adjective. characteristic of a farmer
Friends,
I have been buried for weeks in the work of this, and I am so proud. In between the chickens and the children and the cooking and the working, I managed to get this latest issue of the journal completed. It is the most beautiful issue I have ever created, and I hope you love it. Please check it out. I believe it will be good for the soul!
The Chicken (Volume 4, Issue 1)
I have a few hand made items still coming–and maybe some bumper stickers–but I managed to get the online shop ready for small business Saturday! The books are on sale, and the quilts and candles are back!
I am hoping to raise money for the journal. Getting this online shop was big because the Etsy fees were so big that we were losing money on the books. I knew, if I was going to keep making books, I was going to have to make my own store. I am so proud of myself for building these items in the shop, and if you are looking for some good reading or a practical gift for someone for the holidays (the potholders are so handy, and the organic beeswax candles last forever), please consider supporting this endeavor.
Thank you all for reading and for supporting Farmer-ish!
PS The winner of the beautiful Farmer-ish mug is Kristen Stone! Kristen, thank you for reading and leaving a comment. I will be in touch! And, if you didn’t win, please stay tuned because I have at least two more giveaways before the holidays.
I haven’t written in a bit because it’s on right now for spring planting and preparation. I will have to write more about this soon, but Ron has had some health struggles related to his round with COVID. Tests are ongoing, and I am hopeful all will be well; however, he’s been moving slower than before, which means he needs more help to get the epic tasks of spring completed.
Last week, my task was to prune all the fruit trees and bushes. Pruning the blueberries is easy. Pruning the raspberries is tough because, as you know, raspberry bushes are prickly and mean. I have learned to wear a thick coat and thick gloves, but they still attack my hair. Sometimes, I just end up stuck. During harvest in June and July, I always wish for more raspberry bushes, but when I am pruning, I am thankful we have just about a 25-foot row. The whole process is normally very frustrating to me, but it wasn’t too bad this year because I had good company.
Mary Jane loves raspberries more than I can express. She has two favorite foods that I have discovered–raspberries and oatmeal with raisins. Come to think of it, maybe it’s just raisins, but raspberries are her joy every summer.
She is doing pretty well despite her very old age and meat bird DNA. If she makes it to age 7, which happens in just three weeks, I’m convinced she has to be close to a record for a Freedom Ranger meat bird. I mean, she’s definitely showing her age, and I think surely she won’t make it through a long, hot summer. However, we switched feed to some awesome organic feed I found from Vermont, and it seems to have given her an extra little boost. It’s really good food, and Mary Jane has a really strong will to live, which, if you follow this blog, you know so well. It seems like a hopeful combination. Mary Jane will turn 7 on June 1.
Anyway, I was down on the ground fighting through the prickly branches to get to the back side of our row of when I saw Mary Jane watching me so hopefully.
“Oh, baby, I have no raspberries yet,” I told her. “But I’m doing this, so you can have some soon.”
And it was exactly that thought that made me feel less grumpy about all of the raspberry bush attacks on my hair. Seeing that hopeful face reminded me that there is joy coming. There is some pain now. My hair was pulled about a million times, and I was sweating like crazy on the hot day wearing my coat and gloves, and oh my gosh my poor back–but the reward is coming. Mary Jane reminded me of that, and she made me think about my place in the world.
Last week, I also had the chance to see a beautiful symphony performed by the Bangor Symphony Orchestra. The symphony, entitled This Will Be Our Reply, was composed by the conductor of the BSO, Lucas Richman. The piece was powerful and important. Before the performance, Richman offered some background on the piece and said he was inspired to write it by a speech Leonard Bernstein gave after the assassination of John F. Kennedy. In his speech, Bernstein said that the response to violence had to be to “make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before.”
In the symphony, the inner circle of musicians, which is the first row of violins, violas, and cellos, play this beautiful music and come back to it throughout the piece, all the while, you hear the outer symphony doing something else, including bombs and guns going off from the percussion. When the bombs and guns got louder, the inner circle played even harder. It was an important work–a reminder that, though humans can be so terrible, we can also be so very beautiful. We just need the artists to remind us.
I was so moved by the experience that I was still thinking about it that day in the raspberry bushes. I was thinking about how I sometimes feel so inadequate. I have such a big heart for art and beauty and making the world better yet have no idea how to do it and really no talent for doing so.
But, as I talked to Mary Jane, I thought maybe that’s okay. I’m never going to make beautiful art that will be remembered throughout the ages, but I am going to raise beautiful raspberries. These raspberries are not only beautiful, but they are also healthy and contain cancer-fighting chemicals that, as of yet, humans cannot fully replicate. They are magic, for lack of a better word. I am going to give those raspberries to my family and some of my friends–and to Mary Jane.
To Mary Jane, I think I might just be the best of humans and a good friend to have around.
And that has to be worth something–maybe an awful lot.
If you have followed my blog any at all over the past couple of years, you will know all about Ruby, but just in case you are new, Ruby is a highly-intelligent, high-maintenance chicken. She has no friends because she is not a people person at all. People in the flock do not like her, and she gets picked on sometimes. Mainly, I have seen that this is because Ruby doesn’t seem to want friends. She does nothing to fit in. She’s a lone wolf, a free spirit, and she demands her independence.
She is also demanding of me. To me, she is bossy, difficult, and will peck the heck out of me when I am trying to collect eggs. It doesn’t even have to be when I am getting eggs from under her (she sleeps in a private nest box because she won’t be near people on the roost). She will give me a hard peck for good measure just for being close to her. She keeps me in line, and I don’t mind doing her bidding because she’s so smart, so funny, and so unique.
When Petty went broody late last summer and we decided to let her raise a clutch of fall babies, I debated about getting an egg from Ruby. The chicken would surely be smart, but would it be just too quirky or weird to fit in? How high maintenance would it be? My curiosity got the better of me, and I let Petty hatch a Ruby egg. The result has been magnificent–the result is Tuesday.
Tuesday was raised by the calmest, most patient mom in the world. Petty was so trusting, so nurturing, and the most chill little mama I have ever seen. This has been so good for all of her babies. All six turned out to be hens; they are all great hens, but I believe Tuesday is the greatest. It’s like she has all of Ruby’s fantastic characteristics–smart, independent, unique–without all of the negatives. Tuesday is not neurotic at all. She’s just different, and she’s at peace with herself about it.
Tuesday, like Ruby, spends most of her day away from the flock. She flies over the gate and hangs out in the front driveway area with Ruby. I do not worry about her wandering off, as she is too smart. She stays close, dodges any mail deliveries, and I set up a dog crate for her to lay eggs in. Pretty much every single day, I find a little cream-colored egg in the dog crate–a gift from Tuesday.
But the most interesting thing she does is that she is friends with Ruby! About a month ago, I noticed Ruby was hanging out a lot with a black chicken. They were under the trees, scratching around together for many hours one day when I decided to see which black chicken it was because, for a time, all three of Petty’s black chickens were hanging out in the front yard. When I got closer, I could see it was Tuesday. I guess the only person who could “get” Ruby would be someone related to Ruby.
When I told Ron about it, he said, “I guess we just had a grow a friend for Ruby,” and I guess that is right. Mother and daughter hang out a lot every day, and I just love to see it. I am thankful Ruby has a friend in this world. She’s still neurotic, but it’s maybe a little less than usual right now.
And Tuesday is just a dream. She’s so calm and smart and beautiful. She reminds me so very much of Poe. Ron spent yesterday working out front, and he said Tuesday followed him around just watching what he was doing all day (he was repairing an old wheelbarrow). Ron said she just studied him for hours.
What a gift from the universe! I am looking forward to getting to know Tuesday more, and since we letting nature take its course and naturally downsizing our flock, I am excited that Tuesday will be able to get extra attention and study. I think she’s a pretty magnificent bird. I’ll keep you posted!
In the last week, we have lost two members of our flock. One was a bit of a surprise, and the other came suddenly but was a very old girl.
First, last Saturday evening, I had just been out giving treats to the flock and all had been well, but when I went out to close up the chickens, right in the front door I saw a dead hen. It was a big girl, and in the dark, I panicked and thought it might be Mary Jane. I went inside to get the flashlight and came back to find that it was Jane, Mary Jane’s daughter. She was only four year old, so it was hard to lose her. I am not sure why she passed. I could find nothing wrong with her. It looked like it was just that her heart had given out.
Jane was not supposed to be with us. During the start of the pandemic in 2020, there was a chick shortage, so I used our incubator and hatched quite a few baby chicks for people, probably about 100 in total. Some were given as chicks; others were raised by us until they were ready for a coop. We gave them to people and never charged money, but sometimes, people gave us gifts in return. We got a whole cord of wood from a couple of guys, so that was really nice. Jane was supposed to go out to those guys, but in the end, we decided to keep her.
I had tried really hard not to get attached to all those babies because I knew they were for other people, but Jane was a stand out. She was so curious, always checking me out. One day, Ron said, “There’s one hen in out there I think I’d like to keep.” As he began to describe her, I knew it was Jane! I was so excited that we agreed on keeping her, and so Jane, named so because she was the plainest hen in terms of looks, became a part of our flock.
She fit in so well, and in 2021, when I drove up north to get Poe grand baby eggs, it was Jane who went broody first and raised those babies. Jane raised Cora, Bertha, and Poe Jr. Jr. She did a great job–really too good of job–because Juliet was also raising a clutch at the same time, and Jane bossed Juliet around so badly that Juliet and her babies could barely move around with Jane’s permission.
Interestingly, Juliet had two hens she raised during that time. One was Ophelia who Juliet ended up rejecting early for some reason, and the other one was the only and only Ruby. I feel like Jane may have caused a lot of stress during Ruby’s upbringing, which goes a long way in explaining Ruby.
I am going to miss Jane so much. I assume she died a bit on the young side because she was a big girl with meat-bird genes, but she had a very, very good life in the flock, and I am so glad she stayed with us, especially since every single chicken we gave to those guys for the wood ended up being eaten by a fox. I think a lot of people got chickens during the pandemic, even when they weren’t quite ready for them. I quit hatching chicks for people after that because you know how I am, and the fox stories made me very sad.
Our sweet Charlotte died yesterday in the evening. It was also very sudden with no signs of illness at all. She was just old; she was out in there in the pasture with her people and then just died. She has been with us for a long time. She was a Buff Orpington I bought from a man in early 2017. He was selling them because his daughter had bought too many chicks, and as they grew up, she was overwhelmed. I bought Charlotte and Emily from him and immediately fell in love with them. I don’t know if they were sisters, but when you get a pair of hens, you just have to name them as if they are, so I named them Charlotte and Emily, after the Brontes.
I had hoped I was buying from a local breeder but was too naive to ask. I was more than a little disappointed when I found out they came from Tractor Supply, but it turned out to be okay. Charlotte was seven years old when she passed. Emily is still going, though I expect we won’t have her much longer. Still, that’s a pretty good run for some Tractor Supply chickens.
Emily and Charlotte were very close. They were inseparable for years, and in later years, still hung out a lot. Saint-Saens is either Emily or Charlotte’s daughter, and she always hung out with them as well. It’s one of the most fascinating things to me about chickens, but they tend to hang out with the people who look like them.
It was also interesting to me that both Emily and Charlotte got grumpy in their older age–a little mean sometimes. Buff Opringtons are such a docile breed, and those hens were so sweet most of their lives. Still, about two years ago, I noticed they were both just pecking everyone on the head like they owned the place. I guess they did. They were officially a part of the old guard in the coop, and I am so sad to have lost Charlotte.
But she was out pecking and scratching in the pasture and doing what she loved when she passed. She lived a very, very good life.
Last night, I tried to show her to Emily, to make sure Emily understood, but Rooster was too out of sorts about it. So, this morning, when Ron was about to take Charlotte out to the deep woods to feed a fox or someone in need, he held her down and showed her to the flock. He said the flock got very quiet and that Emily looked for a long time.
For various reasons I hope to write about soon, we can’t get any baby chickens this year and maybe next year. We also have several older hens. I am coming upon a time of loss–death without any new life–in this cycle of our farm as we try to downside our flock.
It’s going to be hard on my heart.
It feels like this year has been a year of transition in so many ways. I have always been a planner and always had a plan. Since I was about 8 or 9 years old, I have been planning my future and always taking steps to make the next thing possible, but this year, I changed–or at least am in the process of changing–and I am not sure at all what the next thing is. I think I’m just going to have to learn to live in a space of uncertainty. Maybe, in some ways, we all are.
In our years of homesteading, we thought we had learned pretty well how to adapt to climate change. We learned to expect unusual heat and drought, but this year gave us a summer of cold rain. Everything in the garden was stunted for months. Some things rotted in the ground. But we persisted. After carrot seeds were washed away by rain in our first planting and then carrot seedlings were eaten by slugs in other plantings, we planted them a total of four times and got the best crop of carrots we ever had. We learned a new rule: plant carrots late because a hard frost makes them better. Of course, this year, Nature also emphasized that we will never know when that first frost will come. This year, it came Halloween night. The “usual” is mid September.
And, while we were dealing with the cold and wet, the rest of the world was dealing with a heat like no other. In 2023, it seemed that most everyone came to understand that we are dealing with climate change, that it’s coming faster and harder than most of us thought, and that our world leaders are willing to do little more than put band-aids on the problem. At the Climate Change Convention in Dubai in December, a record number of lobbyists from fossil fuel industries were in attendance, and while world leaders reached some consensus about the problems associated with climate change and the need to reduce fossil fuels, few specific plans were made. The scientists I know were devastated by the amazing level of inaction given the year our planet had just had. I even read one article written by a climate scientist that said it’s time to just start trying to deal with this mentally in whatever way we can because we are in for trying times.
I realize this is not the best thing to read on the last day of the year, but maybe there is good in understanding this reality. Humans are smart and adaptive. It’s just time to be as smart and adaptive as we possibly can. The humans in charge aren’t going to help us. We are going to have to be more self sufficient and help each other, and the latter is maybe one of the most important lessons I came to understand this year. I don’t know what that looks like. I don’t know for sure how we are supposed to help each other, but I am hopeful we will figure it out.
In further uncertainty, this year, I had a bit of a health scare. In March, after watching some trauma in a darn television program, my body forced me to come to terms with some trauma from my past–that stuff you block out and hope it goes away can sometimes rear it’s ugly head, I guess. For 8 days, I had a migraine so severe I could barely open my eyes, and I couldn’t move my neck and right shoulder. During those days, especially toward the end when I wondered how long this pain might go on, I started making promises to myself to change my life, to deal with my trauma and to make changes in my life to cut down on stress. I made a promise to myself to treasure time with my loved ones more.
It was during that time that I decided I was going to have to let go of Farmer-ish journal, at least for now. I have this hope that, one day, the journal will come back, and in the mean time, I plan to keep blogging and to find a way to share farming and nature writing from others. I just don’t know what that looks like yet. Not having a plan is pretty scary to me, but I am working hard to learn to go with the flow more. Maybe that’s kind of an oxymoron though, isn’t it? How does one “work hard” to “go with the flow”? We’ll see if I can figure it out.
Right now, finding my flow seems especially challenging because I feel two flows–one toward a path of greater self sufficiency because I see challenging times ahead and another toward my son’s hopes and dreams as a musician. At times, these two paths conflict so much that I am not sure which direction to go. I have to believe that balance and progress is possible in both areas, however, because this feels like my path. I do have to admit though that there is a lot I just don’t know about how to move forward, so I am also trying to learn to just be still and listen to the universe more.
In all of it, 2023 was a fantastic year. We got the best carrots ever, as I mentioned before, but there were many other wonderful experiences and moments of profound learning. I learned how to make rhubarb jelly and to better understand how my brothers deal with their trauma. I learned to trust my son’s skills as both a cellist and a professional in the world when I watched him walk in for the first day of his first job playing in an orchestra pit for a musical. I became closer to Ron and came to more deeply understand him for the treasure he is. I learned that, when it comes to selling organic, humanely-raised eggs, there is nothing to do but take a loss and be thankful chicken poop makes great garden compost. I learned that, sometimes, you just get really lucky when it comes to hatching baby chicks. I still can’t believe all six of Petty’s babies were girls!
I kept my resolution to learn the cello. I am still learning and taking lessons and making progress. I met an amazing chicken lady who lives in Maine but is originally from Costa Rica, and I met a bee whisperer who lives in Maine but is originally from Poland. The last time we went and stocked up on honey, we had a fantastic conversation about observing chickens and bees and what we can learn from them. When Ron and I were leaving, the bee whisperer gave me a hug that I understood to be a hug that said “thank you for understanding me.” I did my best to hug back with a hug that said, “no, thank you. It’s hard to find my people.”
I made homemade vanilla. I made my daughter a beautiful quilt. I learned how to can pears. I learned how to make apple butter. I tried to grow into a better human. It’s been a good year on our little homestead, despite some challenges. It’s been a good year of life, despite some challenges.
That’s how life is though, isn’t it? The challenges and uncertainties are a part of being alive. Finding joy in the process is a part of learning to thrive.
I wish you a beautiful New Year’s Eve and a Happy New Year. Today, Ron and I celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary. He got me a gift for the first time in 14 years. I didn’t get him anything, so I am going to make some special bread.
photo credit: Annie Spratt, Unsplash
I haven’t written much about Petty all week, but she is doing amazing. Her babies are just beautiful and kind of little stinkers, but Petty is so patient and loving with them.
The babies have started to run around all rowdy and act like they don’t need mama. They have even taken to going through the fence (they are tiny enough to fit) and hanging out and eating clover on the duck side of the fence. This worries me because our ducks have gotten a little grumpy as they have aged. They are sassy though, especially the little back chick. I think it must be a boy, but it’s too soon to tell for sure. Today, Juliet was out in the driveway, and I watched him run right up to her and stand in front of her, just looking up at her and checking her out. Juliet hasn’t been hanging out much since the babies hatched. Interestingly, Ruby kind of helps watch, we think.
Today, Ron said he had to run the little babies out of the duck area. I told him I had done it twice. I chased them out this evening before I collected eggs, and by the time I was finished collecting eggs, those babies were right back in there in the duck area with poor Petty fretting at the fence because she couldn’t get to her babies. That’s just like children, I swear.
Out of the six babies, I think we have two girls for sure, two boys I am mostly sure, and two I just don’t know about. I used to be able to tell more, but my tell-tale signs don’t work on Dvorak’s babies. So we will see. They are a treat though. Just a treat.
This morning, I decided to go ahead and pull the last egg that had been under Petty. It wasn’t pipped even a little, so I figured it did not develop. Just because I am curious, I cracked the egg a little to check, and there had been no development for some time.
I was somehow missing an egg though. Petty had eight fertile eggs after I had candled them after the first week. I knew the first baby had died somehow, and, of course, we had the undeveloped egg. That should mean we had six babies, but I could only see five. I kept trying to peek without upsetting everyone but still could see just five babies. Then, I set out a new bowl of baby chick food, and Petty started calling out her babies. Then, I saw it! The sixth baby chick is a little black chicken, and I love her!
I am telling you I have never seen a cuter, eclectic mix of babies. I check on them like 20 times a day, and I am so grateful that Petty is so chill and lets me have pretty good access to the babies. Petty just seems to get me.
The best part is that this means out of ten eggs, we had seven babies make it all the way to the end. I’m sad we lost that first little chick, but I adore the six we have. This is very good news for our flock, as I was worried about our fertility rates when I let Ruby have a clutch this spring.
One of the toughest parts is that I made sure I was more hands off during the hatching, not peeking, just letting nature do its thing, which means I am not certain which babies came from which eggs. I know some but not all. After my experience this spring helping that baby hatch and then having it die a few days later, I swore I would not get involved. My heart couldn’t handle anything like that again. Now, I am not sure who is who.
I know that the little silver-gray chick came from Silver’s egg because I just happened to see that one right after it was born. I was able to grab the shell, and it was still wet. I also saw that Ruby’s egg hatched a dark chick but not the little black chick. This means Ruby’s baby is that gorgeous brown and black chick. I have never seen one so pretty. And I can already tell it’s super smart. It watches me with curiosity more the the others. And I know that one of the little striped chicks is Juliet’s egg, but I am not sure which one because they are almost identical. The other one is Cora’s egg. I will never know who that little yellow chick belongs to, but I am over the moon to get a little yellow chick after that tragedy last time. Anyway, I am just going to enjoy every day with these babies. Oh, and so far, Petty is an amazing mama. I hope she keeps it up.
The bad news from our little farm today is that the birds have eaten all of the elderberries. Like all of them.
We always share with the birds, and the birds share back. This year, however, our property has been a full on wild bird sanctuary. For real, we were driving home one afternoon with the windows down, and you could literally hear it when we got close to our property. There were that many birds chirping.
I love these birds, but I am sad they ate the elderberries. I spent the afternoon trying to see if collect enough to maybe make a half batch of syrup or jelly, but it was to no avail. I brought in a sad bowl, and Ron saw it. I told him the situation and said that I guess we just had so many more birds this year that there wasn’t enough.
He said, “Don’t even mess with those you have there. Just take them out to the birds.”
“What about the elderberry jelly?” I asked. “You love it.”
“I’d rather have the birds than jelly.”
I’m going to see if maybe a farmer’s market close might have some elderberries, but I am not hopeful. I don’t see them every often.
It’s all good though. We have lots and lots of birds.
Last night, I saw an owl up close. It was about 20 feet from me, and it was huge and magnificent. I heard a screeching when I went out to close the little door on the chicken coop, and there, sitting on one of our garden posts, was a huge Barred Owl. I shined my flashlight right into its face, and it looked right at me.
I felt badly for shining a flashlight right in its face, but when it screeched again, I had to take another look. This time, I held the light just a little longer to get a better look. It was beautiful, fairly big, and I could see its feathers blowing in the strong breeze. It was like something from a dream.
It didn’t move. It was hunting in our garden, and I was thankful. I should have walked away, but I stood there, wishing for it to make another sound. It did, and then it took off toward the front of our property. Right over my head! Then, a second owl flew from my Maple tree, which is near the ducks, who were still out, so instead of admiring the second owl, I made haste for the duck area. As the owls flew by, I heard a third owl in the trees at the front of our house. Who cooks for you? Both owls I could see were flying toward the third owl’s call.
When I made sure the ducks were safe and sound, I remembered my experience with an owl before Gus died, and I wondered if we were going to lose Lucy in the morning. Schumann and Little Brown Hen were also struggling with different health issues, but I thought Lucy would be the first to pass. She really took a turn for the worse while I was away all week. I wasn’t there to pamper her, and I don’t think she ate well enough on her own. It’s a sign it was time for her, but I am still heartbroken. Lucy was the last of my original hens, and I will have to write more about her this week.
But Lucy wasn’t the only hen I would lose today.
When I went to check on Lucy this morning, I could see that, indeed, today was the day. She was no longer able to walk or feed herself at all. If she didn’t pass today, we would have to help her pass, but I didn’t think it would come to that. I was correct. This morning, after morning chores, Ron and I both said goodbye to her and gave her ear rubs. She passed while we were having morning tea. I hate that she’s gone. She made it a lot longer than I thought she might, but I still hate that she’s not out there anymore. We got really close in the last two months. It has been an honor to be her hospice care.
Shortly after, I had to meet a friend to deliver eggs. I also picked up a few things at the grocery store. By the time I got home, Schumann had passed. I was not really prepared to lose her.
Two months ago, when Schubert died of a heart attack suddenly, I was really worried. Schubert and Schumann loved each other a lot. They were sisters, which also made me worry about Schumann’s genetics. I don’t know if it was the genetics or the broken heart, but Schumann also started struggling while I was gone this week. I kept checking her for any issues, but it seemed like her heart was giving out. She was five years old. She was a very good friend to me. She was also close to Ron and was one of his garden helpers.
Losing Schumann was a blow. It was all too much, and I cried myself into a terrible headache.
But I had to also take care of Little Brown Hen. She has no real name because she was in a big batch of babies that Broody Hen raised several years ago, and she is plain brown. She is so sweet and, sadly, has had ovarian cancer for a bit. A few months ago, I saw her doing all of the things Poe did toward the end. I’ve been treating her extra special in the last few weeks, and she moved out of the chicken yard and into the front yard to have peace at the end. She got to run around the front yard and be first to get all of the good treats.
This afternoon, when I went to check on her, she wasn’t walking and had flies bothering her, so I scooped her up and gave her a very gentle, very warm bath. Then, for about two hours, I just held her in the towel in my lap. I got very little work done today. I tried to tell Little Brown Hen it was okay to let go. I don’t think she’ll make it through the night.
When I was holding her this afternoon, my teenage son walked by and asked why I was holding a chicken in the house. I told him how I found her. “Nobody deserves to be bothered by darn flies when they pass away,” I said.
My son thought for a second and then said, “You’re right.”
And then, after another pause, he said, “I love you, mom.”
I hope he is learning to respect all life and treat it well because it is all a gift. All of it. We just have forgotten. And, oh my goodness, isn’t that wild about the owls?
One. Two. And then three. My girls let go. I am weary from this grief tonight.
On Thursday, Ruby officially let go of her babies. I normally write that the mama’s “ditch” their babies, but, for real, this was more of a gradual letting go–and Ruby is my hero for it. The babies made it to seven weeks, which is a good amount of time for the baby to develop. The kiddos, as I refer to them, still have no names. I am sure one is a boy, and the other one is an unusually challenging case. I’ve seen this go either way. But the kiddos are pretty big. They have each other, know the lay of the land around here, and are pretty self sufficient. I’m trying to win them over to me with treats, but they are hesitant, of course.
Ruby raised them so well, but it’s still hard to watch how hard it can be on babies when the mamas let them go. Ruby has been very gentle in the grand scheme of things, but she has still been mean to them. It just breaks their little hearts. Thank goodness they have each other.
Tonight as the worst though.
Right now, we have two giant dog crates in the driveway area, separate from the rest of the flock. It’s risky to have them in the driveway, but they stay very close to home. If we have a chicken who roams too much, they don’t get driveway time unless I am around to watch. Lucy is out because she is in hospice and doesn’t need a rooster on her back. I am very ashamed of Rooster for this, but I am trying not to hold a grudge because he’s getting old and not really who he used to be, sadly. But he’s still Rooster.
So we just moved Lucy out with Ruby and her babies, but Lucy has her own dog crate. I call it an apartment. Our teenager, Ronan, referred to them as “prisons” to me. “They’re not prisons,” I said. “I only lock Lucy in the crate at night for her safety. Plus, she’s asleep, so I’m sure it doesn’t feel like prison.” My son looked at me like,” calm down, lady.”
The first night Ruby kicked her babies out of their apartment and I went to close everyone up in the garage for the night, the babies were outside of the crate crying and crying. Ruby was sitting in there like, “I don’t know who these children are.”
I told Ruby she could at least give the apartment to the babies, and I pulled her out of the crate. I almost put her in the coop with everyone else, and then I decided to let her live in the garage until winter like she did last year. She hates it with the flock, even though she has moved up a little in the pecking order.
The second night, Ruby decided to kick Lucy out of her apartment! I pulled Ruby out of the dog crate, put her in the garage on a shelf/roost, and then had to go find Lucy. Poor old Lucy was hiding in the corner of the fence. I picked her up and put her to bed.
I didn’t know what to expect tonight when I went outside to put up the dog crates and tuck everyone in. I found Lucy in her crate and both Ruby and her babies in their crate! This surprised me, but Ruby was in the back allowing her babies to sleep in the front. But they couldn’t touch her, I guess, because everyone kept their distance.
Then, I saw the sweetest thing ever. The little black rooster is very vocal, just like his mama (Hector) was when she was a baby. He scooted right up to Ruby and put his little head down underneath Ruby’s head and sang the sweetest, sweetest little song you ever heard. I have tears writing this down because it was so beautiful.
I also have tears because of what happened next. Ruby, who always used to sing back to this little boy, pecked him on the head.
He cried and ran out of the create–brokenhearted.