Rooster tale and a brag...

 

This is Stan the Man. He is a young Australorp rooster. Last night when I went out to do evening chores, I expected all the chickens to have put themselves in their coops. But there was Stan, pacing anxiously around the composter. The composter is a tall structure made from pallets by my son-in-love. I peered inside, and one of my diminutive bantam Cochin hens was there. She had hopped up on the door of the composter, then in. She was having a lovely time scratching amid the rotting vegetables but appeared trapped inside. Stan alerted me. I let her free, and she headed to her little coop. Stan looked relieved and went to his own coop. A good rooster, he saw a problem, monitored, alerted, then went to his well-deserved rest. 

Today a nor'easter storm was predicted. I gambled and left the doors to the chicken coops open. I was glad because the storm that was said to begin around 11:00 AM held off until 2:00 PM. This meant the birds had the entire morning to roam, explore, and enjoy their day. At 3:00 PM, I went out to take care of all the animals. I fed the cats. I gathered an armful of hay for the goats. Then I noticed Stan and his favorite hen, Winona, hunkered under the picnic table and confused by the falling snow.  I fed and watered the goats and then tried to herd the wayward chickens to their coop. They were having none of it. The snow was coming down sideways. My eyeglasses were coated. My hair dripping. Those two chickens refused to venture out from under the table. Finally, after a variety of efforts, I got my net. It was easy to catch Winona. I carried her, in the net, to the coop. She seemed delighted to be reunited with the flock, in easy reach of food and water. I headed back to try to retrieve Stan. He is huge and fast, so I wasn't sure how this would play out.  As I turned the corner, net in hand, I heard some squawking. The rooster was no longer under the picnic table. Bravo had managed to flush him out, then had chased him to a place where the deck steps meet a bit of fence, and there he had the bird cornered.  His tail happily waving, he skillfully pinned the rooster into this corner with his snout. The rooster was completely unharmed but held fast, unable to escape. Bravo kept him pressed to the fence until I arrived and gathered Stan up. Pleased with himself, my trusty farm dog set off ahead of me in the pelting snow, escorting the bewildered rooster and me back to the safety of the coop.  Good dog! 

Roosters and dogs. I am so lucky to be surrounded by both. 

Loss...

 I lost a friend recently. She was, without a doubt, the biggest fan of my blog. The thought of writing a post and her not seeing it has kept my fingers off the keyboard. I met her shortly after we moved to Maine. I used to groom her dog, and when she adopted a second dog, I cared for both of them. The dogs were frequent visitors at the farmlette, staying with us while my friend traveled.  The dogs passed, but the relationship remained. She was deeply generous, once unclipping her dog's leash and giving it to me when I complimented it. Another time she showed up here with a top-of-the-line wheelbarrow for me to use when I cleaned my animal houses. It was the type of barrow I had longed for but would never have splurged on. In recent years as her health failed her, she was unable to get out much, and she often told me that my blog posts were often the highlight of her day. She was the sort of person that was unable to have a short phone conversation, and usually, after she read a post of mine, she would call to discuss it. She would laugh at the parts I hoped people would find amusing and feel sad when things were grim. Then, she would retell me the entire post with a tone of wonder in her voice, showing me in the remembered details that she had read the thing more than once. If I could not answer the phone, she often left messages that went on and on, sweetly. It was touching and encouraging, and to think I will never get another one of those long, warm, rambling, praise-filled calls makes my heart sad. She leaves a legacy I will never know the extent of because I only knew her in the last sliver of her long, productive life. A quick-witted lawyer, she was active in the civil rights movement. She left many family members, friends, and acquaintances better for knowing her. She saw me in a way that made me feel treasured and appreciated, and her passing has left a palpable void in my daily life. I will miss you, J.C.A. 

My former brother-in-law also passed recently. I was a young teen when he married my oldest sister, and for most of their married years, they lived many states away. My happy memories of him centered around when his children were small. He had a slow smile and enough southern charm to make him enjoyable to talk with. A skilled welder, he took pride in his work and used to astonish me with stories of working on tall buildings and up on enormous bridges spanning swift-running rivers, with nothing but a steel beam between him and the vacant space that led to the ground.  There were jam sessions with him, his brother, and various friends, where bluegrass music was picked out on banjos and guitars and sung with a Virginia twang. Those were fun times, but I never knew him well and rarely saw him after he and my sister divorced many years ago. His relationship with his children was, as my niece succinctly put it, "complicated." Yet, he was once a family member, and because of him, I have a beloved niece, nephew, and grandnieces. He is one of "my" generation, and his death feels like a piece of the puzzle of our family unit has been misplaced forever. Godspeed, Sandy. 

This month I will celebrate my 63rd circle around the sun, and this decade and those to come stand to be peppered with more endings than beginnings. This fact helps me remember to appreciate the gifts that relationships bring and to be grateful for the joyful moments gifted to me each day. 

Stop...

 It's convenient when a big storm hits on a Saturday. Neither of us had to cancel work, and since the forecasters gave us plenty of notice, Chris went to the grocery store and transfer station on Friday, so there were no pressing chores to be done today. I fed and watered the animals early. The snow was falling so fast that it filled my footprints almost as soon as I left them. This was the kind of storm that insisted any plans one had made had to stop. After all the animals had a delivery of food, treats, and warm water, we had the entire day to hole up and watch the snow fall down. 

..

And fall it did. The picnic table sports a foot or so of snow. The chickens and goats all stayed firmly in their houses. We followed suit. I repeatedly filled the wild bird feeders, and they swooped in to empty them in record time. The snow did not stop. 

Plows and sand trucks rumbled by all day, creating impressive banks. 

At dusk, the dogs and I went back out to play and check the livestock. There was dancing and racing on the dog's part. I shoveled a bit to get to the garage, coops, and goats. They were happy to see me, tucking into their fresh hay with gusto. 

On the way back in, I noticed the lawn chairs. 

Some earlier storm had upended them. Any regulation adults would have stored them carefully at the end of the season, but that is not how we roll. Somewhere in the recesses of our minds, I suspect that we think if we leave our beloved chairs out, maybe the happy sitting outside season will linger. But here they are, tucked under a deep, cold white blanket despite our hopes. And here we are, inside looking out. Full stop. It was that kind of storm. 

Yet the calendar does not know about the storm. Tomorrow will be one day closer to spring. 

Snow day...

 After what I would call a mild winter, the past week has delivered a lot of snow. Whoever built our house in 1910 didn't scrimp on windows, and I have lovely views of the falling flakes on all sides. I send them a silent thank you. 

I've fed the birds since the week we bought the place. Guests often comment on how many there are here, flitting and flying, filling the air with sound. The cost of the seed is an investment in wonder. 

Bravo thinks the snow is a treat. I throw a toy for him, and it vanishes in a puff of white. His clever nose finds it every time, and he tosses his head, toy clenched,  and prances with apparent pride. 

All but one customer canceled today, wanting to avoid sloppy roads. The fire snaps in the wood stove, I have a warm supper planned for this evening, and the plan for the rest of the day is to catch up on writing assignments. There will be a walk in the meadow with the dogs later; otherwise, I plan to relish some quiet time. Snow days are little gems of unexpected respite. 

Buck in a truck and other guests...

 When I got the new little Nigerian Dwarf goats last summer, I planned to breed them in the fall as I had with other goats in the past. Then I found out I was to get a new knee in late April, which would be right about when the kids arrived. Since I will be recovering from surgery, I didn't want to saddle extra work on my patient husband and daughter, so I put my plan on hold. That made me a little sad. Not only would we miss out on the fun goat kids provide, but there would also be no milk. 

 Then a customer came in, walking normally and seeming to feel just fine, and told me she had her knee replaced a mere three weeks before!  This gave me courage, and I arranged to borrow a buck for some romantic interludes with my lady goats. One nice thing about this goat breed is that they come into season all through the year, not just in the fall, like most other types. I figured I'd be in good shape for extra goat chores by summer, so I went to work putting a breeding plan into action. 

 Borrowing a buck goat was a little more complicated than you might imagine. First, I had to find one whose owner was willing to share. Next, he needed to be registered and have a clean bill of health. Then I had our veterinarian out to do various blood tests on my lady goats to ensure they were perfectly healthy and would not spread any illnesses to the dude when he was here.  It took a few weeks for the tests to come back. There were storms to work around, too, but yesterday, Chris and I finally hopped in the truck and drove an hour to the dairy. The lady had offered me a plastic dog crate for transport, which was ready in the parking area. She stuffed it full of hay, and while I was still digging money out of my wallet to pay for the loan, she quickly scooped a hairy, odiferous male goat into the crate. We covered the vents with sheets of cardboard and banked the crate in bales of hay to keep the wind off while we drove.  Wyatt the buck laid down in the deep hay and rode quietly over snowy roads all the way to FairWinds. The day before, I read the book Sheep in a Jeep to the Owlet about 15 times, so all the way home, I invented rhymes about "Buck in a Truck" for my very own story. 

Chris was concerned about getting him from the truck to the pasture without him becoming frightened and confused and trying to escape. I knew that one of my does was in season, and I figured that if Wyatt saw goats when he was unloaded and got a whiff of the pheromones Plenty was emitting, he'd quickly become enamored and have no thoughts of bolting. So I got a little grain and lured the ladies out of their cozy, through the snow, and to the gate. While they were noshing on the unexpected snack, I opened the crate. Wyatt surveyed the group of does before him, inhaled deeply, stuck his tongue out to taste the air, and grunted a happy sound. Then, he hopped off the tailgate and joined his new lady friends. 

He is the brown and white spotted guy on the left above. 

Plenty was in the mood for love. Here she is, smiling a thank you at me. 

There was barely a civilized greeting before Wyatt went to work, ensuring I would have some baby goats to love this summer. Then he yawned deeply. A long ride and then a job to do. 

Plenty couldn't get enough of him, rubbing her face in his smelly beard and flirting shamelessly. 

I left the dogs inside while we introduced the goats and settled them. When I let them out, Bravo raced to the goat cozy. He could smell that buck and wanted to check him out. There was some barking, sniffing, and reassurance from me that all was well before he decided things were okay. 

We have another visitor, too. A cute Australian Shepherd. He lived nearby when he was a pup and regularly comes for grooming. He and Bravo have been friends for years. Now he is with us for a while during his family's vacation. He has made himself right at home, and there is a lot of running, chasing, playing, and fun inside and out. 

There is nothing like visitors to spice up the cold days of winter. 

Stuck...

 Although we have had little snow this winter, there was enough ice on the ground to severely limit the chickens and goats from getting out much. This is the first winter any of the young poultry has seen, and even if I leave their pop doors open, the birds have stayed firmly cooped up. They might stick a curious head out the door, but when they saw the white covering the ground, they backed up and stayed stuck inside.  But last Thursday, I heard a triumphant crowing under the window. I was delighted to see that the small bantam cochin rooster and his three ladies from one coop and the large Australorp rooster with one bold hen from the big coop were out exploring. I will have to try harder to get a representative photo of Stan the Man, the Australorp. He looks black at first glance, but in the right light, he is iridescent green and quite stunning. The single brave hen who has been venturing out with him is a Gold Laced Wyandotte. They make a beautiful pair. 

The diminutive Cochin's tend to stay in a tight flock. However, today when I went out late afternoon to exercise the dogs and check on all the animals, I saw The Donald in trouble. He had apparently launched himself upward and became stuck fast in the field fence. I don't know how long he had been there, not more than a few hours, but clearly long enough to work up quite a temper.  I tenderly worked him loose and reunited him with his ladies. He let loose a long tirade of chicken cuss words as he stomped off. 

The goats watched with apparent interest and steered clear. There was still a light frosting of white in the pasture, and I could see their wee hoof prints patterned all around as I exercised the dogs. They have been exploring and setting goals for springtime grazing. 

More snow is in the forecast this week, but it won't be long before all the critters of FairWinds are out roaming and exploring. Stuck no more. 

Love notes...

 On the morning he packed to go away for a week-long business trip, I cut some heart-shaped bits of paper and wrote little love messages for my husband. I tucked them here and there. One in with his socks, another in a pocket, and put one in his wallet. When he got home and was unpacking, I saw the notes, carefully saved, nestled in the corner of his suitcase. 

In return, he had left behind some of his own clothes to make room in his small case for the cozy new Colorado sweatshirt he had brought home for me. It feels like a hug. 

He does not travel without me often, and the house felt strange without him. It was quiet, for one thing. There were somehow more hours in the day.  And things stayed tidy. But there was a noticeable lack of laughter with him gone; the bed was too big, too cold, and the dogs were restless. 

One morning while he was away, I woke up, did all the animal chores, baked bread, and even put a fresh coat of paint on our stairs before work began. It was a good time to do it, knowing the steps would have a whole day to dry without a booted man stomping up and down them. 

It was good when he came through the door late Friday evening after a long day of travel. The house was filled with sound in no time, and the dogs snored contentedly around us. 

On Saturday, as we often do, we hosted "family supper." Though winter is far from over, the days are perceptibly longer, the sun a little warmer, and during the day, water drips from the eaves and can be heard rushing in the brook at the top of the pasture. We felt celebratory, and in a warm-weather mood, so Chris filled the grill with marinated chicken and balanced precariously on the ice in the yard while he cooked. I baked a pineapple upside-down cake for dessert, perfuming the house with a sweet tropical scent. I cooked wild rice and made a cucumber salad. Earlier in the day, I made dough for pita bread and let it rise in a sunny window before cooking each disk in a screaming hot skillet. 

Watching them balloon up as they turn from pale to golden is a treat. And the flavor is a delicious reward for the effort of making them. 

At supper time, our daughter and son-in-love breezed in with the Owlet, the show's star, and three favorite friends joined to fill the big table nicely. There was no lack of chatter, and the platters of food were well-appreciated. It felt a little festive, a sweet return to the regular order of our lovely lives.