spoiled

 Sometimes it just happens. You're a parent, you need your kid to behave. You give a bribe. Maybe it's sweet, sugary and maybe it's excessive. You just want the kid to sit still, or go away, become invisible. So you hand over the treat.

I was reminded of this when I did my first of the season planting of new perennials. (After breakfast, of course).






Oh, the chickens were interested alright! It's as if everything up to now was just a prelude to bliss. They keep close to my hand shovel,  looking me right in the eye, hoping that I'll produce their caviar. Digging? You're digging? I want some of whatever it is that you're digging!





I should tell you this: I don't know how the weather was in your neck of the woods, but here, at the farmette, it was a brilliant day. Windy, true, but when the temps stay in the fifties, I'm not going to complain.

And so it's not surprising that I should set out to plant a few things. Slowly at first. It's a bit of a risk after all -- you don't know if the warm weather will last.

So I pause to let them feast on worms. In fact, I help them a bit here. Scotch gets one first from me, because she is the most tentative. But the others get their share. And before you know it, I've abandoned my plants and I'm digging for chickens -- finding worms for them. Ridiculous?

And this makes them sleepy. They nearly always nap after a big meal. Secretly, I'm thrilled: it's like your toddler has finally settled for a while! Wonderful! I can plant!






In the afternoon, Ed and I get back to raspberry patch repair (dig, pull, remove weeds) and the chicks are there as well and this time they need no assistance. When we stir up the dirt in this way, there are so many bugs and worms that it is easy for them to get their fill. And I'm thinking -- what a good life! Eat, nap. Eat, nap. Food readily available, in amounts that would satisfy a million chickens (I exaggerate; or maybe not...).

Does this create spoiled chickens? When is a happy chicken one who is too well provided for?

I'm not worried. They dig, they eat and they make us smile. And maybe somewhere in that chicken face, there's a smile as well.






To complete the post, let me put up a few photos that describe so well the last details of a sunny May day: 1. Oreo and Scotch, resting after a particularly worm-filled morning; 2. collecting eggs, with Isis in for the ride; 3. bringing outside the wintered-over geranium pots; and lastly -- 4. the farmhouse, finally putting on her spring cloak of greenery, with just a few early flowers. It's such a favorite image for me that I keep returning to it in the course of a day. So, here they are, all four snapshots:




















Think how much has changed in a month!

highlights

There are the obvious ones:

My daughter and her husband came over for dinner.




I served quinoa salad and shrimp. Ed left a handful of quinoa on his plate. Shocking. Ed never leaves food on a plate. I tell him -- you eat such garbage (dont ask me to elaborate) and you cant finish quinoa?
I ate some...
You cant be a vegetarian and not like quinoa. Or eggplant. Or zucchini. Or beets...
I like beets!
There's leftover beet soup in the fridge and it's getting mighty old.
I'll eat it tomorrow!
And the quinoa?
That too! Tomorrow I'm going to die of healthiness!

Anyway, the dinner with daughter and her husband was delightful. And good and healthy, darn it!


Other highlights:

The chickens woke to a new world, a puzzling world, but not an awful world. And for me, the sunrise was at a different slant.






And everything looked just a little special. Lovely, there by the barn.











Other highlights:

Breakfast was in the sun room and it was... sunny!






More:

The daffodils dazzled!











And, friends came over to meet our chickens and so we were motivated to put a little oomph into Sunday morning farmhouse cleaning.

These same friends are planning a trip to France and after their visit, I remarked to Ed how wonderful it is to hear their pleasurable anticipation. Of how romantic it must be to go at it together. Ed listened, considered it and answered -- we do romantic things!
You're thinking of what now?
I invited you to go with me to Farm & Fleet this afternoon! (He needed to return some V-belts for the Zero-turn.)



Let me add a few more tidbits here to the highlight jigsaw:

For example, there's the fact that I did not use that Zero-turn to mow the prairie grasses back of the farmette. I used the ancient, absolutely ancient John Deere instead.






It felt solid. I broke nothing. I got the job done. Ed watched from the rooftop where he was making some trivial adjustments to our porch glass roof.







And on our trip to Farm & Fleet, we stopped at Felly's Gardening Center. Just to see. I was tremendously impressed with how this store has evolved over the years: from a ho hum flower shop in the city, to a place of robust annuals and perennials for the serious gardener. Since Ed decided to take a nap in the car, I used the opportunity to stuff the car trunk with a number of lovely farmette flowering enhancements. When he woke up, he didn't even protest. Much.

At Farm & Fleet, too, we had some stellar moments.

Buying corn for the chickens.
Not that one! That's sold by the ton!
No it's not!
Yes it is!
Look here: fancy small bags. $6. Not by the ton.
Look there: big sacks. Priced by the ton.
(It's nice when we both can be right.)

And finding unusual veggies to plant in the garden. Horseradish, for example. (Is that a veggie?)


In the evening, after my daughter and husband had left, We look out and see Whitney, the white chick, wandering around the space of the old pen. She clearly has lost her sense of place. Ed goes out and she flies to him with glee. You could say it was in anticipation of a potential treat. Or you could say it was for a chicken's love of the familiar.  The person who helps fill her dream world of nibbles and water and a good soft place to rest her head.

And speaking of a good place to rest the chicken head, I did today place a few springs of lavender on the chips where the hens lay their eggs. Sort of like a thank you card. Maybe they wont be lulled into a sweet moment of comfort and security. But maybe they will. I hope they will.

moving day

I've noticed that people have different moving strategies. Some take it slowly: let's just unpack one box at a time... Others rush to put it all behind them: you decide where to put the spatula, throw it away for all I care! Let's just unpack already!

Some are bothered by moving. Adjustment to the new surroundings will be slow. Excitement is tempered by apprehension. Others don't care. New streets to cross? No big deal. New acoustics, lighting, neighbors, mail-delivery person? Fun!

If I had to put a label our chickens, I'd say that they belong to the set that's apprehensive, uncomfortable, disoriented, not ready, confused, disinclined to relocate.

And if they're going to be nervous about it, then I'm going to be nervous. And that translates into me wanting to get this done with quickly, methodically, without pause.

Perhaps I should have started with this explanation: today, Ed completed the fence building project and the sun greeted us (well, me and the chickens) with gusto, and so after delighting in all the wonderful luminescence of the morning...































...and after determining that it is warm enough to eat breakfast on the porch (it wasn't really warm enough, but we forced it)...





... I faced the chickens and said this: you are moving today!

They appeared indifferent to the news. Shows how innocent chickens can be.






But it turns out not to be an easy transfer. The space we chose for them (so many factors to consider!) was covered in good part by rotted logs. We had to clear most of those out first.

And as I lifted and heaved logs, I kept thinking -- when will my back snap? When will I regret having lifted one more log?

I was truly relieved that a couple of hours of this  did not undo whatever it is that gets undone in my back.

Alright. Space cleared. Now I help Ed put up the fence (so much prettier than the chain link one we used up to now!).

And finally, we move the coop to this new space for them.

And the chickens follow and they are curious and they accept that this is where they can now get their water, their food, their shelter...






...and then they promptly forget all about it and after a hearty meal of worms, they rest as Ed and I continue to lift, heave, and build.

Okay. The place is ready. Now we need to hang around the new location so that they know this is their new home.

And initially it works. I throw some corn on the ground -- they run, RUN over... But then they're off to who knows where.


It is the afternoon. A perfect one at that: mostly sunny and mostly warm.  And my back is not protesting too much and this is just such a relief!

So maybe we should continue working?  Yes!

More toil and sweat over the raspberry patch: digging, heaving, pulling out the countless clumps of creeping charlie.

And still my back does not protest.

It truly feels like a miracle.

Now if only the chicks would accept their new location...


They do not. They keep coming back to the place where the coop once stood. They appear befuddled. They come to the farmhouse door and set up shop there.

No, no cheepers! Let me lead you to your new address by the barn!
I do that. They follow. They eat the corn I give them (a treat!), they inspect the premises (nice, very nice!) and then they come right back to the courtyard.

Time to put some force behind the move. The sun is setting (ah! so you get a sunrise and a sunset tonight! Thank the chickens!).





It's their bedtime. I lead them once again to the coop and then I lock the new gate on them and walk away.

I mean, really guys: it's the same coop, only a few hundred meters to the side of where you were! You'd make lousy immigrants!

Goodnight, cheepers. I'll see you tomorrow. At sunrise. Or thereabouts.

chores

Be prepared: it's a sluggish  and chore filled day. Reading an account of it has to feel like plodding through a book where there is no story line. Except this: sometimes, one just has to do chores.


I wake up, note it's time for chicken care, look out and confirm that it is cloudy and damp. Just as expected. And now I have to push myself a little to get up and outside. It's not especially warm and so it's still a production to get going. I had glanced at Ocean from a year back and noted that we had been eating breakfast fairly regularly on the porch on these dates. Not this year.

Okay, I'm up. Hey Ed, I'm up.
Mmm. He rolls over and continues to sleep.

It's been a while since we've seen or talked to the chicken owners (remember, we're only foster chicken caretakers). It seems that they're happy to drop out of the picture. That's okay: there's not much that they can do for the birds if the birds are here. I know that now.






It's Friday and for us that means that after breakfast...





.... Ed hurries off to his meetings and I hurry off to do weekly grocery shopping.

I prolong the expedition somewhat by stopping off at the eye glass store. I need new glasses. Mine are too old, too square, too loose, too incompatible with my current vision. I stare at the prices of frames and I tell the salesclerk that I could buy two huge TVs for that kind of money and there's a lot more technology that goes into TVs than into frames. She mumbles something about the frames being handmade. Is it more important to have your glass frames be made without use of technology?  The glasses will have to wait. 
 
Back at the farmette, I sit down to do some writing. I look up every now and then to take note of where the chickens are. I no longer panic when I don't see them. They're always somewhere. Okay, let me do a more thorough check now. I go outside.

Nothing.

I call out -- cheepers!

Silence.

I think -- it is impossible for all four to disappear in unison! I call louder. They come running. All the way from where the long driveway meets the road. (Where the robins hang out now, to keep out of the path of chickens!)





Oh for God's sake! Must you wander into the dangerous world out there? They look earnest, but disinterested in my lecture.

I think about our life before chickens. Easier, that's for sure. Still, easier doesn't necessarily mean better. Though when I spot our resident groundhog (I call her Martha)  moving bits of styrofoam to the wood pile, I scurry inside to read up on the danger she may pose to the flock. I do not need yet another predator to worry about. (Word has it that a groundhog will turn mean only if threatened or if it wants to protect its babes. Otherwise, they're into vegetables. And styrofoam.  Again I give the chickens a lecture, this time about getting too close to the woodpile where the groundhog family resides. Again the chicks appear to be disinterested in my guidance and instruction.)


When Ed comes home, we attack the second of the two awful projects I have scheduled for us this spring: the cleaning of the barn (perhaps you remember -- the other awful project is the mowing of our prairie grasses).





The chicken follow us, curiously, cautiously.

No. They don't like it in there. They quickly exit. They stay near us, but outside.





I don't blame them. It's awful inside the old structure. Decades of bird, bat, mouse droppings. Spare boards, wire netting, plastic sheets, hay, insulation planks. Organizing all this is dirty work.

We get to it. Much of the clutter there has to be discarded. It'll take weeks of trash collection to cycle the stuff out. The rest needs a bit of tidying and organization. We're not compulsive: it doesn't have to be great, just good enough. And by the end of the day, I deem it to be just that. At the very least, it looks a hell of a lot better than it did when we first began.

In the meantime, the chickens find their favorite spot in the compost dirt.






We'll be moving them close to this space soon. Maybe that'll keep them focused away from the road, away my flower beds. Maybe.

Evening. Another brief rain shower. Again a cooler wind.  But tomorrow -- they say we'll see some sunshine. Oh, I cannot wait for that!

May 1st

They fly by, these months of spring! May 1st already! In my childhood years, May 1st was a day off from school. Not unlike an American Labor Day. But I never thought much then about the reasons behind the holiday. My thoughts drifted toward May flowers and spring willows and I still think of forgetmenots and English daisies (even though we have none of those yet) when May 1st finally arrives.

Outside, it is still gray and on the cool side. In fact, I don't quite wake up for the 6 o'clock coop opening and when I do get up, it is with the same indifference to the weather I've had the entire past week. Because a week without sunshine feels a bit of a cheat to me.






(The chickens love to hide in the garage when there's rain. It means we have to hose the place down on a regular basis.)






Still, after almost a whole week of sore-back issues, I wake up nearly healed! Tight, yes, things are tight there, but the pain is just an echo of something that was.

So it's rather funny that after breakfast...






...and after some mild digging around the raspberry patch (just to test how things are working in my various joints and muscles), I leave Ed to finish up a small segment (he's pausing here to consider the chickens)...






...and I go to my newly scheduled appointment with a physical therapist. Now, that guy has seen back issues! He admits that a quarter of his patients come with back pain. We are a sore-back nation!

I tell him that I am rather miffed that being as active as I am, I should still have these back events that leave me immobilized for a full day and then barely hobbling along for the remainder of the week.
You should be happy it's only a week. Most people can't shake it that fast.
Yes, but Ed at home, he's older and yet he digs and lifts boulders...
You have predispositions.

Oh damn those predispositions! I have the energy for twice the amount of physical work I do each day. Why should I slow down?
He looks at me with pity. Because your range decreases with age -- he says with his 37-year old wisdom.

I do walk away with a list of back strengthening moves and they all feel rather tame to me (a few cobras, a few wall pushes -- you know the type) but okay, I'm set for now. And I tell him -- this better not happen to me again! And we both laugh.


Another visit with Goldie, my daughter's cat...






...and now I am back at the farmette and just as Ed and I are to resume our digging, the rains come down. Not too bad, but enough to make you reconsider.

And this is when I remember that today is the first day of our local Thursday evening farmers market!  We don't have great expectations. Sure, there may be asparagus next week, but you can't expect anything now, not when there has been no sunshine to prod a growth spurt.

But, it's good to see the farmers at their stands again. And I pick up some greenhouse cucumbers...


 


...and I admire the flowers and I ask the market guy --- where are the baguette people??
Oh, you know, they're French... he teases.

Indeed. The French take May 1st seriously too. It's a holiday in France and I suppose that's reason enough to hang back a little, even if you're here. I understand the difficulties of having waffling holiday allegiances when you live suspended between two cultures.

The rain comes, the rain goes. We work a little, retreat a little. But I know this: by the weekend there will be sunshine! And that's a good thing.

standing up again

When the cold wet weeks and back soreness issues all strike in one set of days, you can count them off as your penance for glorious other weeks. No matter. On balance, in my mind anyway, the glorious always seem to dominate. Or maybe they never quite go away?

Still, it is true that we are recovering from the gloomier side of spring. The rains are finally retreating. The skies are gray, but the greenery around us is now so resplendent that I cannot remember anymore days when the world was colorless and closed up for the season.


But the wake up  remains a bit hard. The back stiffens overnight, the gray skies hide any thought of a sunrise. I stumble outdoors and make my way to the coop. The hens are at the door, ready to spring forward. Their energy level is not my energy level now. They quickly move forward, as if used to the wet wake-up. I clean, I straighten, I set up the coop for the day ahead.

(The flowers. Let me not forget to mention the flowers. I notice them first thing now as I step outside. As for the chick pack --  I throw them some teats. It's easy to get them hyper excited by food.)












And then I go right back to bed. It's not good to recline for too long if you're trying to strengthen your back, but I am enough of a fair weather chick that I don't rush to be out when the day is this drizzly and uninviting.

So breakfast is late. Pancakes for Ed. (Note the big geranium that I wintered over inside: it's waiting for better temperatures to rejoin its buddies outdoors.)






And now we move to our circle of activities.

Weeding, writing, fence building, chicken chasing... (why, why are they in the front yard?? we never use the front yard! there are cars near the front yard! get back to any other portion of the farmette you silly fools, stay out of the front yard!)











...more weeding, picnic table repairing -- all gentle stuff, putting us in good stead (I hope) for next month's vigorous planting push (all those tomatoes!). (I do wish Oreo would choose not to munch from the pots.)






In the afternoon, I have an errand to run -- another babysitting stint for Goldie, my daughter's cat. Unlike Isis, she can still be enticed to play with a toy.






Too, she likes to follow along as I explain to her New Yorker cartoons.






But I can't stay terribly long. Farnette weeding beckons. (I have perhaps a million little willows and boxelders starting from dropped seeds of the big guys and, too, I am forever pushing back the wild violet which would take over every living space in my garden if I let it run...wild.) Ed returns to his repair work and honestly, this is what I would call a beautiful day, in a quiet sort of way.

With a quiet supper of beet soup and spicy shrimp.






And a quiet good night.