Urban Community Farm Hootenanny

My oldest granddaughter and I took another adventure to the local urban farm.

They were having a Hootenanny.

 You have not heard a hootenanny?  Well, it is a old country word for “party”.

Today the urban farm had a big street party with square dancing and a meal cooked from their garden. All you had to do was make a donation to help provide raised gardens beds for low income families and the party was free. It was a bargain.

My granddaughter went on a scavenger hunt around the garden. I walked around looking at all the silent action items. Local businesses had donated all kinds of gift cards, garden tools, jewelry and gift baskets. I had my eye on a cast iron skillet, $40 gift card and 3 embroidered hand towels. Musicians were playing,  square dancing was going on in the street; this really was a party. 

In all this feel good hootenanny atmosphere….I was worried.

Last week, if you remember from my earlier post, we had visited the urban garden. We had walked down and checked out the chickens. They had white ones in one coop and different colored ones in another coop. The different colored ones followed us around, being friendly and wanted fed. The white ones just laid around looking at us.

Today, there was grilled chicken on the menu.

Did the white chickens know their fate?

I walked down to check out the chicken coops to see if my suspicions were correct. The coop with the white chickens in it seemed a little less crowded. Like 76 chickens less. 

Squawk!!

I had to take this bit of information in. I am not a vegetarian. I like to eat chicken. This just makes it a little more….say….real.

My grandparents had farms. I know what happens.

Better this way then a raccoon…right?

Let’s talk about Mr Bee Bumbles houses instead.

They had two bee hives. They had a lot of bees in them. They were behind yellow tape. Does that tell you something? I zoomed in and the bees zoomed at me while I took their picture. They were a little camera shy.  I beehived it out of there.

Next, came the neat rows of gardens. I wish I had a garden that looked like these. 

         

         

           I read all about the garden program.                             They had a sample of a raised vegetable garden.

After chasing my granddaughter through the scavenger hunt. Running from bees and looking at all the silent action goodies, I was getting hungry. I could smell great aromas coming from the grill.

It was time to eat.

As my granddaughter and I got in line, I was trying to explain about the chickens. This was worse than a birds and bee talk.

My granddaughter chose the free range hamburger patty.

Me, well I chose the……

         

 …………chicken.                                                     I ate squash too.

 Burp! Enough said.

Now, it was time for the games.

As with any good grandma…..or one that is too tired to argue, we had to play some games. This one cost me a dollar.

It was kinda like cow patty bingo, but this was a chicken drop(ping) game. You buy a ticket for a dollar. If the chicken “drops” in your number square you win a all natural Popsicle. 

All the kids stand by the chicken fence and chanted, “Plop, Plop, Chicken, Chicken, Drop, Drop”

I guess they were listening cause…..

Granddaughter won a popsicle (lucky number 19) and was given another one.

         

                    A pumpkin one.                                               A caramel apple one.

I got a bite of both. She said she was full. I think it was the all natural ingredients.

Thank you for letting me share about our adventure to the urban garden. I was so impressed that these dedicated volunteers want to feed and teach lower income families how to raise vegetables and fruit and also provide these families with a free raised garden bed. All I can say is Dedication!

 Besides teaching about raising your own vegetables, they also teach you about composting and using recycled dishes.

         

They taught me to separate my food scraps (from the foil)  for the compost pile. They also use REAL plates and silverware. But, real recycled dishes means you have to wash them, right?  Any volunteers?

It was time for us to go home : ).

Squawk! Squawk!

Becky

 

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