It takes some kind of precision to carry and use a spade fork around 26 hens who know what is going to be under those clods of dirt. They fight for those worms, too, dear hearts. The new Marans may not be very old, but they definitely know how to get their beaks in that dirt or fight off another hen. For me, it is just a small task to avoid toes and heads so none of the girls get injured. As it is, moving some chicken wire ended up giving me another punctured finger. Definitely spreading around the DNA.
Picked up 14 eggs so far today, and one Black Maran was still on the nest. That is a very good count for these girls. And Athena has stopped laying apparently. Know anyone who wants a hen as a pet? She has an attitude, too. And she cusses in hen talk, in case you were wondering. But then, have a Black-laced Wyandotte who absolutely screams in chicken words. Never have understood a word she was saying, but it was not because she spoke too quietly. Crazy chickens.
Spoke with Sterling early this morning and discovered that he has decided to move to the farm he and Marion bought when they started chicken farming. It is a house Danny built for his hired help, but it will suit Sterling and Jacqui just fine. It also has a big ol' barn for whatever he wants to do with it. Danny has bought another farm that is much bigger and has cattle on it. Oh to be young and energetic again.
Thinking about my fig tree that is out in the big hen coop. Going to try to plant it in the yard again and put that chicken wire around it. That will keep the hens off of it maybe and then it can be covered this next winter with plastic. We will see. Just would love to have trees that have a chance to bloom and bear. Last year chicken wire around the plum tree and the two cherry trees worked out fairly well. May have to do a little improvising with wire and some metal things that are normally used for chain link fences. And then that will still not be a guarantee that it will keep the hens out of the area. May go out there and find one perched in the tree enjoying fruit.
The bird for the day is the spotted flycatcher. It's another European bird, but we have flycatchers here in Texas--just not spotted ones. In fact, the scissortail flycatcher is one of my favorite birds. Used to draw those things and gave Grandmother Pollard a drawing of a pair on a mesquite tree. Ah, the things we once did that we enjoyed then. Will include the picture of the European bird at the end of the blog. Putting the picture in the middle has a tendency to make it more difficult to get the paragraphs to stay together for some reason.
Praying for those who are having weather related problems right now reminds me that Kate Ellen needs water on the Shire in Kenya. They have not had rain and need it desperately. She said that taking a "bath" with a hot wash cloth was just not overly satisfactory. Can understand how that is. When Petrolia had no water back when we were little, they would turn on the water and then turn it off again about an hour later. Mom would catch all the water she could in the tub and that is all we had, dear hearts. My Granddad Pollard had a couple of old milk cans that he filled up in Wichita and brought home. He brought us one for cooking and took one home to Grandmother for cooking. They had a well, but the water was not good to drink or for cooking. At least he could get a bath.
John Rhoads just came and picked up the eggs that had been sitting out on the bench for Mary to pick up. She forgot them. Oh well. They will be just fine even though they were outside because it does not get hot out there this time of year. It is in the shade and is cooler there than here in the house.
Absolutely do not know anything today. It sometimes pays to stay off of AOL, FB, JP, or any other source of confusion. Thinking about the days when my grandmothers canned vegetables and fruit, and we helped with snapping the peas or peeling fruit. We never got in any kind of trouble because we were always busy or had something to do. When we were free to run around, we played in the Kennedy hay barn or took their horses to the tanks to use them as diving boards. Out at the Pollard farm, we wandered around the fields and played make believe games of cowboy and Indian. It did not matter whether Sterling was an Indian or a cowboy, he always snuck up on me and shot me (make believe is pretty safe that way). And invariably he "let" me pull the wagon back to the house. Uh huh. Sneaky brother.
May you all rest well this night and awake with joy. You are loved.
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