Ed asks -- what are you going to be doing this morning? I know he's busy. He has an interview at the university sailing club. He's thinking of teaching there this summer. In fact, we had practiced last night -- he gave, in my view, great answers to the expected questions! But then, I know nothing about sailing. It all sounds so complicated...
To his question this morning I say -- I'm going to be writing.
This is where so much of my loosey goosey time goes to. [Ha! Did you hear that yesterday, the Merriam Webster people proclaimed that it is now considered acceptable to end a sentence with a preposition? When asked why the change, an expert grammarian explained -- people are doing it anyway. And besides, many of the rules in proper English usage are simply made up by old fuddy duddies who wanted to distinguish themselves as some kind of authority. All those years of worrying for naught!]
Ed will ask if I'm writing my next book. And I will always respond that I have so much non book writing to do that I dont have time for it right now.
Of course, first thing's first. I go out to feed the animals.
Our two hens are about to get some coop-mates.
We're getting four adolescent Bresse hens (called pullets) from the breeder of Bresse chickens. (He happens to live just about an hour west of us.)
I'm a little uneasy, because we haven't yet identified or dealt with the predator who keeps coming back each night, trying his damnest to get into the coop. That's not likely going to happen -- our coop is pretty secure. But if he gets bold and comes during the daylight hours when the hens are out and about, we're in trouble. And, too, the new pullets may be initially hard to coral into the coop at night. Spring time is when the predators are most active. So we're being cautious -- we're opening up the coop later than usual, but with free ranging, there's always a danger that someone will seize a hen.
Why is it that I even like raising chickens??
And so after breakfast...
... I give Ed a haircut and a beard trim and then he goes off for his interview and I fill the morning with writing. Emails, post drafts -- it all takes so much time!
And in the afternoon, we set out for Mount Horeb -- a small town to the west where there is a restaurant, Brix Cider, that appears to have an interesting menu. Our chicken farmer works there and we are curious enough to try it.
But we don't stay. We buy take out mushroom sandwiches (locally sourced!) for later. We are on a mission!
Our next stop is the New Glarus Woods State Park, where we hike a gorgeous loop. Well, it's just a regular forested path really, but today any hike loop is going to be stunning. The weather just makes you want to sing! -- mostly sunny, warm, spring like!
And from there it's a ten minute drive to our Bresse chicken guy. From this bunch he'll select for us our next generation Bresse hens.
We pick up three pullets and one freshly grown girl (she's a year younger than our two back home, and the others will be two years younger). And we bring them home. Along with a handful of tags that we will use to distinguish them all: the three year olds, the two year old and the babes that are just nearing one.
Here's where the excitement begins. Full swing. We pull into the farmette driveway. We take the pet carriers loaded with hens into the barn. It's dusk. Ed puts away our two old girls (they now have bandettes on their legs! The old girls are "Number 9" and "Number 11!"). But in reaching into the animal carrier to get one of the pullets, Ed missed her entirely (they are carzy wigglers!) and she manages to escape. Out onto the farmette lands. Totally unfamiliar terrain, without boundaries, barriers or fences.
There is no way we are going to be able to catch her. Indeed, she flies in the direction of the road to the south, then, chased away from it, she flies in the direction of the wetlands to the north, then, under trees, into fields and each time I get closer, she flaps madly and scoots in the opposite direction.
We can't leave her out in the wild. She'd be a sitting duck for every animal that comes this way in search of chicken meat.
Eventually, I decide that our brains are still that much larger than a chicken's brain. We'll outsmart her! Yes we can!
And we do. We coral her back toward the barn and in fright, she goes inside, where she settles along the wall, exhausted. It takes us several tries, but eventually Ed, with his enormous hands and long arms, is able to grab her from behind.
We are jubilant!
The rest of the hens are transferred without issue. For tonight, they're all snuggled together in the coop. Six Bresse hens! Tomorrow, the fighting will start, and a new pecking order will be set, but hey, that's peanuts compared to tonight's chase!
At the farmhouse, we eat our take-out sandwiches and exhale. Four new chickens, safely bedded down with the two old ones. With beautiful weather all weekend long. We're feeling mighty lucky here, in our small corner of south-central Wisconsin.
