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.