscape plantings—mulch kicked onto the paths, holes dug around new plantings, leaves eaten from bushes. Early this spring I laid a flagstone path along one side of the shed leading to the utility area where the compost is. I planted this with ferns and hostas as it doesn’t get much sun—my own secret garden. It was lovely, until the girls discovered it. They nibbled every last needle from the asparagus ferns and have torn the hostas to shreds. Enough!

Over the last two weekends Mr. Man worked to build a run for the chickens (that shed was the best investment we have ever made!). They still have a large amount of space, extending from the coop to the shed and behind, all the way to the other side. Mr. Man added a new door to the coop that leads to the run, providing them free access to the compost and the decomposing vegetation and fat worms that live there, effectively cutting them off from the rest of the yard and my secret garden.

In my quest to eat food that is grown/raised locally, without pesticides or added hormones, and in a manner that is cruelly-free, I made a trek to Calhoun, Georgia this morning to a small processing plant to pick up half a side of beef (about 180 lbs). The drive was pleasant and made all the better because I was accompanied by my friend Amy who is splitting the beef with me. We loaded up four coolers into the back of the Prius and headed out.

The beef was delivered to Sherrif's Meat Processing a few weeks ago by Ford Farm. I have been pestering Mike Ford since last winter when I first inquired about buying his pasture raised/grass-fed beef. When Mike sent me an email in late September that the cattle was finally ready but that he had more requests than they could possibly fill (selling on a first come, first served basis), I immediately sent an email to confirm my order and got a check for the deposit in the mail the next day. I was thrilled when he confirmed my order.

I called Sherrif's a week or so later and talked with them about the cuts we wanted. Being new to this I wasn't exactly sure just how much information they needed. They walked me through with questions like "how thick do you want your steaks?" and "Do you want roasts, ribs, organ meat?" Yes, to all. I'm not an organ meat eater, but the dogs sure do love it. I also requested the bones.

We pulled up to a small concrete building with a small receiving area in the front and a large walk-in freezer, and behind two metal, swinging doors the "processing" area. They brought the meat out already wrapped in white butcher paper, each package clearly marked with the cut of meat, in four crates along with a large box of bones with red meat still clinging to them. We loaded the packages into our coolers and stored the bones in the very back of the car. In so, the smell of blood and meat was a little overwhelming, so we put on the heater and cracked the windows.

We divided the meat and bones at home with each of us filling our freezers with a good amount of steaks, roasts and ground beef. I immediately threw the bones into two very large stock pots when I got home have simmered them for several hours (after sharing a couple small raw bones with each of our dogs) for beef stock. I'll freeze the stock for later use and the bones for occasional treats for the dogs--the largest rib bones I'm sharing with my daughter and her large Bernese Mountain mix.

If you live in the North Georgia area and are interested in buying healthier beef for both you and the cows, Ford Farm is a small family farm in North Georgia. Their cattle "graze well maintained pastures and are fed locally grown hay when grass is not available." They sell by the half and whole beef, mostly in late fall and early winter.

Here is their contact information.

Ford Farm
Mike and Beth Ford
1275 Emerson Road, Cohutta GA 30710.
(706) 694-4695.
E-mail: fordmb1@windstream.net.
Website: http://www.purebeef.onlinelocalweb.com/

Fall Planting

It’s a gorgeous day in Atlanta, perfect for planting the last of the fall vegetables. I managed to get 32 late season onions planted, as well as Swiss Chard, spinach, parsnips, broccoli—you may remember, I didn’t have ANY luck with broccoli in the spring. The problem was cabbage worms, along with my inexperience gardening and general lack of knowledge regarding combating pests organically—as well as Romaine, Butter, and Maevielle lettuces. We planted peas and snap peas a couple weeks ago and are still harvesting eggplant, red, yellow and Jalapeno peppers, and tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes.

We haven’t had enough tomatoes at any one time to can, but we’ve been able to share a lot and have roasted several batches (stored in olive oil in the frig they will last a couple weeks), which are great on top of grilled fish or added to pasta, and we have been eating them in omelets, paninis, and of course salads.

We’ve had several failures along the way: carrots (only a few “short” carrots were harvested), beets (too small), beans (we just don’t have enough space to grow the amount needed to provide us with more than a meal or two), and squash. How, you may ask, can someone fail at growing squash? We are determined to learn the answer and will spend the winter consulting with Farmer D and reading (on top of the list are: Carrots Love Tomatoes, Secrets of Companion Planting for Successful Gardening by Louise Riotte and Food Not Lawns by H. C. Flores—a very thoughtful gift from our friends Bobby, Joanna and Jasper) so that we are better prepared next spring. We’ve also learned just how much work it takes to maintain a garden and that we don’t have enough space to grow the amount we’d like to.

Our success, of course, has been with the hens. They are healthy and provide us with 4 eggs everyday. We have been eating as many as we can and giving the rest away to friends and family. Two dozen eggs a week is a lot for a family of two, but they are so good. Mr. Man eats eggs in the morning and I’ve begun making omelets on the weekends—there is nothing better than eating your own eggs filled with veggies you’ve grown in your garden. Trust me on this one.

I’m hoping to extend the garden a little in the spring so that we can fit two additional 4’ x 4’ beds and plant three blueberry bushes. And, Mr. Man is building me a couple of cold frames for the beds so that we can get an early start next spring. We also need to think of an aesthetically pleasing way to section off the hens’ roaming area from the rest of the backyard, especially the patio.

Today A Blue Egg

Our White Leghorn, Letty, has been laying regularly for several weeks now and slowly the eggs have begun to get bigger, some days more so than others. Last week we began to find small eggs again, and although none of the other three hens is supposed to lay white eggs, we thought maybe Buffy, our Buff Orpington, was laying these little gems (all resources I’ve read say Orps lay brown eggs); she does afterall have white ears—supposedly ear color correlates to egg color.

Big Egg, Little Egg

We find ourselves observing our Rhode Island Red (Penny), the biggest of our backyard flock, and wondering what her deal is... she hasn’t yet laid an egg, evidenced by the lack of brown eggs in the nesting box. Today I found one small pinkish-white egg and one blue!! The blue is definitely from Matilda (aka “Tilly”), our Americana. So, we know that at least two, perhaps three, of our hens are laying. Maybe soon Penny will catch on and start earning her keep.

Blue Egg (I know it looks green, but really, it's blue)

The garden is doing well, and we have begun to think about fall plantings. We’ve planted more beets and are ready to get broccoli (yes, I’m going to give it another try), cabbage and spinach into the ground, and maybe some butternut squash, but definitely no brussel sprouts. I hate brussel sprouts. In the meantime, I’m hoping to save tomato seeds from the Heirloom Cherkoee Purple for planting next year. I looked up (thank you Google) how to save tomato seeds and found that you have to ferment them for a few days before drying and storing them.

Fermenting Cherry & Heirloom Cherokee Purple Tomatoe Seeds

Today's Harvest: Cherry, Plum, Juliettes & Cherokee Purple

Garden "Volunteers"

A few weeks ago I wrote about our “volunteer” tomato plants. We’re not sure where they came from, although we have some guesses that have to do with either birds or dogs—I’ll spare you the details—but we’re happy to have them. The cherry tomato plant has hardy been able to hold up its branches they are so loaded with tomatoes. I harvested many tonight and there are at least this many more that’ll be ready in the next few days.

Tonight's Harvest

These plants are definitely stronger than those that were nurtured as seedlings in a greenhouse and then transplanted into our amended soil in the, we thought, perfect spot in the garden. These plants are survivors... growing from seed directly “planted” in soil, unamended clay soil at that, in a location that gets less than the recommend amount of direct sunlight. Of course the best part is that they’re delicious!

I’m planning on saving some of the seeds and experimenting with starting them indoors and then transplanting them into the garden as well as sowing seeds directly in the garden next year. Hopefully their offspring will be just as hardy as these have been. I looked up how to save tomato seeds and found that you have to ferment them before you dry them. I’ll also be saving some of our heirloom Cherokee Purples as well. These are a little finicky, liking to be watered at the same time each week and the same amount. Otherwise they tend to crack somewhat. Ugly, yes, but still delicious. And I’d rather eat an ugly heirloom tomato than those sold by grocery stores that have been modified/bred for uniform size, form, and color, but are flavorless and mealey.

Heirloom Cherokee Purple Tomatoes

Ditching the City

I had Jury Duty today... I know, not the topic you’re expecting from the title of this post. But, while I was waiting in the jury assembly room, I had the rare opportunity to read uninterrupted for several hours. A luxury and an indulgence on any normal day. I’m currently reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver; this is a different book for her. It’s the story of her family’s move to life on a farm in Virginia and their first year of eating only food raised locally or grown themselves. It’s also part investigative journalism, full of facts I didn’t know and I'd bet most Americans have no idea about. An example: most turkeys (the ones you and I serve at our Thanksgiving table each year) can no longer reproduce on their own. That’s right; it seems that the genes that make this possible aren’t useful in animals who live their life in confinement, packed closely together with thousands of other turkeys—so these characteristics are bred out to them, along with the qualities for superior disease resistance and flavor.

As I did when reading Omnivore’s Dilema, I find myself dreaming of making a major change in my life, of ditching the city and “living off the land,” growing our own food—not just the 4 4’x4’ raised beds we are currently tending, but several acres or more. The dream begins with moving to a climate somewhat more temperate than Georgia, after all I’m not crazy enough to think I want to spend 10-12 hours a day outside working in 90°+, buying a piece of land with a farmhouse, barn, and pasture. We’d grow and eat all our own food, raise chickens (both layers and broilers), maybe a cow or two. Sounds crazy right?

Several weeks ago, Mr. Man and I were weeding in the backyard when I noticed three tomato plants I didn’t plant. I quickly pointed them out so they wouldn’t get pulled along with the weeds, and we’ve left them to see what would happen. I’m not sure where these came from... a passing bird perhaps? One of these “volunteers” has more tomatoes than any plant I put into the ground this spring—without any amendment to the soil, and we are talking Georgia clay here. Maybe the seed that can survive under such conditions is stonger than those I planted—in excellent soil amended with compost and planted in the location of our backyard that receives the most sun. Whatever the reason, the cherry tomatoes it produces are wonderful and I’m grateful for the addition.

Hens Without a Rooster

It’s a cool, quiet afternoon; the chickens are strutting around the yard, stopping here and there to scratch back the mulch to look for small bugs. While one may wander a few feet away from the others, they are never very far apart. And when the small flock moves on to another area of the yard, instinct takes over and the stray is quick to catch up; there is safety in numbers.

When my Rhode Island Red, Penny, suddenly raises her head toward the sky—obviously hearing something I have failed to hear—I look up to see what has drawn her attention: a hawk. The girls quickly huddle together behind the feather grass; forming a group, they take on a larger profile. The hawk squawks as he flies on toward the park. The girls slowly relax and begin to emerge from the shield of the grass to continue foraging.

Penny (that’s Buffy in the background)

Without a rooster to signal the girls of impeding danger, I worry that they are oblivious to predators. Roosters do more than just fertilize eggs. They are fierce protectors of their hens and are constantly on the lookout for danger. I have heard that when you have a rooster-less flock, one of the hens will step up and take on the role of “leader.” Is this the case with Penny or was it just dumb luck that she noticed the hawk? I certainly haven’t seen any “dominant” behavior, even though she is the largest. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

Letty eating sunflower seeds

Marley wants in on the fun

Chasing Chickens

The Girls

A chicken’s day is quite boring when you live in a 9'x4'x6' enclosure. What’s there to do really—sit up on the perch, scratch around for bugs, take a dust bath, eat, take a nap in the shade.

Buffy is the last to brave leaving the Coop

The highlight of the day is when the door to the coop opens and they are invited out into the garden where more interesting dining options await them—carrot tops, cucumber leaves, tomatoes—and trying to keep a chicken out of the vegetables is impossible unless you stand guard.

Letty

While they are pretty entertaining, most of us have other things to do after work than sit in the garden and shoo the chickens out of the vegetables. Devising a gate or fence to go around each raised bed is a must.

Gate around the tomatoes, eggplant & peppers

Not to worry, there are plenty of other delicacies to be found—worms, grubs, ants...

The Girls in the Garden

And hopefully soon, they'll be big enough and brave enough to find their way outside the garden and into the yard.

Del Dotto Vineyard

There are many wineries in Napa Valley, way too many to visit in one trip, but one that’s not to be missed is Del Dotto Vineyard in St. Helena. A family-owned operation, the wine tasting facility is made of gorgeous Italian marble, embellished with mosaics and incredible Murano glass chandeliers. They are a small operation and you can only buy the wine directly from the winery.

Taking a tour through the marble caves, lit by chandeliers and candelabras, you are treated to tasting wine directly from the barrel. They produce mainly red wines: Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Cabernet Franc, Sangiovese along with Pinot Noir.

The hardest decisions you have to make are whether to discard the amble amount of wine you are poured after you’ve sufficiently tasted—a must really, as you are tasting 7-8 wines—and which of those you’ve tasted you wish to purchase. While you ponder this last decision you are served an antipasti plate (aged Gouda, wild boar prosciutto, salami, etc.), and homemade pizza fresh from the oven.

Not a bad way to spend an afternoon.

Happy Cows Really DO Live in California

We took a road trip today starting out from Calistoga through the mountains to Occidental, making a large loop stopping at Bodega Bay, Dillon Beach and Petaluma before heading back to Calistoga. The drive is very scenic through rolling hills dotted with cattle (lucky cows) and sheep, and even a llama or two. There wasn’t much happening in Occidential, so after a short walk around we headed on to Bodega Bay.
We made a brief stop in Bodega, which is very bohemian with a good size artist community. We happened into an Artist Co-Op where the “artist of the day” was Annie, a 60ish, white-haired woman with braids who shared with us that the old school building across the street was used in Hitchcock’s The Birds.

Bodega Bay is incredibly beautiful. We parked at N. Harbor and followed a path to the bay through a bird habitat and marsh restoration project. Crossing over a bridge, we could hear sea lions even though we couldn’t yet see the ocean. Once we made it through the marsh to the beach we could no longer hear them and realized they were on a small rocky island off-shore. The beach has gray sand and even though is was fairly cold there were a few people in sweatshirts sitting in beach chairs with blankets over their legs and a cooler by their sides. There was even a family with two small children in swimsuits playing at the water’s edge. And a couple with their horses.

From here we headed south to Dillon Beach where the houses are not a grand as those in Bodega Bay, but the view is just as beautiful. We eat a late lunch at what seemed to be the only cafe at the beach and soaked in the view.

Petaluma is one of California’s oldest cities with a large downtown with beautiful old buildings. The egg industry started here due to high demand as a result of the gold rush, and Petaluma became known as “the world’s egg basket.” When we stopped in a garden shop Mr. Man asked if the chicken is the official bird of Petaluma. The woman running the shop informed us that they are trying to preserve this but with the passing of Proposition 2 it is hard. We must have had questioning looks on our faces because she proceeded to explain that chickens now have to be “free range,” and that her uncle has an egg business where the hens are in cages where the eggs drop onto a conveyor belt, but that people “want them to be able to spread their wings,” here she spread her arms out and rolled her eyes—at this point that Mr. Man very discretely (and gently) stepped on my foot— “and they only live... they only lay eggs for a few years,” as if the length of a chicken’s productive life is a measurement of the quality of life they should have—increased pressure from Mr. Man. She told us her uncle is loosing his business, and while I sympathize (okay, not really), I’ll be happy when all industries that profit from cruelty become extinct.

Calistoga

Calistoga is a quaint, charming little town within easy driving distance of all the Napa Wineries. We are staying at the Cottage Grove Inn which consists of 17 separate cottages, each beautifully appointed with everything you ask for. They serve breakfast each morning—wonderful made to order waffles, quiche, scones, fruit, cereal, yogurt—and regional wine and cheese each evening. If you are thinking about taking a vacation in the Napa area, I highly recommend this place.






























Today we drove into St. Helena—another charming town, but a little more upscale than Calistoga, stopping to see the Geyser on the way. What a disappointment. While this is one of only three “old faithfuls” in the world (the others being in Yellowstone State Park and New Zealand), it certainly isn’t worth $8, for once you’ve seen it erupt, that’s pretty much it. There are some terribly smelly goats, sheep and llamas for those of you with children looking for something to do in Napa other than drink wine, otherwise I’d suggest passing this up.

















We did a bit of gallery hopping in St. Helena and then headed back to Calistoga for our mud masques and massages at Lincoln Avenue Spa. This is what a vacation should be... great wine, good food, and lots of relaxation. The mud masques are prepared with different blends of herbs depending on what you want from your experience. We were escorted into the “mud room” were we slathered ourselves with mud and then laid down in our steam beds wrapped in a sheet. Our attentant then closed us in with only our head sticking out, added eucalyptus and rose oils (again our choice) to the water and then tented a towel over our heads so that we were totally engulfed in the steam. We steamed for about ten minutes when she came back in, added more oil to the beds, and put a masque on our faces, leaving us to steam for another tens mintues or so before showering and heading off to our separate massages. Heaven!

Since we’ve been in Calfornia, we’ve noticed that people don’t really acknowledge each other the way wedo in the South. You know, like when you’re walking down the street and you pass someone? In the South you smile and say “good morning” or “how ya doing?” or something. Our experience so far has been that we rarely get a response. Even in some of the stores the salesperson doesn’t acknowledge you until after you’ve made an effort to engage them, and sometimes even that fails. Tonight while we were having wine on the patio there was a couple checking in, when I went in to refill my wine glass the gentleman and I met eyes he gave me a hearty “How are you?” I went back outside and said, “I think they’re Southern” to which Mr. Man laughingly replied that this was also his first thought as he could hear us from outside. Sure enough, once they joined us on the patio we discovered they are from North Carolina.

Frog's Leap Winery

We spent the morning walking around downtown Calistoga and then went on a tour and wine tasting at Frog’s Leap Winery. They practice dry farming—growing their grapes without irragation. They don’t get any rain between May and October, and planting without irrigation forces the grapes to push deeper into the soil providing a strong foundation. For this reason the vines produce for 60-80 whereas other vineyards replace their vines every 13-16 years. Frog’s Leap is also totally organic, and have been since the 80’s (man, the Southeast has to catch up!), growing without pesticides or fertilizers other than compost and cover corps to build the soil. They grow herbs on the borders of the vineyards to encourage “good” pests, to kill the “bad” pests. Interestingly, they are the only fully organic, dry farmer in the region. They employ 45 full time staff, using no seasonal pickers. And the farm is operated by 90% solar power. The vineyard is absolutely beautiful, and the wine is exceptual... come by the house and enjoy a glass with us when we return.