Muncie might not be a major automaker anymore, but we've established a toehold in another key manufacturing domain.
Chicken coops.
Brook Linton, who runs Solid State LLC out of a cavernous 90-year-old warehouse on the city's near south side, recently explained what got him into it.
"Nobody around here was doing it," he said. "Nobody was making chicken coops. A lot of people are getting into chickens again."
Tall and lanky, Linton was bundled against the cold air flowing through his drafty building at 800 S. Liberty St. last week. As he talked, everywhere you looked in its western end were stacks of old doors, tumbled sinks and bath tubs, framed windows reclaimed from walls and felled porch posts waiting to rise again.
All this, he noted, was salvaged from old houses razed over the past couple years.
Can't find an eight-foot door? This is your place.
"All the components of the house, we resell them," Linton said. "A lot of people who can't find anything in the box stores come here."
It was at the far eastern end of the warehouse, though, where employee John Halsey was hard at work, building a new chicken coop from recycled wood.
"We have a pretty set pattern," Linton noted, of his coops' design.
The young businessman launched this part of his enterprise about eight months ago. Halsey was working on the seventh coop, and four have been sold. A couple of the others sat outside the warehouse, looking like big doll houses, their weathered blue and yellow paint schemes determined by the color of the reclaimed wood that went into their manufacture.
"We really don't paint them," Linton said. "Whatever reclaimed color the wood is, that's on the walls."
So, what will a chicken coop cost you?
If you'd like the large coop, one that as many as 25 chickens would be proud to call home, it will be about $1,000.
On the other hand, if you are more of a 10-chicken man (or woman), that will run you only about $550.
The smaller coop, by the way, was specially designed with ease of hauling in mind, Linton said, it being small enough to fit in the bed of a compact S-10 Chevy pickup truck.
Of course, if your chicken ambitions far exceed 10 or even 25 fowl, don't despair.
"We can make bigger coops," Linton said. "It's custom sized."
By the way, each coop contains a roost inside.
"That's because chickens like to sleep up off the ground," Linton explained, just that quickly doubling the scope of this reporter's chicken knowledge.
Who are the folks buying his chicken coops? It's probably too early to have accurately identified a market demographic yet, but he said one customer was a new retiree.
"He just wanted something to do," he said.
More power to folks like that, he continued, and their dreams of raising chickens.
"We're hoping that it catches on," Linton said.
2011年12月20日星期二
2011年11月24日星期四
Forever family
The Nipomo home echoes with the pattering of eight small bare feet on hardwood floor, darting down the hallway into bedrooms, racing to slide open the patio door that leads to a backyard found in children’s dreams.
Thinking only of the idle trampoline, playground and chicken coop, some of the four young siblings are so overcome with excitement after a full day of school that they rush outside without stopping to put on shoes.
Jacque Barnett jokes with her daughters, Kate, 6, left, and Emily Rose, 5, at their home in Nipomo.
The Nipomo home echoes with the pattering of eight small bare feet on hardwood floor, darting down the hallway into bedrooms, racing to slide open the patio door that leads to a backyard found in children’s dreams.
Thinking only of the idle trampoline, playground and chicken coop, some of the four young siblings are so overcome with excitement after a full day of school that they rush outside without stopping to put on shoes.
By the patient tone in Jacque Barnett’s voice as she kindly yet firmly reminds her children of the rule, it’s apparent this isn’t the first time they’ve been forgetful.
Katie, 6, and a bouncing Emily, 5, step into matching pink clogs and join their brothers John Riley, 10, and Nicholas, 8, on the slide and swings.
Jacque stood smiling, monitoring the activity on an early evening last week with husband, James, marveling at their “forever family” — a term often used to describe a family that takes in and then adopts foster children.
The Barnetts are proud of their family, and they are proud to raise awareness for adopting foster children during National Adoption Month and for National Adoption Day, which was last Saturday.
The National Adoption Day Coalition expected 4,500 children in foster care to be adopted Nov. 19, which for 11 years has been designated as a day to finalize adoptions for foster children to families across the country.
“I think it’s great because there’s lots of kids who don’t have a forever family,” said Jacque,
who stays at home with her kids and helps out in their classrooms at Dorothea Lange Elementary School. “We’re really blessed.”
Jacque, 41, and James, 40, met while studying at Cal Poly.
She was from the San Joaquin Valley, he hailed from the Bay Area, and they settled on the Central Coast as a couple in their early 20s, ready to start a family.
After seven years of trying to get pregnant — discovering they both had fertility problems — and giving up on expensive fertility treatments, the Barnetts, then living in Grover Beach, turned to private adoption.
A brown-haired John Riley came first from a mother in Hayward, and Nicholas arrived two years later from Georgia.
Unofficially, the Barnetts said, they’ve been foster parents since John Riley arrived as an infant and they waited for the adoption paperwork to become finalized.
The Barnetts officially became certified for foster care around the time Katie arrived at 3 months old, taken from a mother in Santa Maria who had drug-abuse problems.
“We went into foster care because we wanted to adopt more kids,” said James, who teaches at Miller Elementary School in Santa Maria. “We knew we wanted girls.”
It took 18 months to finalize Katie’s adoption, the longest of the four. Nicholas’ adoption was the quickest at 8 months.
They welcomed Emily at 3 days old from Santa Maria for reasons similar to Katie’s placement in foster care — except Emily’s mother still was using drugs while she was pregnant.
The Barnetts were able to adopt the now rambunctious, smiley girl with a blonde-bob haircut, acknowledging that Emily would and does have some special needs and might have Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) like her brother, John Riley.
Both girls were adopted through Aspiranet, a nonprofit charity that has for 35 years worked to ensure that California children are placed in permanent, loving homes — touching the lives of more than 10,000 children.
Adoption is not a truth the Barnetts hide from their children, especially since they don’t look like the typical family, although they clearly function like one.
“Of course we stand out,” Jacque said, noting Nicholas’ black skin and her and James’ fair skin and light hair. “But people on the Central Coast are very kind, very accepting.”
The kids have seen their baby pictures, birth certificates, even their adoption papers.
On a day last week, the family flipped through photo albums together until the youngsters could sit still no longer.
They understand that their family is a bit different, but they love each other as siblings do.
“Adoption is a great thing ... for kids who don’t have homes,” Nicholas said, as he and John Riley looked up from a Lego magazine long enough to good-naturedly hassle each other.
“Sometimes we tickle each other,” John Riley added.
After 17 years of marriage, James and Jacque have moved their family into a bigger house and property in Nipomo, and they are out of the foster-parent business.
They know they’re lucky they were able to adopt foster children because that’s not always the case.
“They call adoption a ‘back-pocket plan’,” Jacque said, adding that foster parents should have their hearts in the right place going into the process.
This is the first year all four kids are in school, which means the Barnett family only will get busier from here on out with sports, clubs and homework.
School is a challenge the couple readily accepts, just as James and Jacque set their mind on parenting more than a decade ago.
“In the end,” James said, “it’s worth it.”
Thinking only of the idle trampoline, playground and chicken coop, some of the four young siblings are so overcome with excitement after a full day of school that they rush outside without stopping to put on shoes.
Jacque Barnett jokes with her daughters, Kate, 6, left, and Emily Rose, 5, at their home in Nipomo.
The Nipomo home echoes with the pattering of eight small bare feet on hardwood floor, darting down the hallway into bedrooms, racing to slide open the patio door that leads to a backyard found in children’s dreams.
Thinking only of the idle trampoline, playground and chicken coop, some of the four young siblings are so overcome with excitement after a full day of school that they rush outside without stopping to put on shoes.
By the patient tone in Jacque Barnett’s voice as she kindly yet firmly reminds her children of the rule, it’s apparent this isn’t the first time they’ve been forgetful.
Katie, 6, and a bouncing Emily, 5, step into matching pink clogs and join their brothers John Riley, 10, and Nicholas, 8, on the slide and swings.
Jacque stood smiling, monitoring the activity on an early evening last week with husband, James, marveling at their “forever family” — a term often used to describe a family that takes in and then adopts foster children.
The Barnetts are proud of their family, and they are proud to raise awareness for adopting foster children during National Adoption Month and for National Adoption Day, which was last Saturday.
The National Adoption Day Coalition expected 4,500 children in foster care to be adopted Nov. 19, which for 11 years has been designated as a day to finalize adoptions for foster children to families across the country.
“I think it’s great because there’s lots of kids who don’t have a forever family,” said Jacque,
who stays at home with her kids and helps out in their classrooms at Dorothea Lange Elementary School. “We’re really blessed.”
Jacque, 41, and James, 40, met while studying at Cal Poly.
She was from the San Joaquin Valley, he hailed from the Bay Area, and they settled on the Central Coast as a couple in their early 20s, ready to start a family.
After seven years of trying to get pregnant — discovering they both had fertility problems — and giving up on expensive fertility treatments, the Barnetts, then living in Grover Beach, turned to private adoption.
A brown-haired John Riley came first from a mother in Hayward, and Nicholas arrived two years later from Georgia.
Unofficially, the Barnetts said, they’ve been foster parents since John Riley arrived as an infant and they waited for the adoption paperwork to become finalized.
The Barnetts officially became certified for foster care around the time Katie arrived at 3 months old, taken from a mother in Santa Maria who had drug-abuse problems.
“We went into foster care because we wanted to adopt more kids,” said James, who teaches at Miller Elementary School in Santa Maria. “We knew we wanted girls.”
It took 18 months to finalize Katie’s adoption, the longest of the four. Nicholas’ adoption was the quickest at 8 months.
They welcomed Emily at 3 days old from Santa Maria for reasons similar to Katie’s placement in foster care — except Emily’s mother still was using drugs while she was pregnant.
The Barnetts were able to adopt the now rambunctious, smiley girl with a blonde-bob haircut, acknowledging that Emily would and does have some special needs and might have Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) like her brother, John Riley.
Both girls were adopted through Aspiranet, a nonprofit charity that has for 35 years worked to ensure that California children are placed in permanent, loving homes — touching the lives of more than 10,000 children.
Adoption is not a truth the Barnetts hide from their children, especially since they don’t look like the typical family, although they clearly function like one.
“Of course we stand out,” Jacque said, noting Nicholas’ black skin and her and James’ fair skin and light hair. “But people on the Central Coast are very kind, very accepting.”
The kids have seen their baby pictures, birth certificates, even their adoption papers.
On a day last week, the family flipped through photo albums together until the youngsters could sit still no longer.
They understand that their family is a bit different, but they love each other as siblings do.
“Adoption is a great thing ... for kids who don’t have homes,” Nicholas said, as he and John Riley looked up from a Lego magazine long enough to good-naturedly hassle each other.
“Sometimes we tickle each other,” John Riley added.
After 17 years of marriage, James and Jacque have moved their family into a bigger house and property in Nipomo, and they are out of the foster-parent business.
They know they’re lucky they were able to adopt foster children because that’s not always the case.
“They call adoption a ‘back-pocket plan’,” Jacque said, adding that foster parents should have their hearts in the right place going into the process.
This is the first year all four kids are in school, which means the Barnett family only will get busier from here on out with sports, clubs and homework.
School is a challenge the couple readily accepts, just as James and Jacque set their mind on parenting more than a decade ago.
“In the end,” James said, “it’s worth it.”
2011年10月20日星期四
San Juan Man Sentenced for Gun, Drug Possession
A San Juan man will serve two 70-month sentences in federal prison, followed by four years of supervised release.
In March, a DEA agent learned marijuana was about to be moved from one stash house near San Juan to another. Authorities found the home, which was near the Santa Ana Wildlife Refuge and just about a quarter-mile from the river.
Israel Avila lived at the home, which his mother owned. The 50-year-old man gave DEA agents consent to search the property. He told them they would find bundles of marijuana in a chicken coop and other buildings.
Agents also found a .38 caliber revolver and .22 rifle at the home. Avila, a convicted felon, admitted he had the weapons, even though he knew he was not allowed to own firearms.
A jury convicted him in May. He’s been in custody since his March arrest. He’ll remain in custody until he’s transferred to a Bureau of Prisons facility.
In March, a DEA agent learned marijuana was about to be moved from one stash house near San Juan to another. Authorities found the home, which was near the Santa Ana Wildlife Refuge and just about a quarter-mile from the river.
Israel Avila lived at the home, which his mother owned. The 50-year-old man gave DEA agents consent to search the property. He told them they would find bundles of marijuana in a chicken coop and other buildings.
Agents also found a .38 caliber revolver and .22 rifle at the home. Avila, a convicted felon, admitted he had the weapons, even though he knew he was not allowed to own firearms.
A jury convicted him in May. He’s been in custody since his March arrest. He’ll remain in custody until he’s transferred to a Bureau of Prisons facility.
2011年3月14日星期一
City slickers play Old MacDonald
In the name of urban farming, there were a lot of ways BJ Hedahl could have transformed her
spacious, fenced backyard in Seattle's Wedgwood neighborhood: putting in an organic garden, a
beehive or a chicken coop maybe.
But no. Hedahl wanted ducks. Or rather duck eggs: richer, denser, with yolks bigger than your
chicken variety, she said.
Here on a recent afternoon were her four ducks, hopping out of the kiddie wading pool that's
plopped in the middle of her yard, each webfoot capable of producing about 300 eggs every
year.
As one after another waddled by, I couldn't help but do the math. That's a lot of quiche.
But these ducks aren't a lot of work, she said. "They're lower maintenance than chickens and
I think (the eggs) taste better." Hedahl now runs workshops showing Seattleites how to raise
ducks in their yards.
These days, around Seattle you can find just about every conceivable workshop related to
urban farming. The slow-food, eat-local movement has spurred hordes of city slickers to adopt
some small measure of homestead mentality into their daily life.
Workshops are packed.
The nonprofit Seattle Tilth, which offers the widest range of city farming know-how workshops
in Western Washington, reports record attendance in recent years. Chicken-raising courses
have wait lists. Sessions on beekeeping for honey fill quickly. The group's annual summer
self-guided tour of chicken coops around Seattle has expanded to include homes with bees,
ducks and goats, and now extends to the Eastside.
The widespread interest has led Seattle Tilth to diversify its class offerings to include
raising ducks and goats.
Raising urban dairy goats, which was previously rare (and before 2007 illegal) in Seattle,
has become trendy here and in other parts of the country.
Three years ago, Jennie Grant, who teaches the dairy-goat workshop at Tilth's Wallingford,
Wash., headquarters, convinced Seattle's city government to allow homeowners to raise
miniature (100 pounds or lighter), dehorned goats.
Urban farmers consider goats to be "the city cow," a smaller milk producer that needs no more
yard space than a typical dog.
Grant's class has gotten more popular with Seattleites who are curious about getting fresh
milk to make cheese and yogurt. She tells potential goat owners to buy a breed that's quiet.
Erect a 5-foot fence, build a shed and be prepared to milk day and night.
Grant lives in Seattle's Madrona neighborhood, with a backyard featuring seven chickens, two
goats and a view of Lake Washington. With the eggs and the goat milk, that's pretty much all
you need for a souffle, she said.
She took me out back to the pen and chicken coop. It felt like visiting a house on rural
Vashon Island.
Her La Mancha goat, Snowflake, greeted me with a couple of jumps. Her Oberhasli goat, Maple,
nibbled on my coat zipper and notebook.
She pulled Maple into the pen, gave her a pale of oatmeal treats and milked her, in the same
manner as you would a cow.
The trick is to finish milking before the goat finishes snacking, said Grant, or she might
not remain still.
Her goats each can produce around a gallon a day. Grant has it on her oatmeal, her husband
pours it over cold cereal and her 10-year-old son drinks it straight. The surplus is given to
neighbors or made into chevre and mozzarella. It makes for a mean goat-cheese pizza with sun
-dried tomatoes and caramelized onions, she said.
spacious, fenced backyard in Seattle's Wedgwood neighborhood: putting in an organic garden, a
beehive or a chicken coop maybe.
But no. Hedahl wanted ducks. Or rather duck eggs: richer, denser, with yolks bigger than your
chicken variety, she said.
Here on a recent afternoon were her four ducks, hopping out of the kiddie wading pool that's
plopped in the middle of her yard, each webfoot capable of producing about 300 eggs every
year.
As one after another waddled by, I couldn't help but do the math. That's a lot of quiche.
But these ducks aren't a lot of work, she said. "They're lower maintenance than chickens and
I think (the eggs) taste better." Hedahl now runs workshops showing Seattleites how to raise
ducks in their yards.
These days, around Seattle you can find just about every conceivable workshop related to
urban farming. The slow-food, eat-local movement has spurred hordes of city slickers to adopt
some small measure of homestead mentality into their daily life.
Workshops are packed.
The nonprofit Seattle Tilth, which offers the widest range of city farming know-how workshops
in Western Washington, reports record attendance in recent years. Chicken-raising courses
have wait lists. Sessions on beekeeping for honey fill quickly. The group's annual summer
self-guided tour of chicken coops around Seattle has expanded to include homes with bees,
ducks and goats, and now extends to the Eastside.
The widespread interest has led Seattle Tilth to diversify its class offerings to include
raising ducks and goats.
Raising urban dairy goats, which was previously rare (and before 2007 illegal) in Seattle,
has become trendy here and in other parts of the country.
Three years ago, Jennie Grant, who teaches the dairy-goat workshop at Tilth's Wallingford,
Wash., headquarters, convinced Seattle's city government to allow homeowners to raise
miniature (100 pounds or lighter), dehorned goats.
Urban farmers consider goats to be "the city cow," a smaller milk producer that needs no more
yard space than a typical dog.
Grant's class has gotten more popular with Seattleites who are curious about getting fresh
milk to make cheese and yogurt. She tells potential goat owners to buy a breed that's quiet.
Erect a 5-foot fence, build a shed and be prepared to milk day and night.
Grant lives in Seattle's Madrona neighborhood, with a backyard featuring seven chickens, two
goats and a view of Lake Washington. With the eggs and the goat milk, that's pretty much all
you need for a souffle, she said.
She took me out back to the pen and chicken coop. It felt like visiting a house on rural
Vashon Island.
Her La Mancha goat, Snowflake, greeted me with a couple of jumps. Her Oberhasli goat, Maple,
nibbled on my coat zipper and notebook.
She pulled Maple into the pen, gave her a pale of oatmeal treats and milked her, in the same
manner as you would a cow.
The trick is to finish milking before the goat finishes snacking, said Grant, or she might
not remain still.
Her goats each can produce around a gallon a day. Grant has it on her oatmeal, her husband
pours it over cold cereal and her 10-year-old son drinks it straight. The surplus is given to
neighbors or made into chevre and mozzarella. It makes for a mean goat-cheese pizza with sun
-dried tomatoes and caramelized onions, she said.
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