Archive for July 2020
Insufferable Excess
I know that I’m not a big fan of seeing countless photos of other peoples’ pets/babies/hobbies day after day so I fully understand if you groan and skim the all-too-many shots of cute fluffy chicks that will likely show up for the next few days. After that time, the pictures will reveal feathered baby birds, so at least that will be a noticeable change.
Already, the wing feathers are developing and our feathery-footed Light Brahmas are showing the beginnings of their foot coverings.
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Not unexpectedly, the chick in the most precarious condition upon arrival ended up not surviving the first day, despite the special attention we gave her. By late Saturday afternoon, we found a second chick showing signs of trouble and began steps to nurse her along, including protecting her from abuse others were dishing out as she began to falter.
The best sign we were successful, beyond the fact she was still alive yesterday morning, was when she proved equal to all the others in terms of not playing a victim and confidently pushing others out of her way when she moved about.
It is comical to watch how consistently they do two things at this age:
- Fall asleep in a split second wherever they are, be it at the feeder, in the middle of the action, or all by themselves in the distance.
- Step on each other constantly, particularly when others are down for a nap.
This is probably the reason and the necessity of their gift of being able to “micro-nap” many times throughout a day. They won’t be down very long before another comes along and walks all over them.
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Our first reaction when checking on them is to fear one or more may have expired when we find them conked out in a variety of unlikely places. It’s a good thing these naps don’t last very long. Already, when they hear our voices, they perk up and start moving about with excited energy.
One endearing maneuver they employ at this age is a leg stretch where they stop and push one foot out behind them as far as it will go. It’s as if we can see them grow a fraction bigger every time they do it.
Makes me hope they are stretching each leg equally. It’s not always obvious that they do.
This is the third year we have purchased a batch of chicks, and due to the limited availability caused by demand during the pandemic, it is the latest in the year we have been trying to care for such young chicks. Keeping the temperature in the brood at the constant desired level has been a challenge.
In early spring, we just put the heat lamp on and the chicks huddle under it when they want more warmth or wander away to cool down. Now, with the barn heating up in the daytime sun, we have to be careful it doesn’t get too hot in there. It is a little too cool with the warming lamp off and gets too hot if we leave it on.
We have to check on them frequently and cycle the lamp accordingly.
So, you get excessive amounts of photos of our chicks for a few days and we have to deal with insufferable excesses of heat.
We all have our burdens, don’t we?
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Mixed Mind
It’s a battle to maintain a positive, hopeful outlook amid a pandemic that our government has failed to effectively manage, which has our economy teetering on the brink of collapse. Meanwhile, Cyndie’s garden extravaganza can be described as nothing but a bountiful success and our new brood of rambunctious chicks inspire visions of a wonderful future. 
My mood of the moment has been swinging wildly between hope and despair.
Federal secret police snatching protesters in Portland? The White House disrupting coronavirus reporting to the CDC? What is our government up to and why does there seem to be no way to enact checks and balances that once protected our democracy? Why is it that the current President has been allowed to keep his financial interests secret all this time?
Last night we lucked out once again in the stormy weather lottery. We were spared even a hint of destructive wind in the moments after warnings and radar images indicated a tornado was headed in our direction. We have yet to hear any reports of whether the vicinity around us was impacted negatively.
I can report the lightning bolts flashing dramatically in the clouds overhead were more frequent and numerous than I have ever witnessed before in my life. The constant rumble of distant thunder never once appeared to match the immediate flashes occurring directly above our location which baffled my understanding of the way things work.
I cannot fathom what actual energy was at play to generate such a dazzling display of countless electrical arcing bolts without the usual accompanying impacts of typical thunder. Just one night prior, we suffered two BOOM!s of thunder that scared me into a clench of inadvertent reaction that lasted three times as long as the explosion of thunder itself. The worst of those incidents surely was one that struck somewhere close enough that light and sound were simultaneous.
I can’t say for sure because I was attempting to be asleep at the time.
The warming of our planet assuredly is unleashing greater intensity of local storms, but each time we escape unscathed I feel a moment of hope that our destruction is not imminent. Tornadoes can be devastating, but they can also be relatively precise as to the areas of impact.
That is a little like deciding to raise free-range chickens in an area that includes foxes, coyotes, possums, skunks, feral cats, occasional passing mountain lions, neighboring dogs, and marauding raccoons.
It mixes my mind.
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Close One
That was a close one. Yesterday afternoon, our crew of one, Matthew, who is brushing on a fresh coat of sealant on the logs of our house, was taking a break for lunch when he spotted what he calls our “yardbirds.” He was watching our three chickens moseying their way through the trees between the house and the barn.
Then, he caught sight of a fox!
The report I received was that he rushed toward it and started screaming like a madman. Cyndie said he came to the house to tell her there was a fox in our trees. When she arrived on the scene, all she found were the black feathers of our last Australorp. A LOT of black feathers, spread across a significant distance.
About that time, I received a text message indicating we had lost a hen to a fox.
A couple of hours later, my phone rang with a call from Cyndie with a correction to the previous message. The Black Australorp was still alive!
She had returned to the coop where Cyndie found her nestled into one of the nest boxes. Given the near-death experience, Cyndie granted the hen a free pass to stay in the box for as long as she wanted. There were no visible signs of trauma.
Much later, at dusk, I checked on the three chickens while closing the coop for the night. Much to our surprise, I found the Australorp perched on the roost beside her trusty companions, looking fit as a fiddle.
In addition, I found she had laid an egg while recovering her wits in the nest box.
That’s one tough hen.
Logic tells us that fox will return, so we may need to confine the birds to quarters for a while until we figure out some kind of plan.
We were already intending to install a fenced-in run area outside one of the coop doors in preparation for the new chicks. They are due to arrive today and will spend their first month or so in the brooder with supplemental heat, so we thought we had some time before needing to reconfigure the coop.
That schedule will change now that the fox is paying visits in broad daylight. Free-ranging may need to be curtailed for a while until we build a protected space where they can do some not-as-free-ranging.
Meanwhile, we have returned to arguing with ourselves over whether to get a rooster for protecting the hens, or not. That is an unlikely solution for us, but we occasionally revisit the idea to make sure we still feel the same way.
Our precious layers deserve some support in terms of protection, so if not from a rooster, we’d like to figure out a viable alternative.
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Several Routines
As I was going through my usual work-week routine last night, preparing my breakfast and lunch for today, this is what I observed: I have a tendency for routine. Every night before work, I take steps to support my quick departure the next morning at an early hour to beat traffic in my long commute to the far side of the Twin Cities.
In the morning, all I need to do is get dressed and go, after waking and going through my planking and stretching routine. My clothes were selected the night before and my breakfast and lunch foods prepared in advance.
My process for preparing my foods for the workday is equally routine.
I precisely measure my serving of cereal for the morning breakfast to stay below my threshold for added sugar. The amount of yogurt that I serve with my cereal is only a fraction of the amount in a typical “single serving” package. There is a perfect-sized spoon I like to use for this small serving of yogurt.
Since I do this routine repeatedly, I don’t simply put the spoon in with dirty dishes when I am done with it. I wash the spoon and place it back in the silverware drawer, but not just anywhere. I slip it beneath all the other various spoons of that style so I can be sure to find it the next day.
Some have a smaller scoop. Some have longer handles. Those aren’t the ones I want.
I do this because, if I leave it right on top, the odds are high that Cyndie will take it next time she is looking for a spoon.
Seems simple enough at this point, I hope. However, this plan doesn’t always produce the desired results.
Very often, when I reach in to grab “my spoon,” it’s not there on the bottom anymore.
Why not?
I’ve talked with Cyndie about it, and she has no clue.
In my head, I picture her reaching in and grabbing whatever spoon is on top at the time. This shouldn’t mix the order enough to dislodge my carefully stowed particular spoon.
Must be some other mysterious law of physics I know nothing about.
Now, by this point, you must be imagining any number of easy alternative solutions to avoiding this problem of keeping track of one specific spoon. I could tie a ribbon on the handle. I could place it in a different location away from the other spoons.
I know.
But, honestly, this situation doesn’t even deserve the number of words I’m wasting on it here. If I seriously fretted over this, I could easily come up with a more permanent solution. It’s become more of a game for me to see if the spoon will be there, or not.
I’m intrigued by the odd phenomenon.
And look, it provided fodder for another of my ROUTINEs: writing a daily blog post.
Obviously, I have a tendency for routine.
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Stinky Year
Look at it this way, today it is the fifteenth day of July, so we are halfway through the month that comes after the midpoint of the year 2020. All this whining about 2020 being so problematic will be over before you know it. We can stop wondering about what the next calamity could possibly be and start marveling over how we got this far without throwing in the towel.
Unless you happen to have school-age children, that is, and have no idea how to cope with more distance learning in the fall. Or if you got sick with the coronavirus. Or you are out of work due to the pandemic. Or lost your medical insurance because you no longer have a job. Or you can’t pay your bills because you didn’t qualify for financial assistance.
In the wee hours before waking yesterday, I experienced the most vivid dream where I found myself in the midst of my high school classmates in something of a reunion gathering. I am curious about what threw my mind into that reconnection with my school days. In classic dream fashion, by daylight, I lost the gist of what I was thinking and feeling about the situation while the dream was underway, but was left with the vague pleasure of having been among peers I haven’t seen lately.
Maybe it’s a mental defense mechanism for escaping the shelter-in-place mindset of the pandemic.
Cyndie has been up at the lake for the last two days and she took Delilah with her. It has been refreshingly calm at home on my own after the day-job. The cat and the chickens don’t ask for much from me, so it has felt like a little vacation.
Of course, the pesky wildlife hasn’t taken any time off. For two nights in a row, I found our kitchen compost bin had been abused and separate access panels forced open so they could ravage the rotting goods. Last night, I wrapped it with a ratcheted tie-down strap to secure the doors from opening.
Let’s see the little raccoon claws loosen a ratchet mechanism.
Yesterday morning on the drive to work, a young-looking fox trotted across the road just around the corner from our property. Luckily for us, that enemy-of-hens was headed in the direction of a neighboring property where egg-layers roam freely.
Later, as my car approached a fresh road-kill, I centered my tires to miss the mess and held my breath. Before I even started to resume breathing, I felt the acrid fumes in my nostrils. I was afraid to inhale, but I had to.
Fresh skunk. Reeeally fresh. Ow.
At least 2020 is over halfway to the history books. The whole year seems to have a general stink to it.
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Paddocks Reclaimed
Mission accomplished on Sunday in my effort to reclaim the paddocks from the unchecked growth of grasses and weeds, some of which had risen to over a meter tall since the beginning of this year’s growing season.
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I got in there with the big diesel tractor pulling the brush cutter and successfully avoided destroying any fences while maneuvering in the confined spaces.
Before the cutting started in earnest, Cyndie and I made a pass through, digging up “sour dock” weeds (that’s the local name for Rumex Crispus or some variation thereof) in hope of reducing their propagation.
We used to get sour dock mixed in bales of hay we bought for our horses and they were not fond of it. Ever since, we’ve framed it as an undesirable weed, despite evidence there are some medicinal and edible features to it.
Then it was off to the mowing races.
It’s always a little unnerving to be mowing blindly over such thick and tall growth, not knowing if I might run over a misplaced tool or any variety of wild critters that may have made themselves a home there. As it was, while walking through the higher-than-my-waist jungle of growth I figured I was wandering in a snake pit, much to my discomfort.
Luckily, no snakes were encountered over the entire duration of this project. A lot of toads and a couple of field mice were about the extent of sightings.
At one point in my hunt for stalks of sour dock hiding among the tall grasses, I came upon a bird’s nest with a lone egg in it. With a total absence of any upset flyers winging their way overhead, I concluded this poor egg had been abandoned.
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Now there is a blanket of cuttings covering the ground in the paddocks. That’s enough for hundreds of nests.
I noticed the three hens wandering around in there right after I finished mowing, picking at the wealth of opportunity, but I don’t think they will make a dent in cleaning up all the deadfall.
We’ll simply leave it to dry up and break down where it lays.
Maybe that covering will slow new growth so I won’t have to mow it more than one more time by the end of the summer. I don’t enjoy operating the diesel tractor so close to fences, especially inside the corners.
The paddocks almost look like we have horses again!
That’s so much better an impression than the neglect all that wild growth has been emanating.
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Berry Farm
On Saturday morning, I helped Cyndie deliver her baked contributions to White Pine Berry Farm for their Trifecta Weekend event. This is the time of year when their three main berries: Strawberries, Raspberries, and Blueberries are all available for picking on the same days.
Cyndie had everything bagged and labeled for individual sale.
Farmer Greg was thrilled over the arrival of the treats he had sampled days before. If he was around to pitch the product all weekend I don’t know how customers could resist.
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With the combination of organic berries from White Pine Berry Farm and Cyndie’s special baked delicacies made with oodles of love, I think we have the makings of a new superpower.
The berry farm started their venture just half a year before we arrived to create Wintervale. It has taken us years to find each other, and now fills us with excitement over unknown possibilities for future collaborations. They have space to host weddings and other events in addition to a new building under construction for future offerings.
We have quickly grown very fond of farmers Greg and Andy. It serves as inspiration for imagining greater possibilities of how we might be able to spread more love in the world through participation in their events.
At the very least, we might learn some valuable tips and tricks about growing better organic berries and produce at home.
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Just Wondering
What would really happen if I didn’t listen to the sales pitch of every slick promotion? What if I didn’t have an answer for every question that I could possibly imagine? What if wearing a face mask in public was easy to do? Oh, wait. I know the answer to that one.
I wonder how many businesses, especially restaurants, will never reopen again after the shutdowns. Are we on the verge of economic calamity, or not? It’s hard to conceive of how much worse it will get before it starts to get better.
Does anyone really question the fact there are “haves” and “have nots?” In the face of that, think about how many times we can find ourselves a member of either one of those two designations for a variety of given situations.
Nothing is so simple that it can’t be seen in more than one way. There is nuance in everything.
I am pondering the possible difference in amount of work required if we would have cut the growth in our empty paddocks sooner and more often, versus waiting until now, when the growth is tall, thick, and laborious to bring down.
I am using the trimmer to provide plenty of clearance around our fences in order to simplify mowing the rest of it with the brush cutter behind the diesel tractor.
All the while, I am remembering how the horses were easily able to keep growth in these spaces reduced to almost nonexistent.
We could have horses and all the work that comes with caring for them or we have unbelievable growth of grass and weeds that I need to mow.
Honestly, we definitely prefer to have horses.
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Relative Something 