Spring..!

 Spring takes its time arriving in Maine. Today was delightfully warm and sunny. Chris headed off to do his typical Saturday errands, which include going to the bank, buying groceries, taking trash to the transfer station, and picking up anything we need at the hardware store. 

I cleaned our big chicken coop, and lit a fire in the ring in the backyard. It crackled companionably while I worked and smelled nice. I picked up sticks and twigs and bits of paper and bark and such that had been blown around the yard by winter storms and tossed them in the fire, making a nice dent in backyard clean up. I also goofed off a little, avoiding cleaning the goat house as long as I could. I sat for a while listening to the song birds, who are all tuning up for mating season. I heard a nuthatch, a song sparrow, a cardinal and tufted titmouse. They sounded glorious.

The chickens are enthusiastic about the change in seasons. They have begun to dig dust wallows where they roll and fluff their feathers, working dirt deep into their downy fluff to absorb oils and repel insects. 

I normally quite enjoy cleaning the goat cozy, but since the weather has been unpleasant for the last few weeks, with lots of ice and snow, I had not cleaned it in a while. I layered fresh bedding on top of the old stuff, so the goats had a soft, dry surface to stay warm. This works great, but cleaning it up is a chore. I easily raked up three barrows full of dry hay and shavings. But beneath that I had to work hard to scrape and rake up the heavy, wet layer that remained. It was about as much fun as I expected it would be. I hauled heavy barrow after heavy barrow away, and got quite a work out. It was so warm that soon I shrugged off my coat and gloves. It was lovely to feel the sun and air on my skin.

I was almost finished and my back was complaining. Just then Chris returned from his errands and came outside. He kindly filled the last wheelbarrow with what remained. I fell in love with him all over again.  All that was left to do was sweep up the last little bit and spread a bag of fresh shavings. The instant we were finished the goats all rushed to inspect our work. It makes me laugh every time. 

They are enjoying the weather as much as I am. There has been lots of running, head butting, and goat dancing. Joy on hooves. 

Spring toys with us here in the north, but days like this make it all seem worthwhile. 

"Recalibrated goals..."

 Lately, it has crossed my mind that I am becoming rather dull. I work from home, so have no reason to leave the house most days. We often have friends and family over on weekends to share supper, but we don't go far or try many new things on our days off. I am perfectly content puttering around the house, caring for my animals and other mundane things. Should I be bothered by this? I wondered. Then I came across an article published in The Atlantic that made me feel better. It had this to say: 

"Research has shown that when people get older, they commonly recalibrate their goals; though they might be doing less, they tend to prioritize what they find meaningful and really appreciate it. A decline in openness to experience, then, could reflect someone relishing their routine rather than seeking new thrills; a decline in extroversion could indicate that they’re satisfied spending time with the people they already love. That may involve adjusting to what they can’t control, but it doesn’t necessarily mean they’re reacting to a bad life—just a different one."

I feel validated by this simple paragraph, and I have ceased to worry if there is something wrong with me that I am not rushing out and about with greater frequency. I decided to spend the time I was being concerned by thinking about my dullness to something else. And that something else keeps bubbling up in my brain arranged in these words, "An embarrassment of riches."

Let me explain. March in Maine is a rather dismal affair. Tattered remnants of grimy snow linger over otherwise brown terrain. Storms are common, both rain and snow and sometimes a dicey mix of the two. Winds whip and rattle, and there is often quite a lot of treacherous ice to maneuver. Though the days are steadily growing longer, it does one little good to yearn for actual spring weather, because it is rarely in the cards. And yet, there are these little gems that appear if I am looking. And I am. Last week I was out just after dawn hauling hay and warm water to the goats. It was bitterly cold, the wind burned my ears, and I wished I'd worn a hat. I tucked my head as I trudged, arms full, over the snow and ice. Above the crunch of my boots I heard a sound that made me stop and poke my head out of my collar like a turtle might to look around.

On the western side of our property, at the very top of a large tree, was a male Cardinal. The rising sun illuminated his bright feathers, making him glow ember-bright. He threw his head back and sang loudly into the still, chill air. I put the hay and water down and listened to his concert until he dove off his branch in search of breakfast. And this afternoon as I cleaned the chicken coop, I heard the sweet call of a Bluebird, over and over. Also, a few Red-winged blackbirds have appeared at the feeder, having recently migrated back for the breeding season. They will soon be joined by many more, and the air will be filled with their cheery chorus, a sure sign of spring.

The goats prefer to rest outside in the spent hay more often than in their snug house, enjoying the sun's warming rays. And, to my great surprise, I found a very sure sign of spring today. I did a double take to make sure I hadn't imagined it. Daffodils are pushing up through the still-frozen ground, precipitately embracing the growing season.

Beyond this, I feel an intense appreciation for my interactions with my customers daily. Last week, a handful of particularly fascinating conversations happened while I was washing, brushing, and trimming, each leaving me feeling richer for having had them. It's as if each of these people wove a gift of words during the time we shared, not seeming to notice the impact they imparted. Some may share the feeling, as one lady recently laughed and said, "Honestly, I feel like I've had an hour of good therapy when I leave here!" And then there are the people who welcome the grandbabies that toddle about as we work into their laps for a story, or even plunk right down on the floor to play with toys. It is a benevolence that sends ripples of gratitude through my day.

In my snug home, with beauty outside every window, a full pantry, and all of my needs met, I can't help but look at my life right here and now as being filled with riches—an embarrassment of them.

A happy weekend...

 My friend Carol invited me to join her at the Belfast Ice Festival. It sounded jolly, and we made plans. The whole town was hopping. Parking was tricky; restaurants were full, but we both eventually managed to find places to land our vehicles, and a restaurant with a table for two and no waiting was a terrific surprise. Though we don't live far apart, we don't actually see each other that often, but speaking for myself, it's always a great time when we do. 

There were some impressive ice sculptures. My favorite was a big, googly-eyed goldfish that reflected the color of people's clothes as they passed, flashes of pink, blue, and green, making it look as if it were illuminated from within. Oh, and this one was the most creative...

When I got home, my sweet niece Aimee was here for a visit. We are always excited to see her, and Chris and Rachel whipped up one of her favorite meals in celebration: double-breaded pork cutlets with lemon dill sauce. Chris got a kick out of having Rachel assist him in the kitchen; it reminded him of her teen years when she'd often accompany him as she practiced her way around the spice rack. She learned well and is a wonderful, competent cook now. Our meal was delicious. 

I caught this picture of the Owlet sitting in a little youth chair at suppertime. 

My paternal grandmother gave me this chair when I was five or six. It used to sit beside her brick hearth, and I often perched on it when I visited. One day, she said, "Take that home with you." She died suddenly not long after. My daughter used it when she was wee, and now her girls do. It's a treasure. 

On Saturday nights, the Owlet often has a spend-the-night with us. When it was time for bed, she boldly announced, "I have a slumber party with Auntie Cakes!" Aimee looked dubious, but the wee one fell asleep quickly and had a lovely time snuggling with her godmother until I whisked her away when she woke at dawn so Aimee could sleep a bit more. The last time the two spent a night together was when the Owlet was born. Aimee was the birth doula and pulled a rocking chair up to the window, rocked the newborn baby, and sang to her under the big sky outside while the exhausted parents caught a few winks. Their bond is long and strong. 

This morning, sausages and pancakes were served for breakfast, and the table was full again. Family chatter, dogs underfoot, kids giggling—it was all so very good. 

We groomed Aimee's little dog and then hit a favorite antique store for some treasure hunting. We all found a few little things to bring home and had a great time poking around. 

It was such a happy weekend. 

A little miracle...

 When the weather is snowy, I usually leave the chickens locked up. They may be bored but have food and water and are out of the elements. Saturday, we had a break between storms, and I opened the coop doors so the birds could come out and have a change of scenery if they chose. When I did evening chores, the four little Olandsk Dwarf chickens, who had been out pottering around much of the day, were still out. I tried to gently encourage them to head towards their coop. My efforts backfired badly when they all took off flying in different directions. I don't know who was more surprised at how well they could fly, me or them. 

One hen landed on the picnic table, and a second flew up onto the garage roof. I was able to shoo the picnic table bird back to her coop, but the bird on the roof looked very worried by her newfound heights. I found a flying disc dog toy, and after a few tosses above the bird, I convinced her to fly back down to her coop. Evening was creeping, and the light was falling. If you don't know chickens, you might not realize they don't move after dark. They put themselves where they want to be at dusk, and there they stay until dawn. I went looking for the rooster and found him perched on a fence. When he saw me coming, he flew to the roof of his coop. Thinking he was safe, I went looking for the last hen. I hadn't seen where she had gone when they all spooked the first time, so I looked in all the likely places. She was nowhere to be found, and the forecast was for snow overnight. This made me worried. 

Meanwhile, the rooster left the relative safety of the top of his coop and flew up on the roof of our house. I was horrified when the hen landed on the garage roof, yet the house roof is far higher. I put my flying disc toy to work again and was able to spook the rooster back down to the coop. With three of the birds safely tucked up,  I came inside for a while, and once it got dark, I went out again with a flashlight and Bravo. We both looked high and low, but there was no trace of that little hen. A barred owl called repeatedly from a tree at the edge of the pasture. I wondered if it was telling me it had enjoyed a fine chicken dinner. 

When I did morning chores, I looked again for the missing bird. There was no sign of her. It snowed all morning, and then we had sleet, rain, and more snow. I assumed she had fallen prey to something or frozen to death in the storm. 

Then, this morning, I headed out to feed the goats, and to my shock, the little bird was perched forlornly on the aluminum fence next to her coop. I dropped my water jugs and scoop of feed and walked ever so carefully to the gate. I tossed my gloves on the snow and steeled myself. I had one chance to catch the bird and return her to safety. If she spooked and flew, I would probably not be able to snag her again. She flinched as I reached for her but stayed put, and I felt triumphant when my fingers closed over her sleek feathers. One little "squawk," then she settled into my arms and let me reunite her with her flock. 

Life is a series of little miracles. Some have feathers. 

Before the storm...

 Yesterday, we had quite a bit of snow on the ground, and another six to eight inches were predicted, with more storms on the horizon for the coming week.  It was sunny but well below freezing, and there was a brisk west wind, but I decided it would be a good day to clean all the animal houses. Doing this chore with snow on the ground makes everything a little more difficult, but it had to be done. 

 I started with the little coop, raking out the soiled shavings and replacing them with fresh ones. I scrubbed and refilled the water bowl and topped up the food dispenser. The little chickens waited out in the snow while I worked, looking very unhappy until I finished. Chickens, in general, are not very fond of snow. I imagine those scaly feet and legs must get awfully cold. As soon as I was done, they rushed back inside to enjoy their fresh digs. 

I tackled the big coop next. I dumped some old shavings on the snow for dry footing and shooed the birds outside. 

They complained loudly but were happy with the end results. A flake of sweet-smelling fresh hay gave them something to scratch up and will help keep them entertained. 

Typically, I use a wheelbarrow when freshening the houses, but that does not work in the snow. Instead, I use this handy sled. We bought it 20 years ago, and I was aghast at the cost. But it has been used to haul firewood, kids, hay, feed, shavings, and more. It has served as a wading pool for piglets and a pond for ducks. The goats often nap in it or tap dance on it if it is overturned.  It turns out it was worth every penny. The rope is old and frayed, but it has never let me down. 

Cleaning the goat cozy was a bigger project. Since the goats make this job trickier by "helping" me, I lured them into the backyard and fastened the gate. They frolicked about, bouncing in the fresh snow, while I raked, scraped, shoveled, and hauled. While I was at it, I stuffed their hay bags full. 

By the time I was done, the goats were standing at the gate, tired of the diversion and hollering to get back in and see what they were missing. They all raced to their house to check my work (and get out of the snow) and were soon ankle-deep in fragrant shavings with their heads stuffed into the hay bags.

Next on the list was carrying armloads of firewood from where it was stacked to the rack on the deck. Having it just outside the door is convenient, and it makes me feel rich to have it crammed full before a storm arrives. The wood stack is covered tightly with tarps to keep it dry, so I was noodling around, pulling logs out and balancing them in my arms to carry back to the house when I spied a praying mantis nest on one log. I stashed it safely away so we can enjoy the mantis babies in the yard when the weather warms up. It made me smile to think of the promise of new life enclosed in that frothy beige nest, and it was a sweet reminder that though I was slogging through snow, spring is right around the corner. 

Lastly, I filled all the wild bird feeders to the brim. Then, I had a well-deserved rest and a cup of tea by the woodstove, pleased with all I had accomplished before the storm. Let it snow! 

Farm lunch...

 Neighbor Cheryl has a real-deal farm: many cows and pigs, a few horses, some goats, and a big flock of chickens. On Sundays, she often cooks a lunch to share with farm helpers. The cast of characters around the table changes as frequently as the menu. Today, we were invited, though we don't do much to help.

The main course was jambalaya from a family recipe. I offered to bring a batch of biscuits to share. Chris taught me how to make them many years ago. He is the undeniable king of baking them in our family, but today, I took on oven duty because he was getting our groceries for the week. I took great care to follow his favorite recipe to a "t." Biscuits are simple to make, but some recipes are better than others. Chris's preferred recipe is the one on the Bakewell Cream can. Flour, salt, baking soda, Bakewell cream, shortening and milk. I used lard I rendered myself (from one of Cheryl's pigs) for the shortening. 

At times like this, I appreciate my pretty, organized kitchen and my collection of tools. I have everything I need, all within easy reach. Chris does a great job ensuring we have all the provisions we need kept in stock. 

We arrived at the farm lunch with a bowl full of warm biscuits, and everyone seemed to enjoy them. They were a good complement to the excellent meal. Besides the jambalaya, there was a fabulous salad, quiche, and homemade brownies with ice cream, all topped with drizzles of raspberry sauce and chocolate sauce. It was a sweet ending to a fun meal with terrific people, good conversation, and a few excellent laughs. 

Farm lunch was a lovely mid-winter punctuation.

Of nests and eggs...

 The chicken coop has four built-in nest boxes. They are easy for the hens to access and offer private space for the girls to lay eggs. I keep them clean and lined with fresh shavings. In the winter, egg laying slows way, way down, but I can typically expect an egg or three a day from my 9 ladies. What I can't expect is to find those eggs in the nest boxes. 

The ladies like to provide me with a bit of mental and physical stimulation. They do this by laying their eggs in various places outside of the coop. Once I find the place du jour (which often takes me several days,), they change things up and find a new spot. It keeps me on my toes, and I am confident that it entertains them. 

The last few weeks have been cold and windy, and we've had bits of snow. The chickens decided that laying in the goat house was a good option. When I open the coop in the morning, I can tell which hens are hot to relieve themselves of an egg because they don't stick around to see what treats I have brought them or take a sip of the warm water I have delivered. Instead, they bolt out the door as soon as I open it and head to the goat cozy. There, they pace and mutter until I finish what I am doing and walk out to the pasture to open the door. 

Once the door is open, the goats rush out. The hen or hens rush in. They have chosen a corner spot behind a hay bag and hollowed out a nifty spot to deliver their nugget. Like toddlers hiding their eyes behind their hands, they think I don't see them.

 I let them believe that because I want those tasty eggs, and it's a handy spot to retrieve them.

This morning, we had a couple of inches of fresh snow on the ground, and it was cold and blustery. I decided to keep the birds safely locked up. They don't like going out in the snow anyway, and I had some nice treats to keep them happy. However, when I opened the door, one of my lavender Orpingtons blasted out between my legs and waded through the snow, fussing unhappily. She dodged into the goat room and headed for the "secret" spot. 

As I worked today, glimpses out the window told me the hen was still out there and had not been joined by any flock members. She obviously didn't want to go back out in the snow, so she stayed in the goat house, which was relatively comfortable. However, there was no chicken food there and no water, either. 

Late this afternoon, I went out and gave the goats some extra hay. The lonely egg was transferred to my pocket, and after a little chase, I scooped the hen up. She only protested a bit as I carried her back across the pasture, through the gate, across the back yard, into the hen yard, and tucked her in with the rest of the flock. The rooster greeted her with rude advances. She made a beeline for the food container. 

I assume she will tell the others that I am on to their hiding place, but since their options are rather cold and snowy right now, I suspect they will continue to use the super secret hiding place in the goat house as their preferred egg depository. The hunt will be on anew as soon as the snow melts, but I'll be ready for them. 

PS. I am amused by the many shades of grey in this picture. The sky, the house, my hair, and my pretty hen all blend nicely.