Before the well-known and respected Wasatch Community Gardens, which offers opportunities for people to learn about urban agriculture, there was Wasatch Fish and Gardens. For many of its founders—Patrick Poulin, Danny Potts, Nick Hershenow —the early-1980s project was inspired by their time in the Peace Corps, in places like Ecuador and Mali. The idea was service, to the community at large, but also and most importantly to Salt Lake’s refugees. Food was the key. There were gardens, just like today, but there was also fish.
Going to work to make money, driving to the grocery store and dealing with a terrible vibe and assault on the senses to buy a jar of salsa—that is a shit-ton of bleh,"says James Loomis, who with his wife Michelle and two kids has an urban homestead on 600 East in Salt Lake City's Liberty Wells neighborhood. "I want to shift the paradigm of how people view self reliance—to get away from [the idea of it] being a ton of work to realizing it is a ton of fun."
For those of you waiting for the news of our second hatching of goslings, we're sorry to say that the goslings never made it.
Fred the gander has taken our two young goslings under his wing. With Ethel on the nest, it seems like he needs some kind of goosey relationship to feel complete. Ever since they were little fist-sized fuzz balls, Fred's been interested in the peepers. He used to hassle Dorothy the mother hen and try to scare her away from them, behavior that looked a little threatening to the goslings--we half thought he might try to cull them from the flock himself.
You've read about them. You've watched them grow up from tiny little bobble-headed peepers into egg-laying, kiddie-pool-swimming, midnight-honking backyard mobsters. You've even watched one of them wage mortal combat with a watering can. Now come meet the Windsor Street flock this Saturday 22nd June as a featured stop on the Wasatch Community Garden's Urban Garden and Farm Tour.
The goslings are growing bigger every day. We haven’t named them yet, though I have suggested calling them “Thanksgiving” and “Christmas.” Dorothy the hen is doing a great job of raising them. She sticks up for the little ones and flies in the face of the dogs or cat or geese when they get too near.
After months of worry and head-scratching and second- and third-guessing, not to mention a full year of eager anticipation, the day finally arrived last week: a pair of baby goslings hatched at our Windsor Street homestead.
Don't hold your breath, but we might have some goslings soon. No. Really. Please don’t let us get you excited. We have no idea what we are doing here. There might not be goslings, but we are pretty sure that there are. Two.
Fred the gander hates intruders in his backyard. He especially hates any stationary interlopers: five-gallon buckets, dog bowls and especially watering cans.
Eggs are piling up on our shelves. Dozens of chicken eggs and duck eggs. More eggs than we can even sell at times. Goose eggs are piling up in the goose nest, but our goose has so far failed to pile herself on top of them for any longer than a couple hours. Hope was beginning to fade on the Windsor Farm that any of our birds would go broody and help us increase our flock size – because it seems like that’s what we need, right?