leaving

I came close to not leaving, and it was my fault.

Looking back, I blame being too well prepared too early. I had time this morning. Time to walk the muddy farmette lands, feed animals, sweep away messes...





Time to admire Mr. Happy, who has really stepped into his role as flock protector. When a pair of hawks flew overhead, he ushered the cheepers into the barn. May he always have a safe place for them on his daily rounds!






Time to smile at the cheeper invasion in the garage. Dance looks upset, but I have to say, the kittie can scoot away at any time. She chooses to stay put and talk to them ("this is my blanket!").






Time to take note of Whiskers. He'd been absent for a few days. He makes a fleeting appearance today.






Time for a leisurely breakfast with my loyal breakfast companion. Come rain or shine, he is there, across the table from me.





As we approach late morning, I realize that I have attended to all things on my mental predeparture list. And I have two and a half hours before I have to pick up Snowdrop. So I go for broke: I decide to do one quick visit to the doctor that I'd been postponing. May as well get it out of the way. It's not necessary -- I've had this check up numerous times in the past and I've always gotten an all clear, but I thought -- what the heck: I have the time, go for it.

The doc comes in to the examining room, looks me in the eye and says -- is it true that you have a flight to catch in a few hours?
Uh huh...
Do you know that after the tests, if there is any ambiguity -- which there well may be, even if there are no issues, you cannot board an airplane today?
Uh no...

I almost walked out. But I didn't  - he seemed so serious about the state of my health that I succumbed to the "needed" tests and waited. And waited. And minutes before I just had to leave to pick up Snowdrop, he came in and said -- as it happens, you're good to go. No ambiguity.

He almost sounded regretful. Like I deserved a rap on my knuckles for waiting 'til the last minute (or not showing up at all). Still, in the end, he changed his tone, wished me a good trip and I flew out of there to pick up a cheerful little girl.

(At the farmette, she asks Ed if we could leave the eggs to hatch. She knows that the presence of a rooster may lead to fertilized eggs. From that, it's a hop skip to having babies.)

Snowdrop, we have six chickens already! (I did not say that this may be six too many...)
Just one little one? Just one?
 





I would do many many things to make my grandkids happy. Adding another chicken to the flock is not one of those things.

(Besides, she is already very happy.)





Snowdrop's visit is short. I have a flight to catch!

The airport is crowded. Flights have been diverted here from Chicago, people are scrambling to pick up connections. My own plane has a problem with a roof that has come loose and so we, too, are late. But not too late for me. I have an amply adequate connecting time in Detroit. Tomorrow I should be in Warsaw.

Wednesday

You have to slog through the mud before you can get to the meadow. That's my proverb for the day. The snow and ice have to melt, the ground has to thaw, the rains must come down to wash it all away.

On days like this, it's best not to look outside too hard. Everything seems, well, dirty.







Neglected. Not yet ready to rebuild. We need this thorough washing. Followed by days and days of sunshine. It will come. You cannot be impatient, it will come.

We're not impatient.






On the third day of cheeper plus rooster freedom, the pack once more marches almost immediately to the garage.






The kitties watch.






Chickens come, chickens go: Dance and Jacket are learning that this is the new normal.

The girls introduce Happy to their favorite spots. The driveway. The walk up to the farmhouse door. And today, the guy stays with them.






(They have another companion: Stop Sign has basically moved to the barn, sleeping under the roost and entering the coop freely to drink the cheeper water. Too, she shares the caught mice with the cheepers. Watching Henny run around with a mouse in her beak was.... interesting!)

I'm still attentive to all this animal movement. I watch, I go out occasionally to visit with the garage kitties, with the flock too (the goal is to show Happy that I'm on his side -- friend, not foe). I try to sweep up paths to speed up the cleaning process, but honestly, it's best to leave it all to the rains for now. Outdoor work will come. Just not today.


The afternoon is a sweet reminder of how much I adore my grandkids. (Yes, yes, I know that I'm not unique in this!) I'm taking off tomorrow afternoon and as always, leaving behind these three babes is hard. Still, to borrow from a book that Snowdrop likes -- this is my Necessary Journey. For all the reasons I've written about here already.

But all that is for tomorrow. Today, I have my usual Wednesday afternoon with the little girl. First at the farmhouse...











... then at Storybook Ballet.












Evening: fill up the refrigerator with Ed favorites for the week ahead, check on the animals, give a second's thought to the trip ahead (as always, I have squeezed in getting ready for travel into these last weeks so that by now, all I have to do is print out the boarding pass), sit back on our still spiffy newish used couch and exhale.

Tuesday

We move along through March, holding on to our small victories, not daring to ask for more, enjoying the sweet moments of better weather, contented animals, and most importantly -- happy grandkids.

It feels grand to have turned the corner! To have left behind polar vortexes and ice storms and winter viruses and frightened farmette creatures.

Of course, we aren't in a world of perfect peace and harmony, of sunshine and spring flowers. Not yet anyway. But we're getting there!

This morning is surely an example of a good start and a push in the right direction. Cold still, but not for long. With abundant sunshine and a climbing thermometer, I felt that this snowman's days are numbered.





I feed the cats (post breakfast clean up and rest)...






... and check on the cheepers. We're not letting them out super early, because we're still traumatized by that hawk attack that came before we were even out of bed. There's no logic in our morning protectiveness, but who says that what we do here is completely reasonable and rational?!

Still, as I fix breakfast and Ed comes downstairs, we get dizzy with all that sunshine and decide we may as well open up the coop and set the cheepers free. There's a lot of snow out there, but they may as well enjoy a romp in the barn. Like yesterday. That's our thinking.

We're sitting down to breakfast...






... when I look up and notice the parade. Two in the front, four trailing. Chickens on the march!






To the garage, of course. Where else can they go now -- they positively hate the snow and indeed, poor Peach gets totally lost in it. Somehow the dazzle of all that whiteness totally confuses her.

Happy, the rooster, follows along. The girls are teaching him the lay of the land -- it is his first great adventure with them. (Pepper, the once little Pepper has decided to be the one to reign him in and establish herself as the boss. The other girls just ignore her - yeah, yeah, whatever you want, Pepper - but you can tell that at this point, Happy is quite intimidated by this black and white chick.)

So how do the two young cats respond? (Stop Sign is used to the cheepers but she's out and about now, so the encounter is just with Dance and Jacket.)

They're a little intimidated, but mostly, they are mesmerized by this sudden invasion of big birds! And when the girls take a stroll to the cars (they like to hang out under the truck on a sunny day), Dance follows. She can't take her eyes off of them! (They of course ignore her.)

But wait, did I say "girls" take a stroll? What happened to Happy? (If you look closely, you'll see Dance to the left, a trailing cheeper to the right and a solo traveler, Happy,moving away from it all. As in - I need some private time to figure all this out.)






It's too much adventuring for him. When they set out for the truck, he does an about face and goes back to the barn.

Useless rooster!!

The hens, oblivious to the loss of their Great Protector, head back en masse toward the garage.






Oh, no you don't! You're not going to hang out there all day!  That's kittie turf!

I come out and as always, I am their pied piper. I lead them back to the barn.






(I throw them some bread. Happy stands back and watches. Old routine for them, completely new stuff for the poor guy. So tough to be the new kid on the block!)






I have to say, so far so good. The cats weren't scared off, the rooster attacked no one, the cheepers are loving their usual farmette routines. True, the issues continue to percolate. Will the kittens put up with a daily visit of the flock? Will Happy protect them from hawks? Will Whiskers get used to the noise of the trucks all around us once more (construction is in full swing!) and reemerge from wherever he's hiding? Will the snow melt already? Will the flowers come out on schedule?

Let's all hope for as many yeses as possible! But in the meantime, we are (nearly) golden!


In the afternoon, Snowdrop is with us. (Deciding if she wants me to read "the new book.")





It's about a boy who finds a $100 bill. He wants a new bike. His parents can't afford it. He is faced with the dilemma: give back the bill to the person who lost it, or buy the bike... We talk about it afterwards. Serious stuff. I ask her if she wants a second book. She does, reaching for a sweet and simple story about mice ice skating. You have to balance hefty issues with playful stuff in life!

And now she can really unwind. It's time for the world of make believe.

(Do you want to play restaurant?)






You're the cook, gaga! (Meaning, get to it or the customers will starve!)






I take her home tonight. She is dazzling in her navigational skills. Puddles, mud, ice -- it's a dangerous world out there!






It's Tuesday. My daughter and I try to set aside some time on this day for catching up at a place a few blocks form her home. It really is good to talk about kids (and not only kids) when there are no kids pulling at your apron strings.






Home again. Hello, deer. Welcome to the herd here, at the farmette. Cats to the left, a groundhog up ahead under the woodpile, a possum somewhere by the sheep shed, six chickens in the barn, an occasional Maine Coon visitor under the writer's shed, and a bunny family in the bushes to our right.






Have I left anyone out?! May you all get along. You all deserve a safe and happy spring.

Monday

Oh, oh!  Rooster on the loose!






It happened so quickly. I'd been putting food into a dish in the lower portion of the coop and noticed that Happy was not one of the chickens clamoring for grub. When I opened the roost to check on him, he flew out.

You could say that he was just that anxious to be free, but I think it's more an indication of his personality. The hens have more of a wait and see approach to life. Happy takes charge.

I almost didn't catch him, but I got lucky: he strutted to a corner and I could do a big grab. Mind you, there's a lot of muscle in that little guy. When he is fully grown, I'm not sure I'll be able to hold him down.

All that strength and bravado receded when I reintroduced him into the coop. Pepper, little Pepper, chased him out of the eating area. I was glad I had managed to give him some feed while I was holding him.

And the cats? Oh, they're fine. Their lives have not yet been disrupted by the chaos in the barn. The kittens are enjoying the sunshine, Whiskers shyly watches as I put out more food.






All this happens early. Monday is grandchild day to the max and Sparrow comes here even before Ed and I sit down to breakfast.






Happy guy. Excuse me: happy guys.






After eating, we're back to trying out new play situations. Sparrow gives the crayons an honest try...






He may not produce much in the way of drawing, but they do make him happy. It's all in the journey, right?






At noon, Ed asks if we can release the cheepers. I say yes. It had been two months of captivity for them. A tough, tough two months.

But if we thought they would come rushing out, we were wrong. Honestly, they seem dazed.

(Tomato, first one out, standing in the doorway, reprogramming her small chicken brain to take in this sudden return to old habits.)






We are curious how Happy will fare.  No worries: within the space of the barn, the six of them explode in play.

Happy is a little puzzled, a little tentative, but overall, he seems to know his job: he seeks out higher ground and surveys his girls.





And the girls? Oh, do they romp! First order of operations: dirt baths in the barns soil. Too, they find mice! I would have thought they were the original mouser hens, but I suspect that they merely uncovered Stop Sign's hidden cache of dead mice.


When I bring Snowdrop to the farmette after school, she is anxious to see the cheepers at play. (I am, of course, nervous about the whole integration of Happy into our lives, but I remind myself: if he fails to be the gentle giant, he's out of here.)






The girls haven't forgotten. They look at Snowdrop and wait for the corn to fall from her hands. Happy tries to take it all in.

I tell the little girl -- no extra feedings for now. I want to keep things calm.






(Inside, we dive into the world of make believe.)






(Trust me, it is a beautiful place.)






Dusk. I smile at seeing Dance at the picnic table. Just like her mother.






Beautiful colors. Calm animals. Grateful us.

Sunday

If you have been reading Ocean lately, you'll know that Ed and I have agonized about how to keep the cheepers safe. Cats, too, but we concluded that they're all past the "very vulnerable" stage and likely to protect themselves well enough from any invaders. If asked, I'd say that we were rational in our decisions, listing the pros and cons of various options and strategies. But, as I step outside this morning to feed the animals, it strikes me that we were perhaps not so rational after all.

The thing is, it had snowed overnight: a wet snow, making slush out of puddles, creating yet another layer of winter nonsense.

 



The ground is not thawing yet and so all that melted snow formed puddles over hard-as-rock earth. The pathways are pocked with pools of water and slush. But in that fresh cover of snow, animal paw prints show up beautifully. As I walk to the garage, I can easily see Stop Sign's paw prints, a bunny rabbit's prints, and, too, the prints of our resident possum. They're unmistakable.





I can tell where he came from (the sheep shed), what he looked at (the compost pile and the garage) and where he retreated (back to the sheep shed).

Now, a possum is not really a threat to the cats. The kittens may be scared, but he will coexist with them. A possum does not pick a fight.

But a possum loves chickens. And as I share my paw print sighting with Ed, I am reminded of some basic math: we've been keeping chickens for five years, on the average, tending to to 4 - 6 chickens at a time. In all, we've lost five hens to predators, though one attack was on two little hens together (remember the young Brahma girls?), so you could say we've had four predator attacks. That's less than one per year.

And here's a crucial reality: only one predator loss was at the claws of a hawk. All the others were  likely done by a possum. Too, a couple of times we found a possum in the coop when the girls were not yet there for the night. In short -- the cheepers' greatest foe is the possum.

And we have a hefty guy hanging out here right now.

(Breakfast. Discussing chickens. Again.)





We'll chase, deter and if that fails -- trap. (Trapping and/or hunting possum is permissible under state law, though you have to be careful where you release, if that's your goal.) Still, even though the weather improved in the course of the day (cold, but with a dapple of sunshine), neither of us had the heart to let the cheepers out today. The possum tracks give us pause.



In the evening, the young family comes to dinner. How grand it is to have them appear when the sun is still high above the farmette lands!






(Sparrow, studying furniture...)






Snowdrop absolutely wants to meet Happy and so the two of us trudge to the barn.






She is concerned that he'll crow very loudly, but I think for now, Happy is simply trying to figure out what the heck has just happened in his life. All these big girls! Where is he???






(Where did my sister go??)






Back again! Snowdrop tells a story, Sparrow loves the joyful animation.






Dinner, still in sunshine.






After, there's always a little time for play.






And finally, time for the young family to head home. One last check on the kitties, one last romp through icy slush, all in the fading light of a beautiful evening.