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. 

Homer..?

 The garage cat brothers, dubbed Click and Clack, were a lively team. I knew the names would be problematic if or when we lost one, but the optimist in me forged ahead. 

Clack has grieved the loss of his brother. He went on somewhat of a hunger strike and made it clear that he was lonely and needed to come inside much, much more often. 

He found the feather pillow on the guest bed to be cozier than the heated cat house in the barn. 

The freshly washed duvet, toasty warm from the dryer, was better still! 

Hanging out in the studio, he monitors the children and mugs the customers, demanding pats and warm laps. When they ask his name, we have to tell the whole long story, and it's awkward. Rachel suggested he might need a new name for this chapter of his life. She suggested, "House cat." I've been thinking about it. 

Every few hours, he asks to go outside. I've seen him catch a small rodent or two during these walkabouts, so he still earns his keep. However, he doesn't stay out long, mewing quietly at the door and dashing inside when I open it with his tail flicking, looking pleased. 

When he came in tonight, he did deign to eat supper, then hopped up in a chair by the heater, purring loudly. "You like being a home cat, don't you?" I asked. He bumped me with his head. "Homer?" Could that be your new name? More purring. I think he approves of his new lifestyle and his new name.  

Snow...

 It's been a brownish winter so far, but yesterday, we had lovely flurries all day and into the night. This morning, our corner of the world was frosted with two inches of soft, fluffy snow. The sun was bright, and sparkles were everywhere I looked. 

I opened the doors on the chicken coops so the birds would have the option of staying in or wandering in the white. To my surprise, most of them came out to explore. A little while later, I noticed that the wild bird feeders did not have a single visitor. Usually, the whole area is aflutter with birds zooming in and out to feast on the treats I put out. It occurred to me that a bird of prey might be nearby, so I craned my neck to look at the sky and likely perches. And then, I laughed. 

Three of our tiny Olandsk Dwarf chickens had wandered out to see if there was any spilled birdseed upon which to feast. Apparently, they didn't like the feel of the snow, so they flew high up into the branches of our birch tree. The wild birds didn't know what to make of them up there, so they stayed away for about an hour. Finally, they decided the lofty chickens were no threat and returned to dine. The wee chickens soon gave up the cold and headed back home.

The goats, who loathe rain, don't mind the snow. 

The tracks in the snow show that they traveled all over the pasture, looking for things to nibble on. Their coats are thick, and they are all a little chubby, so the cold weather doesn't bother them. 

It was so pretty outside I decided to clean the big chicken coop. Most of the hens were out scratching around, but three had chosen to stay cooped up. They were not amused as I shoveled and swept out the dirty shavings but refused to budge off their roost. Then, one of them had enough of the disruption, and with much vocal protest and loud flapping of wings, she launched past me out the door. The snow was not to her liking, so she awkwardly flapped up and perched on the narrow wire fence. She stayed there, glowering at me while I dragged off the old bedding and hauled in a new bale of fragrant pine shavings. She waited while I carried the tall feeder to the garage and filled it. She teetered unhappily while I scrubbed their water pan and refilled it. Once I was done and the coop was all set to rights, I asked Bravo to encourage the hen to leave her precarious perch and head back inside. He obediently obliged. 

He booped her fluffy behind firmly with his nose and she launched, squawking in displeasure, back to her tidy house. 

Clack cat has been asking to come inside since his brother's untimely demise. Of course, I let him in and give him cuddles and treats. I know where to look if I can't find him in front of the woodstove or a heating vent. He has claimed his own shelf in the cabinet at the top of the upstairs landing. I have to say, he adds a certain something to the scene. 

It has been an utterly peaceful and relaxing weekend, and I have enjoyed every leisurely, snow-frosted second of it. 

The kindness of strangers...

 Nine years ago, I took in two wee kittens who had been abandoned in an empty house with a bowl full of food, an overflowing litter pan, and no water. I set them up a heated house in the garage and kept them in at night but let them roam the farmlette during the day. We dubbed them Click and Clack (after the radio program Click and Clack the Tappet Brothers.) The local rodent population suffered, but the kittens flourished. 

I was out and about for a few hours this morning. This afternoon, someone knocked on the door. A woman asked, "Do you have a cat? May I come in?"  Then she gave me a hug. This kind stranger had driven by our house this morning and seen a car pulled over and another woman holding an injured cat and crying. Clack had been crossing the road, and she hit him. Margo, the woman at my door, told me that she had stopped and taken the cat. He was severely hurt, and she thought he was dying. She brought him up to the house and knocked on the door, and since no one was home, she sat on a chair on the deck and held him in the sun a while, thinking he would soon pass. He did not. 

With incredible benevolence, she took him to a local veterinarian and called the animal control officer. The vets made the decision to euthanize him and did so. Then the woman drove past our house again, and when she saw my truck in the driveway, she gave up even more of her time to let me know what happened to our good, good boy. 

Click, the cat on the right, did not come home for supper tonight. A tiny part of me hoped he might—that maybe it was some other cat that misjudged traffic. 

Clack will miss his brother. Together, they played, snuggled in their little warm house, and enjoyed munching on mice. I will miss him, too. I loved to watch him strutting through the meadow, basking in the sun, and racing up the pile of hay bales like the king of the mountain. I loved his head butts, his extra loud purr, and stroking his thick, luxurious coat. 

I well know that allowing cats to roam at will is a gamble. Every morning, when I fed the boys breakfast and let them outside, I'd send them with a little blessing, hoping they would stay safe. And they have for around 3,500 days—until today. 

I'd be out in the dark now, calling Click home, except for Margo, the sweet cat-loving woman who took the time to help an injured animal and cared enough to let me know his sad fate. I am sorrowful to have lost a friend but so grateful for the kindness of strangers.