Trouble with turkeys OR Only in Maine...

This year I decided to try raising some turkeys. In June my daughter gifted me with 4 turkey poults, a few days old and totally adorable. I took excellent care of them, and they thrived. Once they got big enough they roamed the yard, eating bugs and being totally enchanting. Then, to my horror, they began to die. One by one they went to spirit.
I grieved. I did research and the indication was that the birds might have some sort of genetic disease. I bought 6 more turkeys... 5 weeks old and saucy. They were doing very well, until they weren't. In quick succession they died as well. I am heartsick.

This morning the second to last one was dead. I put it in a bag and called my veterinarian. I asked him if he would do a necropsy on a turkey. I really wanted to know what was killing these sweet, friendly birds. He said he would, but that he didn't know what to look for, and recommended that I call the state agricultural veterinarian. He gave me the number and I called him.To my amazement, he answered the phone. We had a nice chat. He asked me a lot of questions, but in the end he had no idea what was going wrong with my turkeys. But he told me that if I went to my local extension office they would give me a box and a pre-paid Fed-x packing label, then deliver the bird to the University of Maine college and do a diagnostic necropsy for free. I was to call the college first.

When I called the college, the woman who answered the phone told me that the veterinarian was going to be out of town and the bird would have to be delivered today. I was at work, it was not possible for me to leave and take the turkey on a two hour drive. But then it occurred to me! In the lobby sat a customer that lived in the same town that the college was in. Maybe she would be willing to deliver the turkey to the college? Did I dare ask her? Probably not. It was a socially awkward question, to say the least.

But, me being me, I asked anyway. I said, "I have a totally weird thing to ask you. Feel FREE to tell me no. Would you consider delivering a dead turkey to the U of Maine so they can find out what was wrong with him?" She never blinked. "SURE I would. How big is it?" I showed her with my hands, a fairly small bird. She looked contemplative. Then she asked, "How do you think my dog will do with the turkey in the car?" I said, "You can put it in the trunk." She replied, "But won't he be scared?" I said, "He is DEAD."

"DEAD? Oh sure, no problem."

It was here that I paused. This woman barely knows me, yet she was not only willing, but EAGER to help me by driving a dead bird in a bag to a college where she would have to find the right place and the right people to deliver the bird to. This, dear readers, was an example of someone going above and beyond. To me this is an example of how delightful people in Maine are. They are quiet, and a bit reserved, but in a pinch, they will help. Even if the request is bizarre.

I am having trouble with turkeys. But people? I love them.

Windshield time...

One of our favorite things to do when we have a sliver of time unspoken for is to go for a drive. We refer to this as "windshield time," and we explore places around our home that we have not yet seen. We chat sometimes, or share companionable silences. We hold hands and often treat ourselves to ice cream. I almost always bring my camera, because this area is studded with gems of beauty.
Yesterday our path took us to Friendship where we took some photos of a friend for her senior yearbook, then we meandered through Cushing. We stopped to photograph Canada geese grazing before a picturesque bay, and then at a little boggy spot by the side of the road where this Great Blue Heron was waiting for supper. Windshield time is fine.

Coming home...

 

I attended a favorite trade show in Atlanta, Georgia this weekend. When I left Maine in the wee hours of Thursday morning the temperature was -4 degrees. Later that day when my plane landed I was greeted by rows of pear trees in full bloom around the airport. I was hot in my light jacket. There were daffodills and pansies blooming in front of tidy storefronts. It was a taste of spring and I drank it in. The weekend was busy- filled with fun and excitement. I saw old friends, met new friends, worked hard and enjoyed it to my core.

It was a little sad to leave. Then there were travel delays and airport food. There was a bumpy flight and luggage that didn't find it's way. But waiting for me when I landed was my husband with a toy poodle snuggled in the front of his jacket to greet me. There was companionable chatter on the long ride home in the darkest of downpours. And then we rounded that last corner and the lights of home were spilling out on the ragged snow. Drowsy dogs greeted me joyfully. The house hugged me... fresh flowers in old bottles dotted the tables and windowsills. Chris and Rachel had cleaned the place till it shined like a bright penny. In the early morning hours I snuggled into the comfort of my own bed with my beloved and listened as the house sighed and creaked it's quite time song. There was restful sleep and the thrumming joy that exists wrapped in that simple 4 letter word... home.

Following...

The meadow behind our house is crisscrossed with trails of animal tracks. The most visible from my window are the deer tracks. This afternoon as the sun was sinking low I went for a walk and on a whim decided to follow some deer tracks from where they entered the field at the edge of the road. The snow was deep in some place, up to my knees.

Across the field the tracks went to the little brook that is tucked into the edge of the woods. I stood here for a while in the dim light and just listened. The sound of the water over rocks and ice is a high, clear sound that is very pretty. It beckoned me closer, closer, but I didn't want to break through the ice, so I followed the tracks out of the woods, back to the open.

First I passed this old tree root... it looked like drift wood but has been weathered by wind and weather, rather than the sea.

This tattered leaf was blowing to and fro in the wind. Where it has been worn through the sun shone beautifully, and it reminded me a bit of stained glass.

I tend to think of winter as being all shades of black and white... but warm colors abound.

During my walk I saw the tracks of squirrel's, some from a much smaller rodent, (probably a mouse,) several bird tracks and even what I am quite sure were coyote tracks, faint in the snow. Following the deer tracks reminded me that I am surrounded in color, sound, beauty and unseen life.

In and out...

Inside? Warm and toasty.

Outside?

High winds, low temperatures and buckets of snow. We have about 14 inches of snow so far, and it is still coming down. The wind has caused lots of drifting, in spots my back yard has snow over my knees, in other spots the ground is bare.

I put a ham in the oven first thing this morning so that if we lose power later in the day we'll have good dinner all prepared. We have shoveled and our sweet friend plowed the driveway for us, but the roads are bad and we are glad to be safe and cozy inside.

Funny and satisfied...

This Partridge Rock pullet is sitting on a bird feeder 5 or more feet off the ground. It is off the deck just outside my kitchen window. She has eschewed the cozy nest box in the coop, lined with warm straw. Instead she comes here every other day and lays a perfect egg. In the cold open. This causes me to laugh, and really, the egg delivery just outside my kitchen is rather convenient!

We are expecting the seasons first blizzard. The snow began about an hour ago. We should get between 10 and 16 inches of snow. We made some preparations for this event... mostly involving the animals.

Today I cleaned out the chicken coop. As I write this 13 chickens are roosting in a clean, insulated coop. Their heated wate-er provides 3 gallons of clean, fresh, WARM water. Their feeder dispenses 5 lbs. of high quality layer feed. At 4 AM on the dot a light will come on in their coop, providing them the number of hours a light they need each day to produce eggs.

The pet snake that belongs to my daughter escaped from its tank in July. She was missing in action until the first Monday in December, when she showed up in my kitchen. She was dehydrated and wounded, but alive. By tonight she has shed her old skin, become re-hydrated, and eaten. I think she will be fine.

In the spring our pet rabbit, Clara, began to roam in our big fenced back yard. Each night she would return to her cage in the garage. After a few months she eschewed her cage. I doubted her ability to avoid predators and survive, but survive she did. And she was so HAPPY! Leaping about the yard, joy on four fuzzy feet.

Every morning I put fresh food and water out in the yard for her. Ever since the first cold weather of fall began, I have worried about the bunny. I have agonized over the decision to bring her in or leave her at large during the winter. My worry increased when I heard about the blizzard. We have had a few small snows, and the bunny has been fine, but I wasn't sure how she would survive in deep snow.

This morning I woke from a dream in which I found the bunny outside in a particular spot. In the dream I scooped her up and put her in her cage and brought her inside for the rest of the winter. And she LET ME. Mostly since spring she has not allowed physical contact.

So, when I got up this morning I looked at the place I dreamed the bunny would be. There she was! And she let me pet her, and she let me pick her up. She shivered in my arms. It was 14 degrees outside. I put her in her cage and brought her inside. Tonight when I go to bed I will know she is safe, fed, watered and warm.

There is a cat living in our garage. I call him "Oscar." He is a very dark grey tabby. He rarely lets me see him, though every morning I provide him with a bowl of warm water and one of kitty crunchies from the grocery store. He lives in our garage every winter, keeping any bird seed stealing rodents at bay. We don't know where he came from, but he obviously thinks this is home. Today I used a big Styrofoam cooler to make him a cozy spot to sleep. I taped the lid on, then used a sharp knife to cut a little entrance in. I stuffed in a lot of straw and put it in the garage loft where the cat hangs out.

As the snow falls I know that the chickens are warm in their coop. The cat we don't have has a full belly and a cozy place to sleep. The rabbit is warm, fed and safe. The snake is OK. And the dogs are full-bellied snoring by the fire or on us, their favorite humans. Life is funny and I am satisfied that all the animals under my care are safe and warm as the blizzard whirls in.

Doing business the old fashioned way...

The last few years I have ordered expensive "free range" turkeys from my favorite local farm stand. I pictured turkeys raised on a farm, grazing on fresh grass and snatching bugs. Last year I realized that the birds I had bought were actually raised at a poultry place that does have a paddock for them, but mostly they are crammed together on dirt.

This year I happened to see a place out in the country that said, "Turkeys, Eggs, Boat Repair." How could I resist? So I called. I talked to a woman named Linda. She told me the variety of birds they had (broad breasted whites) and said they did actually live on pasture. We arranged that I would buy two turkeys, 15-20 lb. range. (Traditionally we smoke one and roast one. Leftovers for everyone!) She took my name and number and said she'd call me the Tuesday before Thanksgiving for pick up.

I asked if she'd like me send her a deposit to hold the birds. She said no, my word was good enough. I worried a bit, what if she didn't end up with enough turkeys? What if she sold more than she planned? What if she didn't call? What if I got down to the day before Thanksgiving and had to buy (gasp!) common grocery store turkeys?

Today, at 1 o'clock, my phone rang. "Hi. This is Linda. Your birds will be ready by 2. What time do you think you will be here to get them?" I told her it would be after work, "That's fine. I'll see you then!"

And now, two incredibly fresh turkeys are chilling in the 'fridge. And we met really nice new people. And I am loving the old fashioned way of doing business. Maine... the way life should be.

Day unfolding...

I was raised by parents who were, perhaps, a bit tense and up-tight. They plotted and planned and micro managed. When I met and married Chris, I learned the joy of being with a person who is skilled at going with the flow of things. His idea of a very good day is one in which the events just unfold, with little planning. This took some getting used to, but I have learned to love his method of enjoying time. Like a flower opening to the morning sun, our days together unfurl and move gently with the light.

We discover wonders... such as faces carved into pilings along the harbor in Belfast.

And we visit friends... in this case my beloved Liz, who was riding Peach in a local horse show. They are stunning together; poetry in motion. Peach was dappled, warm and fragrant, Liz funny and elegant in her own special way.

Barefoot on a chilly, rocky beach I made a wondrous discovery... the sharp rocks and shells were owie to walk on... but if I held Chris' hand the discomfort was far less noticeable. The mere touch of his hand in mine made the walking fine. So, I guess that is why when his big arms are around me life and its unfolding days are oh-so-good.

Waking to the beauty that surrounds me...

In the morning the absolute first thing I do after swinging out of bed is walk outside with the dogs while they attend to very important canine business. I am generally a bit bleary and foggy as I survey my surroundings. I always take note of the meadow, scanning for deer or other wildlife. I wake a bit more as I attend to my chores. I let the chickens out of the coop and say hello to the lambs. I fill bird feeders with seed and bird baths and water buckets with cool water from the well. Then I water plants and check the progress of the vegetable garden.

I toss out scratch grains for the hens and crows and feed the sheep a little treat. The more I do the more alert I become. I take in the unmatched smell of a Maine morning. I listen for loons on the lake. I admire the way the eastern light illuminates the back yard... and in August I notice that the orb webs are back. They are here this time every year...starting along the fence that divides lawn from meadow. The tall grass is the framework for hundreds upon hundreds of spider webs. Some span 24" or more across. They cover the meadow, as far as my eyes can see. The morning dew outlines each strand of each web in sparkling drops. And though spiders give me a bad case of the heebie jeebies, I cannot help but pause in awe of the art they create fresh each night; awash in a breathtaking marriage of evening dew and morning light. In the morning the first thing I do is go outside to attend to the very important business of waking up to the beauty the surrounds me.

Independence Day...

We had a quiet morning at home, sleeping in and enjoying our place in the world. Then we drove to Reid State park. The day was fine- sunny and warm. The beach was wide and sprawling and dotted with sand frosted children. Gulls wheeled in the clear sky and a family of ducks surfed the waves near the shore.

The sandy beach was long and curved, the tide was coming in. You may note that there are no people in the water. Well... there were a few, but they were hardy souls. The water was bone chilling. The three of us held hands and waded in about to our waists. We wanted to dive right in, but every splashing wave took our breaths away.

We walked and waded and sprawled in the sun. I took pictures, of course, and listened to the magical sound of the surf on sand and granite. The day wrapped around us, scented with wild roses and salt air, a gift.

Big air...

Today we hit a few yard sales and ended up at a fun place... down by the harbor there was a Dock Dog competition. Dogs launched themselves off a dock, into water and off to fetch a floating toy back to their owners. Some dogs did better than others, of course... this one was a star. And I caught it shooting... across the summer sky.

View with a room...

While some people dread the morning commute to work, mine is a treat. I pass by rolling meadows, sparkling lakes, soaring mountains and placid ponds. One favorite view is of an odd little one-room shack that hunkers down on the banks of one of the ponds.

The red walls of this building stand out brightly in every sort of weather- sun, rain, snow and mist. It is a curious little place that sends my imagination tripping. I wonder who built it here... did they have happy picnics at this spot, or was this merely storage for a farmers tools? Someday I'll dip my kayak into the bank of the pond near the road and paddle over to the shack for a closer look. I think I'll pack a picnic.

Open water...

The ice on the pond across from us went out this week. And this morning, as dawn broke, I walked with dogs on frosty grass. And I heard it, the sound I have been waiting for... loons calling. The open water has called them back.

If you have never heard a loon, cut and paste this link so you can know the magic of the sound.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c3G9b6j3nCA

The first time I remember hearing loons was on our honeymoon. I was bewitched. I still am. How I would have loved to know that I would be here now, 26 years later, hearing the same tune and thrilling to it just the same. Loon calls and love, I have them still.

Movement...

Waterfalls rarely freeze. Even with the negative numbers registering on the thermometer. It is all because of movement. Today's movement plans:
haul firewood
make a huge pot of soup, (involving cabbage, sausage, potatoes, and I don't know what else!)
finish a nagging project
make my house shine
visit and kiss my horse
take a walk
spend 30 minutes doing some long range planning

It is going to be a very good day.

Pony party...

Chanel did me proud yesterday. She loaded onto the horse trailer like a pro, then backed off of it flawlessly when we arrived at Hill 'n Dale stables. She let me bathe her in the lovely heated wash stall, and we primped and trimmed and groomed her till she shone like a copper penny. We rode a bit in the big arena, too. Today we will go for a trail ride, then back home to her regular abode. It has been a real treat to hang out with the people at the stable, learn from them and watch them as engage in their horse loving hobby.

Drive in the country....

We took a Sunday drive in the country... and stopped in to see my friend Carol. She fed us fresh baked lemon squares and showed us her garden and her beautiful flock of chickens. It is so nice to know other people are as nuts over their chickens as I am! When we arrived the flock was no where to be seen, but she called them and the whole gang came running out of the woods, like a group of prehistoric creatures, emerging from the rain-laden undergrowth. They are very tame, eat from her hand and allow her to pick them up and carry them about.

Chris and I love to take the occasional drive. The area we live in is beautiful- each road holds the possibility of a new stunning vista... rolling meadows, sparkling lakes, towering ridges and shadowed valleys. There are farms with cattle, horses, pigs, goats, turkey and of course, chickens to see. Sometimes we stumble upon pastures full of Alpaca or red deer. And there is wildlife... yesterday we saw several hawks, an Osprey on a nest, a weasel peeking out of the undergrowth at the side of the road, and too many birds to count. We normally find some fun topic of conversation to explore as we travel, but there is also time for companionable silence.

When I was younger, I had no concept of "companionable silence." I thought every moment together with a lover should be filled with meaningful words. I would look at old couples in restaurants, sharing a meal with few words, and feel deep pity for them. Now, after a quarter of a century of time together, I understand that sometimes just being close, sharing an experience, listening to music or to nothing at all, is enough. More than enough.

Remembering Dad...

Yesterday, July 18, would have been my father's birthday. He was born in 1921, so he would have been... well, old!

After work we joined friends Scott and Marion with the intent of going to a steak supper at a Masonic Lodge in nearby Washington, Maine. I thought this was an excellent plan, as my dad had been a Mason, and I could envision him being pleased that I was supporting that organization on his birthday.

We arrived at the lodge, and there were some very impressive steaks being cooked on a huge grill. The smell of beef sizzling over charcoal permeated the summer evening air. You can imagine how sad we were when they informed us that they had just run out of steaks.

Luckily, we had driven past a public supper at a Grange hall on the way to our original destination. So, for $21 dollars all four of us were seated at a massive table, and treated to bowl after bowl of food, passed family style. There was potato salad, Cole slaw, American chop suey, biscuits, macaroni and cheese and a vast selection of pies for dessert. I chose lemon, dad's favorite.

My dad was a good man. He possessed a quick wit, a keen intellect, a serious work ethic and kept a good tan. He liked to drive white convertibles, and he typed all his correspondences in capital letters in green ink on an antique Royal typewriter, (which I inherited.) He loved my mother and his five kids, was generous and kind, and had a keen appreciation for the simple things in life. Like supper at a Grange hall with friends and a cool slice of lemon pie on a summer evening. Happy Birthday dad. I miss you.

At the farm stand...

We went to our favorite farm market yesterday. Bought some yummy fresh peas in the pod, some fresh picked strawberries, and some local honey. On the way out, past the potted plants, something caught my eye. Two small chickens, hidden amongst the hanging petunias. They made me smile.

Memorial Day...

My father, David S. Waters, was a WWII veteran. When I was a little girl, dad was a member of the local Legion. Each year he would take me for a ride in his white convertible and we would pick up a big box of small American flags. We would then go to the Boxford, Massachusetts cemetery and decorate the graves of all the veteran's. The mosquito's would be fierce, but I would ignore them to scramble over rock walls and into the limbs of sprawling fir trees to tuck a flag on the grave of each veteran. How I treasured this time with my father. On Memorial Day, he would don his Army uniform, (which he still fit into!) and march in the local parade. How proud I was of my handsome daddy, carrying a gun or a flag. I especially liked it when he carried the gun and shot the volley over the silent graves. Boy Scout's would play taps on shining bugles... one scout we could see, the other would be hidden in the woods, the notes he played echoing forlornly over the headstones.

After the volley was shot in memory of fallen comrades, I would scramble with other children to pick up the brass casings of the bullets, still hot from the gun barrel. I still have a few of these treasures tucked into the drawers of my jewelry box.

Today Chris and I took the ferry from Rockport, Maine, out to Vinal Haven. Serendipitously, we arrived just in time to see the local small town Memorial Day parade. A marching band of impossibly small children played, and a group of Veteran's from many branches of the service proudly marched. I was flooded with memories of my childhood. The smallest kids carried bouquets of flowers and wreathes studded with remembrance poppies. They marched to the harbor, where music played, a preacher prayed, and the children tossed the wreaths and flowers into the ocean. From there the parade moved up to a veterans memorial obelisk. There was more music, more prayer, and the placement of wreaths on the memorial. The honor roll was called out by an elderly veteran in smart uniform. The flag snapped overhead against a robin's egg sky. I was awash with gratitude. And memories.

And the weather forcast is...

MORE SNOW!