Ahhhh, Sam The Ram. Where do I start? He was a bottle-fed baby who, next to Belle, is the friendlist sheep I have come across. He loves to be loved, sticks his tongue out when he Baa's, and is looking to be a lamb-daddy pretty soon. Or so he thinks. He's still young, so we are not sure of the timing of him being a dad anytime soon, as he's still being a toddler and learning about life. David and I are new at this lambing thing. We have learned that it's around 145 days gestation period, but know very little about sheep sex. The Raising Sheep book I use as a reference tells me that his testicles should be about 16 inches around and that the sheep are most likely to breed around September. This brings Spring lambs, and who doesn't love a new lamb when the grass is turning green, the birds are singing, and the weather is mild. Luckily, I have more time to learn about breeding and having lambs of our own, as Sam continues to grow into the size of a small chest freezer. The idea of having baby lambs is that same feeling I used to get when the new Avon catalog showed up at the house when I was young. The excitement, the possibilities of new things - and affordable. Yes, my shepherd-wannabe life is slowly evolving. I want many sheep in the pasture, yet that thought scares me because I don't know if I can keep them all alive. I've done well so far, but is that a true predictor of the future?
Sam is already very interested in the ewes. They are fond of him, but the ewes do not appear to be in heat. What I did learn is that a ram is protective and sees the ewes as his very own. He has grown horns, and was butting us relentlessly for awhile, but lately, seems to have calmed down with that business. He enjoys having his head scratched and rubbed, and his tail just wags and wags when we rub and pet him, just like a dog's tail does. Speaking of, he's fond of the dogs (all the dogs) and wants to play with them. The dogs are not fond of his head butting rituals, and growl enough to "put him in his place". Sam knows when to stop, and he does.
One thing I've been combating lately is the misconceptions of sheep in general. Despite what people may thing, they are not just white blobs on a hill. They each have very distinct personalities. Some of the attributes people use to describe sheep are stupid, timid, meek, forgetful or damaging to grasslands. After having sheep, I realize they are very smart, desire nurturing from people, remember every nook and crannie of the things around them, recognize my car, know where to go when it's raining - and to get out of the rain, and who is going to feed them and exactly when. They react quickly to the guard dogs actions, they can run a lot faster than I ever knew, and feel comfortable talking to me whenever they see me. Maaaaaaaam. They can even smell me before they see me. The wind carries my scent, they smell it in the air, and start looking around for me. And it's not just because I'm sweaty or stinky. Sam always wants to interact with me no matter what I'm doing, and Belle looks at me as if I'm her Mama. I can see deep into her eyes as she looks into mine, and see the love. She smells me with her little nose, and would follow me around everywhere if she could.
While Belle and Sam were bottle fed and extremely tame and loving to people, Eve is getting there. She allows us to love her, pet her, and brush her, but is not as fond of other people. She's a bit leary of others until she gets used to the idea that the people around her are "okay". She's a beauty, and would win the beauty contest hands down. Belle is a ewe that me, as her mama, finds unconditionally beautiful. Some might consider her a big-girl. Happiness weighs more, Belle. Stay true.
The anticipation of lambing is a little overwhelming. No one is pregnant yet, but I still wonder if I will know enough to do this. Will I be able to help them if needed? Will I know when they are pregnant? So many questions. I have begin to read more in my Sheep Raising book about lambing, as well as internet sites like Sheep 101. Actually, lambing took me straight to Sheep 201. Oh dear. That story will continue and the next chapter in lamb raising will be a huge learning curve. Hope I pass the test.
The ground opened up and my heart tumbled in when we began this process of acquiring farm animals. My 12 year old self lives here on the Graves Farm. I consider it a hobby farm, a small-holding if you will. We don't make any money from farming, but that's not the goal - yet. I don't know what the goal is, I'm no pioneer women, all I know is I'm finally home. I no longer look for that perfect house, that next place we'll move to, or have a desire to be anywhere else. I'm home.
Many people - I have come to realize - never knew they were chicken-people. Along with my love of all my animals, I am a chicken person. We have had too much change in our chicken community over the last few months, mostly sad things. Chickens are fragile, and to go as long as we did with no "incidents" was certainly rare. The change is not over, as we came home the other day to one of our silkies who had passed. Out of the blue, dead, with no indications or prior understanding that something was wrong. My heart aches.
It's been hard, even for me, to keep up with the Chicken Math. We started with two, Ginger and Butterscotch. Then I needed more, so I decided on 4 more of two breeds. They were so beautiful that with time, I decided that I needed to add a different dab of color, and brought in two more. That's 6 now? Now wait, 8. I had promised David we would stay at 6. But do the two original ones really count in the total tally? My coop is too small now, so I must buy a bigger one. Perfect.
Now, I have too much room in my coop, and the feed store had the cutest lap-dog chickens ever! I buy them, and now have two polish with top hats to add to the mix. But can they be counted because I'm not sure I can let them free-range with the flock? So I get to thinking (which is often dangerous when it comes to chickens) if they aren't a part of my bigger flock egg layers, do I count them in my allotment?
However, to my dismay, I began to lose my sweet chickens. To illness, to predators, and a horrible hawk incident that I will need therapy for. Somehow, 2 chickens have turned into 14. Wait, I'm only supposed to have 6. After all, I have space for more now, with the new coop and all. And there's lots of room for chickens to free range around here. This chicken math includes all the accidental roosters that I've had to move to a "funny farm" somewhere. Oh yeah, don't forget the new purchase of two polish to heal my heart from the two polish that perished. I had to do that, I just had to. Plus three more silkies because the hawk incident left a hole in my heart, and I needed to show myself that I can protect them after all. David and I worked hard to create a coop for the sweet polish and silkies with a overhang that keeps the hawks out. They are just too small to be out on their own.
So my ways of leaving the house to go grocery shop, and coming back with a chicken seems normal now. I'm trying hard to control myself, as we have entered into nirvana with our chicken numbers. 2 + 4 + 2 + 2 - 1 - 1 + 2 - 3 + 3 - 1 = how many? 6, right? No, 13. Yep, we have 13 now. If I were superstitious, I would need to go get another chicken to round out that number. And you can't buy just one chicken at a time, can you? Chicken math is awesome, because you can rationalize everything. But they are so cute, but they were abandoned, but they are so cheap, but we have more room in the coop, but we lost one so we should get another.......but really, I just need them. I want them, I need them, and I love them so much. And it's not because I'm a big egg eater. Just like my sheep, my chickens each have a unique personality, and I adore them. My favorite thing about them? Is how they run across the yard. Run, I mean real fast, their little legs moving, their bottoms shaking back and forth. So cute, that I usually have to snapchat it. People HAVE to see this. Lifestyles of the Chicken Famous around here.
Happy Day,
Cyndi
Monday, May 7, 2018
Wednesday, April 25, 2018
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!
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!
Wednesday, April 18, 2018
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
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
Wednesday, April 11, 2018
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
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
Sunday, April 1, 2018
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
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
Thursday, March 15, 2018
Garden Activity
When you see a beautiful - or bountiful garden - do you ever think ‘how do they do that'? I have many times, and wondered if I could do that as well, or at least on a smaller scale. Since I've moved to Gunter (that would be almost 2 years now) I've thought about creating a garden. I've thought a long time about where I would put it, but more importantly, how would I go about it successfully? Could it be a large one with many plants that would give me all the food I need to eat? No, I don't really know "how" to do that, yet I've dreamt about it. I would need to start with a small garden, and work up from there. I could envision my just-right garden, and I would place that scene in different places around the farm and evaluate if that would be "the right spot" for my garden that I've imagined for a long time. Then as time went by, "that spot" I picked would be used for other things, or the grass was so green and lush there I could not possibly dig it up. Or a myriad of other reason that don't make sense, so a garden was never created. I simply continued to dream about it.
I was always noticing other people's gardens, and how they did things. In Colorado, when we would visit Lauren there, there were many gardens in the areas I ran or walked by. Surprising for such a cold climate, but really, a garden can be anywhere. I could tell I was getting closer to committing myself to it. But first, I would need to educate myself a little more in regards to starting one, and how to keep it going. I mentioned it to Lauren, and she checked out a couple of books from the library for me (since she is a librarian, it seemed fitting). The first book spoke about "companion gardening". It would explain that different plants planted close to each other would contribute to the soil viability, assist each other in their growth, and help repel insects from one another. That is an intriguing and fascinating aspect I had not considered. The other book was a week-by-week handbook to assist me in the creation of the garden and when to plant what. I needed that information, and combed through it in order to create a garden so that much of the initial work would eliminate extra work later on down the line. As easy as it would be to throw a garden together, I decided I would try to play by the (garden) rules and do as the experts would recommend. My thumb is not all that green, so it's in my best interest to listen, read and learn about how to do this.
It was during this period of time that I mentioned to David that I would like a garden bed. A real bed to place out in the designated area and hold my garden. It's a perfect scenario for me because it's a rectangle, and is just the right size to hold my first attempt at gardening. So one day, David brought home a metal twin size bed frame that would become the base for a garden. The headboard and footboard were both of a swirly metal design that could also be used for climbing plants, maybe even my tomatoes. David worked hard to put it together, along with a wood frame that would hold the dirt and plants in. He created a beautiful shell for me to begin my work of tilling the soil and taking the grass out.
Now with my bed in place, I was ready to put to use all the words I had read. It was odd having a bed frame in your yard, outside of your house. We strategically placed it so that it was behind/on the side of the house whereby it would get lots of sun, and not everyone might see it right away. It was in a place whereby I could garden quietly, away from the animals who might dig or eat it. It would be my Secret Garden. The gardening book had suggested you size your first garden by the amount of space you are willing to initially till by hand. That way, you are more likely to be able to handle the future needs of your garden. The twin bed frame David picked was perfect! I dug out all the grass inside the frame, and tilled it by hand. I desired not to do anymore than that size, as it was more work than I realized. Gardening is not for the weary, it's real work.
After I dug it out, my canvas of a blank rectangle was ready. Abiding by my new gardening book guidelines, I lined my bed with netting to keep out the things I don't want (weeds, grass, etc), and keep in the things I do want (my dirt, etc). I have a handy-dandy staple gun that I use for everything, and it worked perfectly to staple the netting to the border of the wood frame. Nice. Now, this magical book suggested I put down small gravel rocks or mulch as a bottom layer before you put in the dirt for drainage purpose, as well as a deterrent for weeds and such. You can cut small X's or poke small holes in the netting if you want, to allow for roots or worms/bugs to come and go. So I did small holes. Then, I spread the mulch down on top of the netting. Now, the dirt was next. I had bought 5 or 6 bags of dirt (2 cubic feet/bag) and it filled the bed nicely. It looked so pretty. But the chickens thought so too. Oh dear, I need a fence, and we have portable fencing around, so I quickly set that up. Much better, as between the dogs wanting to dig in the fresh dirt, the cats wanting to potty in it and the chickens wanting to scratch around in it, the fence truly is a necessity. Luckily, David and I have fencing around that we use to set up (intermittently) for farm animal purposes, and usually have extra pieces around.
The initial work of getting this part done was rewarding, because now I'm ready to plant something. This is where it got a little overwhelming. Do I plant fruits, vegetables, herbs, flowers? I decided my first garden would include vegetables. I'll start with that, and see how I do. Since I did not sow my seedlings, I choose to buy the plants that are already sprouted and ready to be planted. Easy enough, as I had made a list of what might be 1) hearty, 2) easy, 3) readily available, and 4) most likely to live despite what I might (or might not) do. I choose tomatoes, leaf lettuce, zucchini, broccoli, mild jalapeños, red bell peppers and banana peppers. I heard peppers are relatively prolific, and I would likely eat them, too. That's a big part of all of this. I wanted to plant things I would eat, and hopefully can figure out the timing of it all, so I have produce available throughout the year. Planting the proper vegetable at the right time is key. This is a learn-as-I go kind of thing, and I have a huge learning curve to climb. Thankfully, I'm starting with a small garden and can use different seasons to try out different plants. Crop rotation is a thing, I hear, so I'll be figuring that out as I go as well.
As I spoke with others around me (at work, friends) I readily hear how people desire to have a garden. And most people like myself think about it, but never create one. That was me, too. It is a commitment, so I understand the thought process behind it. Besides the initial work of setting it up properly, my biggest fear was failure to thrive. Brene Brown, my most favorite author/researcher says, "Failure can become our most powerful path to learning if we're willing to choose courage over comfort." David reminded me of this quote recently. It's so true. Embracing failure is no easy task, avoiding it is. Something as simple as creating and maintaining a garden is a good example for me, in regards to possible failure. Would I sustain it? Would I know how much water it needs, and did I plant it in the correct soil with a pH needed to allow my plants to thrive? It was good for me to face my fear, and have some self-compassion for myself that it would all be okay, no matter what. I don't know much about planting, growing and the needs to support plant life. I know the very basics, but I can't assume that's enough for a real garden. Now that I have completed this process, I wait. I water, and I watch. The fence is doing it's job, and the garden is safe. For now, as it may attract other undesirable creatures when produce really starts growing (I hope). There's so many unknowns, and I love that. I love the learning that will occur, and I love hearing other people's tips and tricks.
All the while, I couldn't help but reflect on the gardens I saw in Colorado. Every one had something I wanted. Fairy doors. Yes, it's true, I love Fairy Doors. And now, I have the perfect opportunity to put a couple of them out, on the outside of my garden frame bed. I picked a round hobbit-style one and a regular wooden-looking garden fairy door and strategically placed them so that they would "open" into my garden through the wooden base around it. The 10 year old inside of me still exists, and sneaks out every now and then to play.
Another necessity was the need to label my plants in the garden. I chose to do this inexpensively by purchasing short wooden stakes and spray paint them to add a little sparkle to my garden. I picked bright pink, another 10 year old decision. After they dried, I wrote (with a black sharpie) the name of each plant on a stake, and placed them in my garden so I will know which plants are which.
Now, I wait. After a few days, I can already tell the outcome will not be 100%. A few plants are looking a little peak-id, like maybe I watered them too much or they don't like the wind. Something that's not making them happy, but yet I don't know how to fix it or if I can. Maybe they need time to adjust to their new environment. Yeah, that's it. They just need time.
As spring is upon us, the grass (and weeds) are growing making the pasture so very green again. Our sheep are loving their new grazing options, and "ask" for grain less often. Mama and Papa donkey are enjoying the fresh grass as well, and act like lovebirds. They adore each other. The dogs love laying in the cool grass, and the chickens are eating every bug they can find. Everyone is busy doing their spring thing. The purple martins are starting to show up, and their nesting boxes up by the pond have been cleaned out and are ready for a new season (thank you, David!). We noticed an addition of a new duck on the pond, and the killdeer birds are looking for their potential egg-laying spots along the gravel road. How those eggs ever survive is something I still marvel over. These birds seem to do more running than flying, and are fun to watch how they try to deter you from their nest/eggs. Since my parents are "birders", it seems I must have some genetic component as well.
UPDATE: I had blogged about Baby (Pickles) new family/new home a few weeks ago. This past Sunday, I received a text from Donna (adoptive mom) saying that Baby was doing great! He's adjusting just fine, and they love and adore him. They sent me a picture of him, and he looks so independent and strong on his own. He's in charge of not only protecting a particular area (instinctual) but he's also a companion for those horses he's with. My heart is so happy that he can be his authentic self and live his best life. There's nothing better than that! He has so much potential, and it's wonderful to know he's doing so well.
Here's to longer daylight hours which equates to more eggs,
Cyndi
I was always noticing other people's gardens, and how they did things. In Colorado, when we would visit Lauren there, there were many gardens in the areas I ran or walked by. Surprising for such a cold climate, but really, a garden can be anywhere. I could tell I was getting closer to committing myself to it. But first, I would need to educate myself a little more in regards to starting one, and how to keep it going. I mentioned it to Lauren, and she checked out a couple of books from the library for me (since she is a librarian, it seemed fitting). The first book spoke about "companion gardening". It would explain that different plants planted close to each other would contribute to the soil viability, assist each other in their growth, and help repel insects from one another. That is an intriguing and fascinating aspect I had not considered. The other book was a week-by-week handbook to assist me in the creation of the garden and when to plant what. I needed that information, and combed through it in order to create a garden so that much of the initial work would eliminate extra work later on down the line. As easy as it would be to throw a garden together, I decided I would try to play by the (garden) rules and do as the experts would recommend. My thumb is not all that green, so it's in my best interest to listen, read and learn about how to do this.
It was during this period of time that I mentioned to David that I would like a garden bed. A real bed to place out in the designated area and hold my garden. It's a perfect scenario for me because it's a rectangle, and is just the right size to hold my first attempt at gardening. So one day, David brought home a metal twin size bed frame that would become the base for a garden. The headboard and footboard were both of a swirly metal design that could also be used for climbing plants, maybe even my tomatoes. David worked hard to put it together, along with a wood frame that would hold the dirt and plants in. He created a beautiful shell for me to begin my work of tilling the soil and taking the grass out.
Now with my bed in place, I was ready to put to use all the words I had read. It was odd having a bed frame in your yard, outside of your house. We strategically placed it so that it was behind/on the side of the house whereby it would get lots of sun, and not everyone might see it right away. It was in a place whereby I could garden quietly, away from the animals who might dig or eat it. It would be my Secret Garden. The gardening book had suggested you size your first garden by the amount of space you are willing to initially till by hand. That way, you are more likely to be able to handle the future needs of your garden. The twin bed frame David picked was perfect! I dug out all the grass inside the frame, and tilled it by hand. I desired not to do anymore than that size, as it was more work than I realized. Gardening is not for the weary, it's real work.
After I dug it out, my canvas of a blank rectangle was ready. Abiding by my new gardening book guidelines, I lined my bed with netting to keep out the things I don't want (weeds, grass, etc), and keep in the things I do want (my dirt, etc). I have a handy-dandy staple gun that I use for everything, and it worked perfectly to staple the netting to the border of the wood frame. Nice. Now, this magical book suggested I put down small gravel rocks or mulch as a bottom layer before you put in the dirt for drainage purpose, as well as a deterrent for weeds and such. You can cut small X's or poke small holes in the netting if you want, to allow for roots or worms/bugs to come and go. So I did small holes. Then, I spread the mulch down on top of the netting. Now, the dirt was next. I had bought 5 or 6 bags of dirt (2 cubic feet/bag) and it filled the bed nicely. It looked so pretty. But the chickens thought so too. Oh dear, I need a fence, and we have portable fencing around, so I quickly set that up. Much better, as between the dogs wanting to dig in the fresh dirt, the cats wanting to potty in it and the chickens wanting to scratch around in it, the fence truly is a necessity. Luckily, David and I have fencing around that we use to set up (intermittently) for farm animal purposes, and usually have extra pieces around.
The initial work of getting this part done was rewarding, because now I'm ready to plant something. This is where it got a little overwhelming. Do I plant fruits, vegetables, herbs, flowers? I decided my first garden would include vegetables. I'll start with that, and see how I do. Since I did not sow my seedlings, I choose to buy the plants that are already sprouted and ready to be planted. Easy enough, as I had made a list of what might be 1) hearty, 2) easy, 3) readily available, and 4) most likely to live despite what I might (or might not) do. I choose tomatoes, leaf lettuce, zucchini, broccoli, mild jalapeños, red bell peppers and banana peppers. I heard peppers are relatively prolific, and I would likely eat them, too. That's a big part of all of this. I wanted to plant things I would eat, and hopefully can figure out the timing of it all, so I have produce available throughout the year. Planting the proper vegetable at the right time is key. This is a learn-as-I go kind of thing, and I have a huge learning curve to climb. Thankfully, I'm starting with a small garden and can use different seasons to try out different plants. Crop rotation is a thing, I hear, so I'll be figuring that out as I go as well.
As I spoke with others around me (at work, friends) I readily hear how people desire to have a garden. And most people like myself think about it, but never create one. That was me, too. It is a commitment, so I understand the thought process behind it. Besides the initial work of setting it up properly, my biggest fear was failure to thrive. Brene Brown, my most favorite author/researcher says, "Failure can become our most powerful path to learning if we're willing to choose courage over comfort." David reminded me of this quote recently. It's so true. Embracing failure is no easy task, avoiding it is. Something as simple as creating and maintaining a garden is a good example for me, in regards to possible failure. Would I sustain it? Would I know how much water it needs, and did I plant it in the correct soil with a pH needed to allow my plants to thrive? It was good for me to face my fear, and have some self-compassion for myself that it would all be okay, no matter what. I don't know much about planting, growing and the needs to support plant life. I know the very basics, but I can't assume that's enough for a real garden. Now that I have completed this process, I wait. I water, and I watch. The fence is doing it's job, and the garden is safe. For now, as it may attract other undesirable creatures when produce really starts growing (I hope). There's so many unknowns, and I love that. I love the learning that will occur, and I love hearing other people's tips and tricks.
All the while, I couldn't help but reflect on the gardens I saw in Colorado. Every one had something I wanted. Fairy doors. Yes, it's true, I love Fairy Doors. And now, I have the perfect opportunity to put a couple of them out, on the outside of my garden frame bed. I picked a round hobbit-style one and a regular wooden-looking garden fairy door and strategically placed them so that they would "open" into my garden through the wooden base around it. The 10 year old inside of me still exists, and sneaks out every now and then to play.
Another necessity was the need to label my plants in the garden. I chose to do this inexpensively by purchasing short wooden stakes and spray paint them to add a little sparkle to my garden. I picked bright pink, another 10 year old decision. After they dried, I wrote (with a black sharpie) the name of each plant on a stake, and placed them in my garden so I will know which plants are which.
Now, I wait. After a few days, I can already tell the outcome will not be 100%. A few plants are looking a little peak-id, like maybe I watered them too much or they don't like the wind. Something that's not making them happy, but yet I don't know how to fix it or if I can. Maybe they need time to adjust to their new environment. Yeah, that's it. They just need time.
As spring is upon us, the grass (and weeds) are growing making the pasture so very green again. Our sheep are loving their new grazing options, and "ask" for grain less often. Mama and Papa donkey are enjoying the fresh grass as well, and act like lovebirds. They adore each other. The dogs love laying in the cool grass, and the chickens are eating every bug they can find. Everyone is busy doing their spring thing. The purple martins are starting to show up, and their nesting boxes up by the pond have been cleaned out and are ready for a new season (thank you, David!). We noticed an addition of a new duck on the pond, and the killdeer birds are looking for their potential egg-laying spots along the gravel road. How those eggs ever survive is something I still marvel over. These birds seem to do more running than flying, and are fun to watch how they try to deter you from their nest/eggs. Since my parents are "birders", it seems I must have some genetic component as well.
UPDATE: I had blogged about Baby (Pickles) new family/new home a few weeks ago. This past Sunday, I received a text from Donna (adoptive mom) saying that Baby was doing great! He's adjusting just fine, and they love and adore him. They sent me a picture of him, and he looks so independent and strong on his own. He's in charge of not only protecting a particular area (instinctual) but he's also a companion for those horses he's with. My heart is so happy that he can be his authentic self and live his best life. There's nothing better than that! He has so much potential, and it's wonderful to know he's doing so well.
Here's to longer daylight hours which equates to more eggs,
Cyndi
Friday, March 9, 2018
Let me introduce you
Home Sweet Home. That's how I ended my last blogpost and I'm still feeling it. It's sweet whenever I get home, and it's because of many reason of which I'll share a few here.
Our animals are our loves. For those who ask me what it's like to start the day off going to the barn (in the cold, or rain, etc) and what a chore that might be and how hard it is to get up early enough to include that in your morning, I say: It feeds my soul. It calms me, and reminds me of what life is really about.
As we continue to right-size here on the Graves Farm, we have gotten to a comfortable holding position. Our two donkeys Mama and Papa are enjoying their time together more than ever. Sometimes I think they replicate David and I. They are in love, and love each other. They are so bonded with each other, yet are able to do their own thing and be themselves.
We have three sheep/lambs, yet the combination of who we have has slightly changed. Belle and Eve are our 1 year old ewes, and we now have Sam, a 3 month old lamb-ram who was bottle-fed (like Belle was). Sam The Ram will ultimately mate with Belle and Eve to hopefully give us a couple of new lambs, when he's old enough to do so. Until then, the dynamics of this herd is fun to watch. Belle is easy going, loves to be loved, comes when you call her, and is excited to see us just like your dog would be. She knows what she wants and lets you know. Eve is our ewe we bought from a farm that was a triplet who was the third-wheel and literal outcast who got just enough nutrition to stay with her mama in the pasture. Her small stature when she was young, due to less feedings from her mama-ewe, has developed into a full-size sheep whose healthy and happy. And tame. She loves to be brushed, and will stand there all day while you do so. She's the herd leader, and our "beauty" of the bunch. Sam is small and growing rapidly! He's exerting his will in the group in regard to his fair-share of feed and love. He, like Belle, wants to be touched and petted at every opportunity. He calls out to us when he sees us, and is cute-as-a-button. He's a perfect addition to the herd. Cotton was a ewe in our herd of which we traded for a sheep-debt we owed the local feed store for "giving us Belle at 1 day old". Our barter deal at the time was that we would give him Belle's first baby, and we would take Belle and raise her and keep her. Instead of giving him a lamb, we gave him Cotton. He was really just looking to replace a lamb with a lamb, and welcomed Cotton because she could start breeding for him immediately. So Cotton lives a couple of miles away at Preston Trails Feed Store and we get to see her when we go there for feed, etc. We in turn wanted to breed Belle and Eve, which is why we purchased Sam. So we are back to three sheep. It's a herd full of love. They are all tame and friendly towards people. They welcome you to step into their pen and brush them, and of course, give them treats.
CatLand has not changed since we last spoke. Our community of cats is amazing. They get along, they have clicks, they do their thing, and they are everywhere. There's Kitty, Finn, Fi, June Bug, July, Preston, Sweet Pea, and Smokey. Smokey and Sweet Pea are best buds. Fi rarely "shows" herself to others. Preston has colitis. June Bug is my heart. Finn is Lauren's cat who we acquired when she moved, and is one of the most adventurous "in-door turned out-door" cats we have. July is the boss, and is the true boy of the bunch (yes, they are all neutered or spayed though). We also have some stray cats who lurk around the barn and garage area. Boots and Blackie are often seen and not heard. They are fine here, and don't bother anyone - or any chickens - thank goodness. Just not sure where they came from, but exist on our cat food and water. We welcome them.
Our chickens are another story. What started out a few years ago with a flock of 2, and it's now a flock of 14. To recap, Ginger and Butterscotch are two of our Rhode Island Reds and our first chickens ever. They are the lead hens, and everyone bows to them and knows they are silently in charge. They are not aggressive, just strong women. Then, we added 2 Plymouth Rocks (Pebbles and Pepper) and 2 Orpington's (Sunshine and Butter). They transitioned into the flock well, and then we had 6. After that, we accidentally got two roosters who live elsewhere now. The Sheriff (David) does not allow roosters on the farm. Then, I bought two unknown, but a beautiful breed of chickens, who we named Peaches and Cream. They joined the flock wonderfully as well. The addition of any chickens here on the farm have all been very smooth and easy for the most part. Adding new chickens to a existing flock can be difficult, from what I hear. So far, we have had great success with transitioning chickens into our community. We have a process we use, and it starts with isolating the "new" chickens in a cage/coop near the others who are free-ranging. With time, and depending on our intuition, we analyze when to allow them to join the flock to free-range. There's a period of time where the pecking order is apparent, then before we know it, it's smooth sailing, and everyone settles in.
Okay, so that makes a total of 8 chickens up to that point. Then, we had a friend (who lives in Celina) that had a flock of chickens of her own. Turns out, predators ended up 'getting' her chickens over time and she was left with one. She decided to move, and at that time asked us to take her one last chicken she had. It was is a Rhode Island Red, as well, and according to our friend, the chicken (hen) is a "bit bossy". Turns out, she was right. We incorporated her chicken as we normally do, in a fenced area near the flock. The bossy chicken, who we named Ruby, fought (through the fence!) any chicken that approached it. Well, she lost, and succumbed to the pecking order of the group. Once we did let her out to officially join the group, she fit in perfectly. Ruby actually loves being petted and is sweet natured. It just took her a few days to find her place in the flock. All the chickens love her now, and so do we. Then, it happened. I saw two Polish chickens for sale at a local feed store. Have you seen a Polish chicken? OMGoodness. Fancy, I say. Poofy feathered heads, smooth body feathers. It's as if they are a chicken wearing a fancy hat. I fell hard for them. There were two, one white and one tan (we named them Sugar and Spice). I'll take them! And so I did. In a previous blog, I wrote about us losing one of them to Merrick's disease. And we were left with one lonely Polish chicken (Spice), as those two were best friends. It is heart breaking to see any animal suffer. It was our first chicken loss, and was a learning experience for us. In the meantime, after Sugar passed, Spice was not wanting to blend in with the flock. Everyone got along, but she would not participate in free ranging or sleeping with them. It was then I knew we would need to get her a new friend.
I started looking around for a Polish chicken to buy, but it wasn't as easy as I had thought. I did find a similar breed, Silkie chickens, more readily available to buy. The silkie is also a fancy chicken with a poofy head, but also with super-soft feathers, feathered feet and just a all-around attractive breed. They are a small (bantam) breed and lay the tiniest eggs. I drove all they way to Burleson to go buy one, and it just so happened it was a white one. Really, I could not have planned this better. I passed on the name Sugar to her, and she blended right in with our flock (she's 6 months old) and become best buddies with Spice. Now, Sugar and Spice free range together. She was meant to be with us......and Spice. Those two do free range, but seem to be perfectly content with hanging out in the barn together as well. They are much smaller than all my other chickens (even grown up) and are the "lap dog" of chickens. Therefore, I must get more. And I did. I found a Silkie breeder not far from my house! I went and bought 3 more Silkies who are 3 weeks old, and super tiny. They live in a cage in the house until they are fully feathered and can go out to the barn. We named one GiGi, one Freckles and the last one we have yet to name. Now, we have 14 chickens! I'm super excited about that. I am a chicken lady. A sheep lady. A donkey lady. A cat lady for sure.
While walking around the other day, filling water buckets, and doing things around the barn is when it hit me. This is where I'm meant to be. Exactly where I'm supposed to be. I thank God for allowing me this opportunity to find my place in life. I have never been so settled, so content and so happy.
Another new, yet unexpected, addition on the farm are a couple of ducks living at our pond. This is the first time this has happened since we've lived here. I don't know much about ducks and how they decided to take up residence, but I'll need to look into that. And with spring coming, so are the Purple Martin's that will nest in the birdhouses we have up at the pond, high in the air. Those wonderful birds eat flying insects and keep our mosquitos at bay for us. So many "spring" things happening. The rye grass is booming, the weather is mild, and it's easy to stay outside and enjoy all that is around us.
The weekends may never seem long enough, but I always enjoy every minute of them.
Happy Stay-Home Day! (that's what Lauren used to call Saturday's and Sunday's when she was a little girl. "Is it a stay-home day, Mommy?" she would ask.) And a Stay-Home day is always the best kind of day,
Cyndi
Our animals are our loves. For those who ask me what it's like to start the day off going to the barn (in the cold, or rain, etc) and what a chore that might be and how hard it is to get up early enough to include that in your morning, I say: It feeds my soul. It calms me, and reminds me of what life is really about.
As we continue to right-size here on the Graves Farm, we have gotten to a comfortable holding position. Our two donkeys Mama and Papa are enjoying their time together more than ever. Sometimes I think they replicate David and I. They are in love, and love each other. They are so bonded with each other, yet are able to do their own thing and be themselves.
We have three sheep/lambs, yet the combination of who we have has slightly changed. Belle and Eve are our 1 year old ewes, and we now have Sam, a 3 month old lamb-ram who was bottle-fed (like Belle was). Sam The Ram will ultimately mate with Belle and Eve to hopefully give us a couple of new lambs, when he's old enough to do so. Until then, the dynamics of this herd is fun to watch. Belle is easy going, loves to be loved, comes when you call her, and is excited to see us just like your dog would be. She knows what she wants and lets you know. Eve is our ewe we bought from a farm that was a triplet who was the third-wheel and literal outcast who got just enough nutrition to stay with her mama in the pasture. Her small stature when she was young, due to less feedings from her mama-ewe, has developed into a full-size sheep whose healthy and happy. And tame. She loves to be brushed, and will stand there all day while you do so. She's the herd leader, and our "beauty" of the bunch. Sam is small and growing rapidly! He's exerting his will in the group in regard to his fair-share of feed and love. He, like Belle, wants to be touched and petted at every opportunity. He calls out to us when he sees us, and is cute-as-a-button. He's a perfect addition to the herd. Cotton was a ewe in our herd of which we traded for a sheep-debt we owed the local feed store for "giving us Belle at 1 day old". Our barter deal at the time was that we would give him Belle's first baby, and we would take Belle and raise her and keep her. Instead of giving him a lamb, we gave him Cotton. He was really just looking to replace a lamb with a lamb, and welcomed Cotton because she could start breeding for him immediately. So Cotton lives a couple of miles away at Preston Trails Feed Store and we get to see her when we go there for feed, etc. We in turn wanted to breed Belle and Eve, which is why we purchased Sam. So we are back to three sheep. It's a herd full of love. They are all tame and friendly towards people. They welcome you to step into their pen and brush them, and of course, give them treats.
CatLand has not changed since we last spoke. Our community of cats is amazing. They get along, they have clicks, they do their thing, and they are everywhere. There's Kitty, Finn, Fi, June Bug, July, Preston, Sweet Pea, and Smokey. Smokey and Sweet Pea are best buds. Fi rarely "shows" herself to others. Preston has colitis. June Bug is my heart. Finn is Lauren's cat who we acquired when she moved, and is one of the most adventurous "in-door turned out-door" cats we have. July is the boss, and is the true boy of the bunch (yes, they are all neutered or spayed though). We also have some stray cats who lurk around the barn and garage area. Boots and Blackie are often seen and not heard. They are fine here, and don't bother anyone - or any chickens - thank goodness. Just not sure where they came from, but exist on our cat food and water. We welcome them.
Our chickens are another story. What started out a few years ago with a flock of 2, and it's now a flock of 14. To recap, Ginger and Butterscotch are two of our Rhode Island Reds and our first chickens ever. They are the lead hens, and everyone bows to them and knows they are silently in charge. They are not aggressive, just strong women. Then, we added 2 Plymouth Rocks (Pebbles and Pepper) and 2 Orpington's (Sunshine and Butter). They transitioned into the flock well, and then we had 6. After that, we accidentally got two roosters who live elsewhere now. The Sheriff (David) does not allow roosters on the farm. Then, I bought two unknown, but a beautiful breed of chickens, who we named Peaches and Cream. They joined the flock wonderfully as well. The addition of any chickens here on the farm have all been very smooth and easy for the most part. Adding new chickens to a existing flock can be difficult, from what I hear. So far, we have had great success with transitioning chickens into our community. We have a process we use, and it starts with isolating the "new" chickens in a cage/coop near the others who are free-ranging. With time, and depending on our intuition, we analyze when to allow them to join the flock to free-range. There's a period of time where the pecking order is apparent, then before we know it, it's smooth sailing, and everyone settles in.
Okay, so that makes a total of 8 chickens up to that point. Then, we had a friend (who lives in Celina) that had a flock of chickens of her own. Turns out, predators ended up 'getting' her chickens over time and she was left with one. She decided to move, and at that time asked us to take her one last chicken she had. It was is a Rhode Island Red, as well, and according to our friend, the chicken (hen) is a "bit bossy". Turns out, she was right. We incorporated her chicken as we normally do, in a fenced area near the flock. The bossy chicken, who we named Ruby, fought (through the fence!) any chicken that approached it. Well, she lost, and succumbed to the pecking order of the group. Once we did let her out to officially join the group, she fit in perfectly. Ruby actually loves being petted and is sweet natured. It just took her a few days to find her place in the flock. All the chickens love her now, and so do we. Then, it happened. I saw two Polish chickens for sale at a local feed store. Have you seen a Polish chicken? OMGoodness. Fancy, I say. Poofy feathered heads, smooth body feathers. It's as if they are a chicken wearing a fancy hat. I fell hard for them. There were two, one white and one tan (we named them Sugar and Spice). I'll take them! And so I did. In a previous blog, I wrote about us losing one of them to Merrick's disease. And we were left with one lonely Polish chicken (Spice), as those two were best friends. It is heart breaking to see any animal suffer. It was our first chicken loss, and was a learning experience for us. In the meantime, after Sugar passed, Spice was not wanting to blend in with the flock. Everyone got along, but she would not participate in free ranging or sleeping with them. It was then I knew we would need to get her a new friend.
I started looking around for a Polish chicken to buy, but it wasn't as easy as I had thought. I did find a similar breed, Silkie chickens, more readily available to buy. The silkie is also a fancy chicken with a poofy head, but also with super-soft feathers, feathered feet and just a all-around attractive breed. They are a small (bantam) breed and lay the tiniest eggs. I drove all they way to Burleson to go buy one, and it just so happened it was a white one. Really, I could not have planned this better. I passed on the name Sugar to her, and she blended right in with our flock (she's 6 months old) and become best buddies with Spice. Now, Sugar and Spice free range together. She was meant to be with us......and Spice. Those two do free range, but seem to be perfectly content with hanging out in the barn together as well. They are much smaller than all my other chickens (even grown up) and are the "lap dog" of chickens. Therefore, I must get more. And I did. I found a Silkie breeder not far from my house! I went and bought 3 more Silkies who are 3 weeks old, and super tiny. They live in a cage in the house until they are fully feathered and can go out to the barn. We named one GiGi, one Freckles and the last one we have yet to name. Now, we have 14 chickens! I'm super excited about that. I am a chicken lady. A sheep lady. A donkey lady. A cat lady for sure.
While walking around the other day, filling water buckets, and doing things around the barn is when it hit me. This is where I'm meant to be. Exactly where I'm supposed to be. I thank God for allowing me this opportunity to find my place in life. I have never been so settled, so content and so happy.
Another new, yet unexpected, addition on the farm are a couple of ducks living at our pond. This is the first time this has happened since we've lived here. I don't know much about ducks and how they decided to take up residence, but I'll need to look into that. And with spring coming, so are the Purple Martin's that will nest in the birdhouses we have up at the pond, high in the air. Those wonderful birds eat flying insects and keep our mosquitos at bay for us. So many "spring" things happening. The rye grass is booming, the weather is mild, and it's easy to stay outside and enjoy all that is around us.
The weekends may never seem long enough, but I always enjoy every minute of them.
Happy Stay-Home Day! (that's what Lauren used to call Saturday's and Sunday's when she was a little girl. "Is it a stay-home day, Mommy?" she would ask.) And a Stay-Home day is always the best kind of day,
Cyndi
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