City Rabbits, Not Just for Kids

(Part one of a three part piece on urban farm animals

Originally published in the Juneau Empire, Neighbors section, April 2011)

When I was three, we had a rabbit. At the hutch in our Anchorage home’s side yard, I would peer at our amazingly soft bunny. Your hands never forget the feel of rabbit fur. That winter, though, poor Thumper died. My parents were concerned for me and planned “The Death Speech,” including phrases like “part of life” and “nature’s cycles.” They prepared for the tears, the questioning of fairness in the universe. But instead I asked, “Well, can’t we eat him now?”

Ah, yes. Ever the practical pet owner. I love my pets, especially my dear geriatric Blue Healer, Katie. The sorrow I’ll feel when she passes will be deep and heart-felt. But she’s lived a life without doggy spas, fancy jackets, or homemade food. And since our move to a yardless downtown Juneau home, she’s had a more urban lifestyle than a dog of Dingo descent should have.

So pet talk in our practical family has veered away from cats (can’t afford the Benadryl) a new dog (I refuse to run) and rodents (been there, done that, they’re still in the freezer, eek!). But the feeling persists that we need a pet. A family without animals just isn’t complete, though the traditional selections are no longer quite right either.

And this discussion is occurring across the nation. For some people “pet” now includes a live animal worn like a broach. But my biggest fashion decision is which boots to wear (ankle or knee, brown or black, and really, they ought to coordinate with the weather!), so I can’t quite see a matching tea cup dog. For other folks, though, “pet” now includes those fed and cared for so that they will feed and care for you back.  The traditional term? Farm animals. Ahhh, now with these folks my practical soul finds a kindred movement.

Here in Juneau, the urban farm movement is building momentum. People from the Federal Flats to North Douglas have chickens on the brain and want rabbit poop on the garden. Others are considering miniature goats and cows for milk and sheep for fiber. Over the next three weeks, I’ll look at these new urban neighbors and what folks need to know about them. I’ll start here with the cuddliest and most common, the rabbit. Next week I’ll talk about backyard poultry flocks, then spend the final week looking at animals that require a bigger commitment (and yard): cows, goats, sheep, and maybe even pigs. My focus is on the neighborhood home, with an assumption that space, zoning, and neighbors are bigger considerations than farm subsidies and return on investment.

Now, to finish my story, we didn’t eat Thumper. In fact I’ve never eaten rabbit, though they’re considered excellent by many. In the US, it’s rare that a city family would raise food rabbits – we tend not to eat our pets. But rabbits offer something to the Urban Homestead that no other pet can: instant fertilizer. In addition to this, someone practicing Extreme Urban Homesteading could get a few Angora rabbits, collect the fur and either spin and knit with it, or sell the fur to someone else with those skills. So, if you’re interested in fertilizer or fur, and might like a quiet, clean, and cuddly home companion, here’s how you can get started.

Step one: Never buy a bunny for Easter! Take the time to be sure a rabbit (or two – they’re happier and healthier with friends) is right for your family. Just like cats and dogs, different breeds of rabbit have different characteristics and personalities, and these should match with yours. In general, though, rabbits are shy of predators and, face it, we’re predators. You’ll need to be patient and restrained to change their minds on this. Rabbits prefer to be handled and picked up on their own terms, not grabbed unexpectedly (introduce rabbits to kids very carefully). Finally, rabbits are animals of very small brain. They don’t respond well to negative behavioral conditioning. With rabbits it truly is the carrot, and not the stick, that will get results.

Step two: consider your lifestyle. Rabbits need consistency in their daily feeding and interactions with people. Simple grooming is needed weekly to remove extra hair (and reduce hair balls), but this can mostly be done by petting and handling your rabbit – a lovely pastime. Their nails need to be trimmed monthly. It’s possible to house-train rabbits, making cleaning easier, but litter boxes and the hutch will need to be cleaned at least weekly. Importantly, if you travel, someone else must continue this care every day.

Step three: research breeds. You can find helpful info on the internet, and in books, but if you’re interested in poultry or rabbits in Juneau, all roads lead to Swampy Acres. Or rather,

Glacier Highway

leads there. I’ll write more about this local resource in the article on poultry, but if it’s rabbits you want, ask for Laura. Granddaughter of JoAnn Sidney, owner of Swampy Acres, Laura is a local rabbit expert. An active member of 4-H, Laura raises four breeds of rabbit, each with different characteristics. The 10-13 pound Satins are recommended for meat and/or garden fertilizing (as Laura says, “Rabbit poop is amazing!”), while the 2-4 pound Polish and Mini Rex make good pets (still with amazing poop, just not as much). The 3-4 pound Hollands are good for showing or keeping as pets (and poop!). Laura can tell you all about their personalities and quirks, and will even show you her newest batch of babies. Don’t bring your children, though, or they’ll abandon you for Laura and her bunnies!

Step four: complete all preparations to keep your new bunnies happy and healthy in your home:

1. Buy a hutch. Outdoor hutches used to be the standard, but it’s now more common to house a rabbit indoors. An indoor hutch is a simpler affair than the old outdoor ones: a wire cage with a removable droppings pan. It should be large enough that the rabbit can stretch out, hop a bit, and sit up without its ears touching the top. A cage that’s six times the rabbit’s length is good. It should be located in a quiet, warm, draft free location away from direct sunlight, doors, or heat sources.
2. Rabbit-proof your home. Raise all electrical cords or protect them in PVC tubing or spiral cable wrap. Remove or raise as many tempting wood items out of rabbit reach. Wrap wooden legs in plastic or limit the rabbit’s access to those areas with gates. Raise all houseplants off the floor. Keep chewable items off the floor and offer acceptable chewing alternatives.
3. Other needs include: food bowls, a water bottle, grooming tools, hay, litter boxes, bedding, chew sticks, toys, and a travel carrier.

Step five: bring your rabbits home and slowly introduce them to their new environment. If they’re not house trained, start the process, to make “fertilizer” collection easier (and the house cleaner!). Rabbit poop is considered a “cold” manure, requiring no “hot” composting process to kill pathogens. Because of this, some gardeners apply it directly to the garden as needed. Others recommend it as a soil amendment, tilling it into the soil at the beginning and end of the growing season to build up soil nutrients. Those who are generally uncomfortable adding any poop to a garden recommend composting it, just to be sure.

But I figure, what a bonus! To have a house rabbit or two, adding that great pet energy (and responsibility) to my kids’ lives, while building up my woefully depleted urban soil at the same time? Not a bad idea – but I wonder if there’s a tea cup variety that will match my X-tra Tufs.

Resources:

UAF Cooperative Extension, Juneau office, 796-6221, www.uaf.edu/ces/

Swampy Acres, 789-7253,

10400 Glacier Hwy

Wee Fishie Shoppe, 789-0728,

8757 Glacier Hwy

Sarah Lewis is a local Architect and member of the Juneau Commission on Sustainability. She hates to think of losing her Blue Healer, but plans to buy a few rabbits once the “family pet” position is sadly available.

A Haiku Homestead Almanac

[Originally published in the Juneau Empire, L'Attitude, March 2011]

Poets fill me with wonder. How does a person, a simple human, take pieces of mundane life and experience, or everyday views from a window, and re-order them into the sublime, the witty, or the soul-wrenching truth? Poetry is not for the lazy, I tell you.

I’m reminded of this by every edition of L’attitude, when I discover that my neighbors, childhood friends, and acquaintances are actually poets. In fact I’ve started to get a bit self-conscious about my prosaic contribution to this little local gem. Bread, toothpaste and plastic bags – what are these when compared to heartbeats, celestial voices, and birdsong? Pretty meager, really.

But must they always be? One person’s loaf of bread may be another person’s masterpiece, right? Dorothy Parker took the politics of relationships and turned them into cutting wit (Men seldom make passes / At girls who wear glasses.). Elizabeth Barrett Browning turned politics and social injustice into bouquets of words (Forgive me. Some women bear children in strength, / And bite back the cry of their pain in self-scorn; / But the birth-pangs of nations will wring us at length / Into wail such as this — and we sit on forlorn / When the man-child is born.) And from her secluded room, Emily Dickenson made clear, sharp observations of the world (“Faith” is a fine invention / For Gentlemen who see! / But Microscopes are prudent / In an Emergency!).

So what’s a girl to do who loves lists, schedules, and plans, but also wants more poetry in her life? Well, maybe one person’s calendar can be another person’s form of self-expression. Being relatively new to gardening, hunting, and stay-at-homesteading in general, I’ve labored to put together my own “almanac,” to remember what I need to do each month. I’ve been diving into books and gathering internet resources to sort it all out. But maybe I should step back a moment, and look at it anew. Instead of trying to capture hours, I can try to capture how those hours feel. Oh, I don’t know how to explain it… I’m not a poet for goodness’ sake! But here’s my

Main Street

(Haiku) Homestead Almanac, for your reading pleasure (or at least for your reading).

January

Plan and repurpose.

Hands make warm afghan, with love,

Then open a book

February

Vegetable seeds,

Listed with hope of spring warmth.

The pantry echoes.

March

Tomato seeds wake.

Wood and glass shelter covey

Of quail, dream of eggs.

April

Cole, leaf, squash, onion

Unfold, prepare for life outside,

But lose friends to salad

May

Mother’s day scolds frost.

Dark soil made ready for new life,

Coil of worm bodes well.

June

Crab in dungeon deep,

Shrimp below flashing sockeye.

Wind in sails brings lunch.

July

Family, friends, summer camps,

Bonfire on rocks, driftwood blaze.

Winter is so far away.

August

Gun and pack ready.

Berries fall, deer leap and run,

But mushrooms sit still.

September

Chill air, like homebrew

Tastes bittersweet with last fruit.

Bulbs promise the spring

October

Clean spade winks at soil

Reclining under blankets.

Stacked wood laughs at cold.

November

Wood pops and glows red,

Like the yarn of winter gifts

And cranberry bite.

December

Spin down like snowflakes

On snow angels, celebrate

A good year’s ending.

Sarah Lewis is a local architect and student of sustainability, who hopes the serious and talented poets of Juneau will eventually forgive her. But she really enjoyed her attempts at haiku!

My Main Street Homestead

(Originally written for the Juneau Empire on 4/21/10)

I want to be a farmer. An up with the sun, collect the eggs, milk the cows, harvest the crops, mend the fences farmer. As a Juneau girl, raised and now living on a downtown lot that’s way more house than land – in a climate where fungi and Douglas Fir are more natural crop choices – I don’t know how it happened. But here I am, pitchfork in hand with no hay to pitch.

But they say you’ve got to bloom where you’re planted, and I suppose there’s some truth in that, despite the two-leg, opposable thumb thing humans have going. And I do love where I’ve planted myself in downtown Juneau, it’s just really hard for a budding farmer to bloom on

Main Street

. It takes a lot more brain than leg work, and I’m forever thumbing through books to find solutions to my conundrum. Slowly, but surely, I’m finding them.

For example, I’ve found a peck of other wanna-be-farmers. Google “urban homesteading” and there are blogs, books, and “institutes” dedicated to folks planted in cities, but tilling the soil around them. And, as through history, there are many reasons people want to homestead: independence, simplicity, environmentalism, conservatism, religion. “Opting out” and “taking part” are both typical. My mom says that everyone builds castles in the sky, but only the crazy move in… maybe it’s different if it’s a farmhouse?

My own motivation is a need to become home-focused and deliberate with my days. My great grandmother Mabel Pierce Reed was a Goldrush pioneer. Today she’d be the first to exclaim the virtues of a modern dishwasher, but appalled that I can’t bake my own bread and cover it with homemade blueberry jam. That, instead, I buy bread that’s so pumped up it won’t mold, and I’m unsure where to pick berries.

So, inspired partly by memories of Grandma Reed, I quit my day job. It was a great job and I liked it, but it left me little time to farm with my kids, bake bread, or pick berries. So this summer I’m on my way to becoming a stay-at-homesteader.

And in my preparations I’ve learned that, no matter what brings a person to start urban homesteading, if you have shelter there are two main things that consume you: money and food; how to get them, how to use them well, and how to preserve them for the future.

For money there are some pretty well agreed upon steps to take, all of which have their own library of how-to books, but to get started:

• Eliminate credit card debt. It’s evil. We’re all suckers for it. Never stop trying to get rid of it.
• Carry cash. It’s harder to hand over than a piece of plastic.
• Make “egg and butter” money. Find activities that bring in a little cash. Possibly real eggs and butter, but more likely making scarves or selling books online. Or maybe start writing for the paper.
• Find a cash cow. A working spouse with a job is the best, especially with health insurance. Alternatively, rent out a room or apartment in your house or offer to manage a friend’s apartment as a vacation rental. Come up with a million dollar idea and sell it online. You’re smart, you’ll find something.
• Conserve. All resources, from diesel and hydropower to cotton and wheat, cost money. Only buy what you need, and do the conservation measures you hear about everywhere. They help.
• Save your money. Investments, savings accounts, the mattress... whatever you’re comfortable with. Emergencies are worse when you’re broke.
• Make an alternative commerce system. Freecycle, JuneauParents.com, Craig’s List, Alaska Dames & Gents, Mommy and Me, garage sales… these should be stores in your mall.
• Reduce, reuse, recycle, really.

Food is a bit more complex. There’s an amount of belief required: that kitchen scraps will turn into soil, that seeds will germinate, that you can keep other species alive. Just take it at a comfortable pace. Once again, there are many resources available, start with the Cooperative Extension Service at the University.

• Compost. Start a pile or repurpose a garbage can. Alternate “green” (vegetable-based scraps from kitchen and garden) and “brown” layers (dried leaves or grass, wood chips, sawdust, newspaper) to keep things from getting stinky. Add water if dry, drainage if soggy. Never add meats or strong smelling foods (onions, for example) that might attract bears. Add worms if you want, and presto!
• Farm. I started with 40 square feet of soil in pots. The next year I added my 50 square feet of land that gets sun. I grow salad greens, chard, kale, peas and zucchini… and even put some by for the winter. And I am not a green thumb by any stretch. Next year: chickens.
• Study home economics. For $10 I can make six loaves of bread. That would be about $24at A&P. That’s worth it for me. Balance time and money.
• Harvest from nature. This is where urban homesteading in Juneau gets really good. Blueberries and salmonberries, nettles and twisted stalk, sockeye and deer. And don’t rule out seaweed. I did, for almost 40 years, and was embarrassed to discover it’s darn good.

And finally, in the dark winter months, read. By the light of your farm house oil lamp, of course.

The Integral Urban House, 1979, The Farallones Institute

The Edible City Resource Manual, 1981, Britz

Square Foot Gardening, 1981, Bartholemew

Permaculture, 1990, Mollison

The Urban Homestead, 2008, Coyne and Knudsen

Toolbox for Sustainable City Living, 2008, Kellogg and Pettigrew

Food Security for the Faint of Heart, 2008, Wheeler

Back to Basics, 2008, Gehring

Homesteading, 2009, Gehring

And, of course, Mother Earth News.