Meet the Peckerwoods.

When we were house hunting last fall, we put an offer on a place that had a chicken coop in the back. I have wanted chickens for a while, and the coop was the universe's way of telling me that was my new home. We didn't get that house, but for my birthday this year, Laila got me chickens. You can't stop the universe.

Ginger. She's a Rhode Island Red.

Clove. She's an Australorp.

Lemondrop. She's a Dominique.

Cinnamon. She's an Ameraucana. She will lay blue or green eggs.

I wanted three chickens, but the lady who sells them said if you want three, get four. Inevitably one will get sick and die or be a rooster and you'll have to return it. Guess what. All of my chickens are perfectly healthy. Cinnamon had a little eye goo when she was brand new, followed by a couple bouts of pasty butt, but that is it. Whether one is a rooster remains to be seen, but from the looks of things at this point, they are all girls.

Mack decided they needed a little apartment so they could get out of the bright light if they wanted to. They thought their food bowl made an excellent bed.

Like 3 days in they started getting their big girl feathers on their wings. They'd stretch out real big and long. We called it their "sexy."

About two weeks in, they started jumping on top of their apartment inside their plastic box. We took them to their coop to play. Life hasn't been the same since. 

The chicken lady said they could live in the coop when they were 8 weeks old, but after these girls got a taste of the outside, that's all they wanted. For a couple weeks, we put them in the coop during the day and brought them in at night so they wouldn't get cold or eaten.

That outside was like steroids. They went from chicks to chickens in a couple of weeks! They ran around the yard and hung out in the bushes. We started a morning ritual of sitting outside to drink coffee and watch the chicken drama unfold. Lemondrop would find a worm, Ginger would try to steal it out of her mouth, everyone would run around like lunatics. Pure entertainment.

At the beginning of June, I left my chicks to go on a camping trip and Mack went away to work for the weekend. I left them lots of food and fresh water and secured their coop. When I came home two days later, I had middle schooler chickens. It was unreal.

The Peckerwood Gang. They run the backyard.

They do not approve of a lame human coming into their clubhouse. Chickens are the masters of side eye.

Lemondrop, named for her poof of yellow on her butt, no longer has a poof of yellow on her butt.

Clove, well, her body grew but her brain has not developed much to this day.

At the beginning of July I went to Kentucky for a week. I figured their growth would slow down a little bit but nope. I came home to teenager chickens. They had boobs and attitudes. They were pretty and sassy. They were smarter. Except Clove. Cinnamon had a damn mustache! 

We started calling her Gimli because her mustache reminded us of the dwarf on Lord of the Rings.

The Peckerwoods ruled the roost and their roost was their coop, the backyard, the patio, the sideyard, the garage, my garden, and anywhere else they decided to go. Mack had let them have free reign over the place.

This is what giving no fucks looks like.

Here's what "You're not the boss of me" looks like.

These chickens have become a pain in my ass. They are naughty and demanding and treat me like I am the scariest monster in the world even tho all I ever do is give them treats and snacks. They shit everywhere. I make them corn popsicles and apple and popcorn garland and they act like I've put out poison for them. They have devoured my garden, eating everything from kale to radish greens to zucchini leaves to watermelon vines. When I planted new seeds, they came right behind me and dug them up. I put up some chicken netting to keep them from shitting all over the patio furniture. Yeah, they use it as a hammock.

RIP radishes. You were doing so well.

Hell yeah, a swing! 

Just throwing a little party where we shit all over the patio and rage all over this plant.

They are definitely college-aged at this point and it's only been 10 weeks! If Clove wasn't with other chickens, she'd be failing at life entirely. Lemondrop is on the Dean's List and Ginger is maintaining a passing GPA. Cinnamon is in community college and will probably end up being a plumber. Clove is gas station material. These girls are bad. They are rotten. They are ornery. They are trouble. They are my favorite things in life right now.

I have favorites. She is it in the chicken department.

Californians: Santa Cruz Island

Life got a little wacky this past week. Mack worked more than 100 hours in 8 days and in two cities, and our sailing trip to Catalina got cancelled. Since I was off work for said sailing trip, I decided to join him for his final leg of working in Ventura. And take a ferry to Santa Cruz Island.

Santa Cruz is one of the Channel Islands, which have National Park designation. How could it not be absolutely incredible? I read about sailing to the Channel Islands during the post-move runaway to Ventura (long story) when I spotted them off the coast and got an urge to go there. The article made a point to say it's not a place for Anchoring 101, but since Mack and I have dropped the anchor exactly one time for less than an hour, we are clearly Anchoring 102 now. We are ready to sail to the Channel Islands, where fog, weird currents, and gale gusts are the norm.

I decided to call my day trip to California paradise "research" because it made me feel like less of an asshole to be out having an awesome time while work tried to kill Mack.

I caught the ferry and off we went into the marine layer. The swells were there trying to beckon my seasickness, but I resisted the temptation to drug myself. Instead I laid my head down on the table in the galley area and thought about kittens and M&Ms for an hour.

When we landed at the dock, we climbed up a little metal ladder and time warped thru Scorpion Anchorage.

Santa Cruz used to be an entire island ranch dedicated to sheep rearing and shearing. Now it's a land of hikes along bluffs and coastal caves and giant bluejays and tiny foxes. I juuuusst made it to the campground when I got my first peek at a tiny fox. I slowed down, acted invisible, and quickly discovered they couldn't care less about people. They acted like cats and looked like little dogs.

I only had a few hours to explore so I chose to do two hikes, one to Cavern Point and from there to Potato Harbor. Cavern Point boasted "extraordinary bluff views" and Potato Harbor was a doable distance given my time frame. Off I went.

The landscape, except for a wind sock on a hill, was essentially untouched. I walked through yellow-flowered shrubs, pink succulents, dry grasses, clusters of little mini forests that looked like a place Smurfs would live, dandelions on steroids, wild white morning glory, tall stick hallways. The plant life came in boluses and was different all along my hike. I had no idea what I was looking at, but it was amazing.

California's coast is widely known for its breathtaking views. The trips I have taken up Hwy 1 always take twice as long because you HAVE to pull over at every turn to pause to soak up the beauty you are seeing. That being said, the views on Santa Cruz Island required you to sit down and stare, filling your brain with wows and oh my gods and what an incredible world we live on. Just look.

I assume that Cavern Point is so named because it has little caves all along it, caves that kayakers go exploring. The water around the coast looks remarkably calm and serene, but that was probably just the luck of the day. I overheard some kayakers say exploring was the easy part but paddling back to their take-out point sucked because they had to go against the current. Nothing about it sucked from a hiker's perspective!

One of the my favorite sights was the kelp forest. Normally I think of kelp and think of smelly bulbs and waxy leaves drawing flies all over the beach, but this kelp at Santa Cruz looked like a swirl of paint, beautiful the same way the rainbow from an oil slick is. It was mesmerizing, from its movement to its colors -- so much so I'd say it was therapeutic.

As I made my way from Cavern Point to Potato Harbor, I was forced to take in more brain exploding beautiful vistas. Nevertheless, I forged onward.

From high on the bluff you could see the draw for kayakers. There are dozens of little nooks that would be so fun to explore. Like this one, seen up there from afar.

Watching the ocean was like watching a living canvas. The kelp swayed like a well-worn brush, boats painted white ribbons across the blue green water, and pods of dolphins speckled the surface with a texture all their own. Nature is magical.

By far my favorite part of the day was the hike into Potato Harbor. I walked along a service road, mostly in solitude and swelling with gratitude. It smelled like hay and salty air. I watched birds overhead and lizards run across the path. This was very important research I was doing.

As I rounded back to the ocean, I saw Potato Harbor. A guy was laying out on a ridge with the best view, so I got all up in his relaxing space to get a taste of the sights. I'm sure I said something incredibly clever like, "Wow, isn't this beautiful?" and he responded with, "Yeah, it seems like it deserves a better name than Potato Harbor."

I'm not sure if boats are allowed to anchor in Potato Harbor. I saw a couple down in there, maybe fishing or being support for kayakers, but a lot of the coast of Santa Cruz is protected and you can't anchor. If it's allowed, we are going there.

After my hike, I headed back to the campground and ate lunch under a giant fig tree. Because the day hadn't been incredible enough, two little fox pups came out to say hi. I died.

I decided to spend the last hour on the island with my feet in the sand and taking a nap under the shade of a cliff on the beach. It was so relaxing I had to set my alarm on my phone so I wouldn't sleep thru my ferry home. 

As we left the island I finally encountered a sailboat. Actually two sailboats. One was anchored just on the other side of the rocks from Scorpion Anchorage and another was sailing toward the same spot. I also got a glimpse of Anacapa Island, which, after this Santa Cruz experience, is on the GO SEE IT DAMMIT list. Research pays off.

Here's to you California. You are heaven on earth. Heaven that makes its own beer.