I used to think I might be a hillbilly

I don't live in the hills, but have often felt like a hillbilly in my life. I'm not sure exactly why, as I'm a working white person who dresses in clothes that do not match, I might potty in my pasture when I'm in the middle of working out there, a bra is not required while at home, and my hair is dis-shelved much of the time when out and about on the farm. I'm not put-together when home, and care not to be. When a delivery person might drive down the gravel road to our house, to deliver a package, I know there's a strong possibility they may be judging me, as each person has their own term for "being a little too comfortable in their own skin". Yet, I now realize that because I did not have a proper definition of what a Hillbilly actually is, that I was using it incorrectly. It may have been okay in the slang form of the word, but I recently become informed and educated in regards to who this culture of people really are.
I'm intrigued with this term, Hillbilly, and when I came across the book Hillybilly Elegy, by J.D. Vance, I could not resist. This memoir revolves around the hillbilly culture in the Appalachia region of Kentucky, and follows the struggles and lives of people who are trying to make a better life for themselves. This region of the U.S. appears to be a forgotten area where people, over generations, are trying to improve they socioeconomic status and seek upward mobility. In this book, a Hillbilly is categorized as a working white person, who lives in the hill country (Appalachia in particular), and is often dreadfully poor. The author further explains his hillbilly family falls prey to alcoholism, abuse, poverty and trauma. These family's experiences cannot escape them even when they are finally able to move to a new state and begin to live in a more middle-class environment. The moral of the story is you can take the hillbilly people out of the hills, but that in itself does not take away their problems, previous experiences and history of what and who they are. This is such a universal take-away. It's just in this story, it's in regards to the hillbilly people. J.D writes this book from his personal experience, and never insinuates that the term 'hillbilly' is derogatory or bad. It's just who they are. And the attributes that come with it are what he lives with day to day, as he's now a lawyer who graduated from Yale. Yet, the suffering and struggles of his family, along with the dynamics of relationships that he learned as a child continue to haunt him. He wanted to share his story in a way that no other book had exposed. It's not pretty, and much of it is troubling. It was his way of sharing his (and his family's) story, while explaining the phenomenon of moving forward with demons that never leave you. He's a real hillbilly, from a hillbilly life.
With my complete understanding of this term, hillbilly, I now cannot even pretend to be one. I feel silly for ever using that term now. According to J.D. (in the book), he explains that people who live "like he did" with the exception of NOT being in the hills, would be a Redneck or White Trash. I have certainly heard those terms here and there in my life, but did not have a distinct definition for them. Now I understand, according to this book, they are the same as hillbillies, but do not live in the hills.
When I mentioned this book to a coworker, he knew instantly who was - and who was not - a hillbilly. He, himself, is a black man originally from Kentucky, and reiterated the fact that hillbilly's are predominately white. It's well-known from where he's from, who is - and who isn't. And what qualities the white people have vs what qualities the black people have. Interesting! He explained in vivid color, another side of this equation. How people who live around hillbilly's "view" them. We are all so alike, yet so different.
This whole cultural "defining" process is repeated over and over in life. Particularly at work, as culture is brought up in joking ways - and in serious ways. Usually as a personal method of humor to kid or laugh about it. I suppose that's a acceptable way to "discuss" culture, by being able to laugh at ourselves, and the things we may do.
As I began to think more about this awareness of people desiring to be around people of their own culture, it brought up the same aspect to me, but in an animal form. It's true, animals do the same thing, and they don't even know what culture is. So as humans do, we gave this phenomenon a name. Yet in the animal world, it's considered instinctual.
For example, as humans do, chickens have a complicated social network, although what is different about it is that it is strictly linear. Meaning only one chicken can be in the top rank, followed in line by another, all the way to the bottom of the order. This order can change when new birds are added or lost over time (which happened to us!). It sounds awful to humans, as you're never really upwardly mobile as a chicken. But that natural flock structure, that pecking order, makes chickens comfortable and happy. They only thing chickens mind? Being the ONLY chicken. And what do chickens prefer? To be in a group of those like themselves, even to the point to bonding with those that look like them, and ostracize those that do not look like them. They do this, for real.
And here I am reading this book on hillbilly's, learning of their plight of understanding each other and being misunderstood by others. Of their culture trying to move away from their strife and struggles, only to find they still have them after they have moved away from the hills. The order within the hillbilly community is much like chickens, as is most cultures. People want to be around others that look like them, they do not want to be alone, and they strive for diversity, with some success. Just as chickens do, some people are more accepting of others not like themselves, but it's something people will be working on through eternity. Diversity and the acceptance of others and their culture. It's not just a people thing, I see this occurring on the farm every day.
I have so much to learn in regards to other cultures. This book was an eye-opening one for me. The struggles the world faces, while those living in the hills of the U.S. face their own set of struggles. I was blessed by J.D to begin to understand their world, and am grateful for his passion and dedication to help others understand the journey of hillbilly's and what life is like in the hills.

I think my next story-time-on-the-farm will include a book that relates farm animals with diversity and culture, to show the children it's universal. I'll check with the family librarian on that.

Different, yet the same,
Cyndi

I may - or may not - relate everything to chickens in my life. I'm not sure, only time will tell. But what I do know, is that Brooke blessed me with some fake tattoos (of which David put one on his arm yesterday!) that have a chicken on it, and say Chickens Are Like Tattoos. OMG, I loved it! Thank you, Brooke, for the tattoos - as well as being a dedicated follower of a blogger just living her little life. Thanks, again!! Love them!




    

Dostadning = Death Cleaning

I've done routine house cleaning for years, spring cleaning, deep cleaning, cleaning when we move from house to house, downsizing, nesting for the arrival of my little girl (years ago), decluttering, daily chores and now-a-days, barn cleaning and mucking of stalls. But wait! I can now add a new aspect and type of cleaning to my life. Death cleaning or Dostadning (Swedish). Cleaning like your going to die tomorrow. I never even knew it was something people consciously did. Granted, maybe most people don't do this. Maybe I'm just getting to the age where I'm thinking more about it. Is there an age this starts happening and it's a secret until then? I mean, when do I start doing this? And how do I go about it? Shall I talk about this to others? Are they doing it too? So many questions.
It all started with a pan-in-the-face thought of "if I die right now, who's going to have to clean up all my stuff?!' I about gave myself a stroke, 3 TIA's and a heart attack all at one time just thinking about how much work that would be. There's only one thing certain in life when we are born, and it's that we will die. Everything else in the middle is life, and life is never certain. Sometimes I really think I may be in control of my life, or know the direction it's going, but I really don't. Every time I think back 10 years, I know I would have NEVER guessed I'd be when I am now. Did that make sense? I'm 54, and my 44 year old self would have never imagined myself living in Gunter, on acreage, with cows as my neighbors and farm animals of my own. At 24, I would never have known that at 34 I'd be married with a beautiful baby girl. I have never been able to project out the "next" 10 years of my life, and have no idea where I might be at age 64, or 74 and beyond. I'm not necessarily interested in knowing my future, but planning is a big part of life. I don't live willy-nilly day to day, I'd like to think I sort-of have a plan. Or do I? One minute I'm practicing being mindful of my day to day activities, and the next minute I'm thinking of plans in a month from now. As I mentioned, I really don't know what's going to happen in my life, I just think I do.
So with this in mind, I started looking around me a little closer. It was so easy to say, "David has SO much stuff! So many material things, collections and things he does not use". Yep, I thought that many times in my life, and seemed convinced that I didn't. Yes, I've gotten rid of many, many things of my own over the last few years, but I've also bought many new things. It seems I haven't really downsized like I would have expected to. I donate things, and give things away, but if I keep buying things, I'm not really making the progress I'd like to. I needed to acknowledge the out-with-the-old and in-with-the-new was not a good idea while practicing the notion of non-attachment. The two do not go hand in hand.
I digress. So as new revelations have occurred to me, like all these materialistic things I own are going to be someone else's problem when I die, and since the only thing I know for sure is that I'm going to die, I better get on the stick and do something about this. And so I did. I sent David an email stating my intentions of Death Cleaning. I'm going to clean up my life so that others won't have to, and I outline this in my email to him. (By the way, I send David emails far more often than he may prefer.) I receive a reply back from him shortly that basically said "okay, but leave my stuff alone". Okay then, I think. I'll get my own stuff cleaned up so fast, I'll be back with you soon.
That was where I went off track. Getting my own things cleaned up so that others won't have to was - and is not - an easy task. At first it feels like deep cleaning, decluttering and downsizing all in one fail swoop. But then I looked up and realized that I still have so much stuff left. I rationalize it like this: but I need it to live, I need those clothes, that bedding, those towels, etc. Those gloves, those jackets, oh my goodness I have so much stuff still.
I went back to square one to collect my thoughts again. First of all, I tell myself because I'm trying this 'death cleaning' doesn't mean it's morbid. After all, I've been practicing non-attachment to things for a number of years now. But this is different. It's one step further than non-attachment. And I can reap the benefits of it while I'm still alive. I realize I've begun this process because of my own recent thoughts of mortality. One day, when I'm not around anymore, my family would have to take care of all my stuff, and I just don't think that's fair.
My plan? Keep what I love and get rid of the rest. And so I began with a bang. I took car loads (of my stuff) to Goodwill, began giving things to other people, and got my 'stuff' down to a more manageable size. But there's still more work to do. It's a matter of shifting my mindset, over and over, as I widdle my things down to having only the things around me I love. I realized I love a lot of stuff.  Yet, already I have noticed my fondness of less-is-more. I've been riding this train of tidiness for a few years now, and I love the ride. I love the look of less things in a room, which creates less chaos in my soul. I used to tell Lauren when she was younger, "Your spirit is in chaos because your closet is in chaos." Cleaning up your environment will clean up your spirit and soul. And it has, as I have embraced a new chapter of cleaning up my life, in preparation for the only thing certain in my life. Death.
It's also created an outlet to talk to family about death, our possessions and what's really important in life. I look back at my life and think I've really been death cleaning all along. All those types of cleaning I've been doing is really about decluttering and sorting out the things around me......just in case I step off the curb. I've also come to the conclusion that death cleaning is never truly finished. It only ends with death. Then it stops.
Until then, I'm having fun with it. I'm going to see how minimal I can get my stuff. It's a process that I now have a whole new outlook on. My 64 year old self will thank my 54 year old self for starting early. Your welcome.

I better go streamline some more,
Cyndi

So how is the flock?

I have held off giving an update on our flock due to the unknown. The unknown of if they will live, who will be okay, who won't? I'm hoping now, that I can safely say our chicken flock is on the road to recovery. The respiratory illness that swooped down and took hold of our flock is beginning to let up and let go. Most every chicken we have had a varying degree of this sickness, either with sniffles all the way to runny nose, swollen eyes, a cough and chest congestion. Some chickens rattled when they breathed, a very audible disturbance to my ears. They were breathing with their beaks open, and fighting for their lives. Now, those chickens with their eyes swollen shut, are open again. Those chickens who honkered down, and would not move about, are all free ranging again. During this time, we continued providing antibiotics to them through their water source, a warm place to be and lots of TLC. Each day I would check on them in the barn, I did not know what to expect. The progress seemed so slow. Throughout this multi week process, we had one casualty. Butterscotch. She was the chicken I took to the vet to help them understand the symptoms my chickens were experiencing. She was the sickest at the time, and the one that represented all the others, so the flock could receive the proper assistance. She did her job well, as the vet was able to diagnose and treat the entire flock appropriately. Yet, she could not overcome the respiratory illness that was taking over her little body. When she passed, the other chickens were around her, waiting for her. My heart broke when I checked on the chickens that fatal day, and saw her. What I learned about chickens was that they stay together, even when they are sick and dying. That's what made this whole illness harder to fight, as they all wanted to be together through it, and therefore no one would go outside to free range or move about. If one chicken was honkered down, the others will stay close. Since our chickens have never been sick, I had no idea this would occur.
There are several difficult aspects of Butterscotch's passing that changed the dynamics of the flock, as well as my own thought process regarding chickens in general. Butterscotch was one of our first 2 chickens we purchased. Her and Ginger were raised inside our house, from days old, to transition to a newly built (thank you, David) coop out back. As Rhode Island Reds, they are hearty, strong and great egg layers. They were sweet, gentle and allowed petting and holding generously. Little did we know they would become the leaders of our flock. They were the head hens, and worked together as a team. When we did decide to grow our flock and add more chickens, they readily accepted others into the group and led the way. I never thought about losing one. Never. My chickens will live forever, right?
Unfortunately, I learned what happens when the flock loses an alpha hen. Previously, as co-leaders, Ginger and Butterscotch would gently dominate and guide the flock. Hierarchy in a flock is an interesting phenomenon in the chicken world. What I noticed was the sicker Butterscotch got, the more everyone rallied around her. It's as if they knew, and they were there for her. I was amazed every time I witnessed it. Another issue was that Ginger was one of the "sicker" chickens, as well. The hierarchy of the flock made a natural progression of change. Ruby, a Rhode Island Red who was given to us by a friend, stepped up to the plate and took over the alpha role for the flock. She is a strong chicken, as she was the only chicken (in a friend's flock) who was left standing after several predator attacks. Even though she is a recent addition to our group of chickens, she's the one who told everybody else that "things would be okay". As Butterscotch passed and Ginger was still sick, it was Ruby who cheerfully, and kindly, took over the dynamics of the flock.
Then, as another few days went by, the chickens all started getting better, one by one. It was a miracle. This illness could have easily taken a hold of our entire flock to the point of no return. Instead, somehow the chickens were slowly improving. There was less coughing, and less audible breathing noises. The chickens were beginning to venture out of the barn again, and Ruby was leading the way. Ginger lagged behind in her recovery, but she did pull through. I worried about her so much. My heart could not take losing her, too. And she did it, she made it through. God spared our chickens, healed them, and is allowing us the opportunity to enjoy and cherish them.
As everyone began to improve, they begin to go about their normal daily activities again. They started free ranging outside, laying eggs and standing tall again. It warms my heart to see them outside, together, doing what chickens do. I am forever grateful to have my existing flock make it through this journey. Our loss is softened with the lives of the others spared.

I've learned many things from this experience:
1) That it's okay to take a chicken to the vet. Butterscotch's brave visit helped save all the others.
2) Chicken illnesses are quick to progress, and a whole flock can be gone in a matter of days.
3) TLC and warmth are invaluable in the recovery process, and cannot be underestimated.
4) My chickens are my world. They are each their own distinct self, and I love them all for who they are, more than ever. I smile every time I see them out and about.
5) I now know why people do not name their chickens. Chickens are fragile and can be gone in an instant. It's easier for people to not get "too close" to them emotionally.
6) I will always name my chickens.

And I thank everyone for their kindness and understanding while we walked through this dilemma together. Our story has a happy ending, and I'm so elated! Gratitude has no limit. My farm life continues, and with love, there is loss. As we celebrate the life given unto us, we do so with (of course) more chickens.

Welcome:
2 new Polish girlz, Thumbalina (missing a few toes) and Tinkerbelle.
3 new Silkies, Freckles, GiGi and Shadow (Shay Shay)

Yes, I'm that lady. That chicken lady,
Cyndi



   

Chickens are like tattoos

If you've gotten a tattoo, you know the feeling of wanting more. It's a phenomenon that is difficult to explain. You finally get the courage to go get that first tattoo, and afterward, you find yourself wanting another one, then another one, and then another. Seriously, how does this work? Why does this happen? But it does, and I can't explain it. It seems most people who have tattoos have multiples, not just one.
This same circumstance occurs with chickens. I started with two chickens a few years ago now, and since then, I can't get enough of them. As with tattoos, there's a bounty of choices and a never ending supply of ideas, types and options. With chickens, there's so many varieties and the ability to house them is quite easy. I have found each of my chickens to have a distance personality, just like my cats, dogs, and any other animal I have. My chickens run up to me just as the other animals do, many of them want to be loved and petted, while others want to just be around and observe. They all want treats, certainly, and they all want to express themselves for who they are.
And just like with getting a tattoo, you want different ones at different times of your life. There are regrets for some you have chosen, and others that you absolutely love. I also have made many great choices on picking chicken breeds that are conducive to the farm. Matter-of-fact, I was on a roll with making great choices! I started with Butterscotch and Ginger, two sweet Rhode Island Reds who are a couple of our tamest chickens. They allow most everyone to hold them, and are well adjusted and hearty. Then, we picked two Orpington's and two Plymouth Rocks to join them. Everyone did wonderfully.
As time has gone on, we have added chickens into the mix. I blogged about our rooster mistakes, and what we did to correct that problem. Since we do not have roosters here, finding them a new home was imperative. And luckily we found them a home before they turned into chicken soup. And my search for more hens is always on my mind. Who would be the next great addition to our flock?
My desire for more chickens has never waned. It's simply been managed at best. I accidentally came across two beautiful Brahma's, Peaches and Cream, not long ago who joined in on the fun. They lay dark eggs, and get along well with everyone. What happens is, you get these great chickens, and you just want more. Our chickens have come from many different sources, and we have had great success with them in regards to safety, health and cohesion.
Can my success not last? Do my tattoos have to fade? It's only a matter of time before the bad catches up with the good. The downturn of bad-chicken-luck all started when I purchased two beautiful, sweet Polich chickens. We named them Sugar and Spice. They were not like our other chickens, as they were fancy ones. They had a "top hat" on (fluffy feathers atop their heads) and a smaller body frame. They were friendly, and when we transitioned them into the flock, they did wonderfully. What we didn't know at the time, was that Sugar would succumb to Mericks disease. It's a neurological chicken disease whereby paralysis takes over. It's horrible, and we lost Sugar to it. The bright side was that no other chicken fell victim to it. Amazing! But this death left Spice alone, without her best friend. Most of our chickens have come to the farm in pairs. We have found this is the best way to incorporate new chickens into our flock. Everyone transitions new chickens into existing flocks differently, and we have found our niche in how best to do it here. Typically, you don't just throw chickens together without first allowing them to acclimate slowly to each other. And we have a process that we use here that works well. If we bring new chickens in as chicks, we finish raising them in the guest bathroom shower, until they have all their feathers and can keep themselves warm. Then, we move them to the Little Girl Coop in the barn for a period of time, locked in safely while the flock adapts to them, and gets to know them. Any pullets (not chicks) we bring in will be isolated in a caged/fenced area by the Big Girl Coop, and this gives everyone a chance to adjust.
Just as a ferris wheel turns, so does the likelihood of our chickens falling victim to disease, illness and/or predators. We have gone several years without any incident, and our chickens live each day as happy chickens who are essentially pets-that-give-back (eggs) with the ability to free range as they desire. We enjoy holding them, petting them and giving them plenty of mealworm treats and scratch.
Lately, we have had several incidents of predators. After we lost Sugar #1, then Sugar #2, then Spice, I was distraught. Quite frankly, I was beside myself. Just after these incidents (which I can’t bring myself to cover in detail) I noticed Peaches coughing. Within a few days, Butterscotch showed respiratory symptoms such as runny nose, cough and wheezing. Then, it started consuming Sunshine and Pebbles. They were lethargic, had goopy eyes and all had similar issues. It seemed as if it were the chicken cold or a respiratory infection of sorts. Or possibly the chicken flu?! During this progression, I took Butterscotch to the vet to see if they could do anything to help her - and the flock. The vet listened to Butterscotch lungs, and decided it was best to prescribe antibiotics. The whole flock would be treated with antibiotics in their main source of drinking water. There was no guarantee that anyone would survive, as only time will tell what is happening.
As a few days passed, it seemed our "infected" chickens were getting worse. Those that had caught this illness were wheezing, coughing, had a runny nose and even had an eye that was closed due to mucous and swelling. I had looked online to see what other things I could do to help this situation. A couple of suggestions were to clean the coop completely, keep them isolated, and make sure they were comfortable and warm. So I did those things.....all of them. I completely cleaned out their coops, and any areas they nestle and roost. I keep their water clean, and include fresh with antibiotics in it. I make sure they don't have a draft, and are warm enough. I'm doing all I can.
What's interesting is that I can't tell if they are getting better? Or getting worse? It's an unusual phenomenon, but whatever progression is being made, it's slow. If they are turning a corner and getting better, it's a very long corner because I can't see the progress. If the illness is progressing, it's invisible to me. So each time I go to the barn and check them, I really don't know what to expect. All I can say at this point is if they live through this, it will be a miracle. Chickens are so fragile, that when disease and illness take over, there's only so much you can do.
As I wait this out, I can tell you that Ginger, Butterscotch and Sunshine are affected the most. They each have one eye swollen shut, are congested and coughing. You can hear them breathing, almost like a rattle. A couple of others have this illness, but it's not as bad. Everyone is drinking from the antibiotic water, and since everyone has been exposed there's no isolating anyone at this point, according to the vet.
As this first flock illness continues, I'm learning more about my chickens and what they do - and what I do - in times of chicken strife. Another nurse at my work (her name is Cindy, too) asked me a interesting question, " If you lose your flock to this illness, will you get more chickens?". She knew someone who had a similar situation and ended up losing her whole flock to illness, and she did not chose to get more chickens. It was just too hard. I understand that, as these are our pets, too.
I can't answer that question in absolute just yet, but I'm pretty sure I'll always have chickens. I'm banking on NOT losing my whole flock. It will be a miracle if they make it through this, but I have faith. I'm not sure what my chicken-future holds, but for now, I'm giving extra TLC to my chickens as they hang on for another day.
My favoritest thing to do in the morning is go to the barn, and now-a-days I really can't wait each day to get out there. When they make that final turn of the corner to getting better, I want to be there.

I'll keep you posted,
Cyndi