Tag: nature writing

A Perfect Ride

~ Crystal Sands ~ 7 Comments

Day 153 of 365

Today, we managed a bike ride in the city forest. In the past month, our schedules have been so busy that we barely have time for bike rides, but we keep managing to sneak to the forest every chance we get. I still love riding my bike. I am getting better at it, too. I don’t feel so scared I’m going to crash and die all of the time. I am definitely the weakest link in our little trio, but Ron and our son stop every time there is a turn and wait for me, so I won’t take a wrong turn. Ron, forever the motivator, tells me what a good job I am doing. Our son, so completely a teenager, sometimes seems annoyed with my slowness–but only sometimes.

Today, he seemed tired, so while Ron did an extra lap around the forest, our son stayed with me until Ron came back around to us. While Ron was making the extra lap, my son went slowly the whole time, so I could keep up. We stopped for a while and talked about the trees. We saw a magnificent rabbit. We met a little porcupine. We had a great time, and because we were traveling more slowly than usual, I stopped quite a few times to take pictures.

It was the best bike ride of my life, and I am thankful for these pictures. I hope my son will remember this day, somewhere down deep–the bike ride with his mama in the beautiful city forest with the fantastic foliage and the little rabbit and porcupine. He’ll remember that, right?

It was just this perfect afternoon being with my family and the trees. One time, we stopped in a clearing for a break, and looked up to see like 50 beautiful birds flying high, right over our heads.

“I wonder that kind of birds they are,” Ron asked.

“I think they are crows, but they are so quiet. I’m not sure.” I responded.

And, then, as soon as I finished that sentence, as if just to let me know, we heard the “caw, caw, caw.”

I love crows more than I can say.

The pines were so tall I couldn’t get their tip tops in the picture, but aren’t they magnificent?
I am not sure, but I think the trees are extra beautiful this year. Usually, there is this kind of sequencing to the colors I notice, but this year, it’s like the trees coordinated. Some of them look like they are just on fire. Oh, how I love Maine.
This is one of the back trails we often take. This is where we met the bunny and the porcupine.
More of the trail–with magnificent color. Of course, the pictures cannot do it justice. Everyone says that because it’s true.
I think I could have gotten a closer picture of the bunny, as we were being very still and quiet, but some people came up behind us fairly loudly. The bunny hopped into the trees, but this is still a pretty good picture. The bunny was so incredibly beautiful.
I wish you could see his little face better in this picture. I could see his little face so well. I loved seeing this beautiful animal because our son, who is usually such a grumpy teen, was talking so sweetly to the little porcupine. That kiddo rebels agains my hippie ways, but I can see he has some hippie in there down deep.
And this is now my favorite picture ever.
And, when we got home, we had a pear-cranberry crisp I had made while the guys were doing homeschool math today. That was a little bit of perfection too, and I will definitely share the recipe tomorrow.

The Cutest Rat in the World

~ Crystal Sands ~ 4 Comments

Day 148 of 365

A few days ago, Ron saw a rat run into the chicken coop right through the front door screen. I was devastated. We haven’t seen a rat in the coop for nearly a year. We have been religious about bringing in every bit of food every single night all year. Just a few weeks ago, when I was giving my talk on chickens and sustainable living, I was asked about rats. I told them we hadn’t seen any this year, that we had been diligent, and I knocked on wood. It didn’t work.

Ron hates trapping the rats. We never use poison because of course not. But they have eaten holes in the coop and done some pretty major damage, so we have used traps, the snappy-death kind. We hate all of this. I have great admiration for rats. They are wicked smart, I know, but they are too resilient, too clever, and can thrive too well on a farm very quickly. When we see rats, we know there are so many more we are not seeing. And, until yesterday, Ron was always willing to “take care” of the rats.

Yesterday, things changed.

You will not believe this, but the rat in this picture is nowhere near as cute as the little rat who lives under our coop. This is just the closest I could find. But note the chewing on the wood in the picture. Sigh. photo credit: Joshua J. Cotten, Unsplash

Ron said he was putting on his boots in the garage, and he felt someone watching him. He said he had a sense it was a rat. He turned around and from the little porch from the coop, there it was–a little rat, just staring at him. Ron said he and the rat made eye contact and the rat sat there and looked at him “for a long time.” As Ron was telling me this story, my heart sank. I knew where this was going, and I knew there was going to be trouble for it.

“I can’t kill that rat,” Ron said. “We have to let it stay.”

Obviously, this was a worry to me, but things got worse. Last night, Ron told our son the story, but our son asked questions and got a little more information.

“We stared at each other a long time, and the rat asked me if it was okay to stay,” Ron told him.

“What did you say back?” our son asked.

“”I gave it permission.” Ron said.

As I listened to this story, my head dropped into my chest. What are we going to do with rats who have permission to live under the coop? What destruction is going to ensue? What kind of hypocrite am I that I don’t want the rats here but won’t deal with them myself and expect Ron to have to do it. He loves all creatures too. He doesn’t like hurting animals.

As I went to sleep last night, I was fretting about rats.

This morning, I came home from a grocery pick up, and when I got out of the car to grab the bags of groceries, I swear, I felt a stare. I looked over, and there, next to the little porch of the coop, sat the most beautiful rat I have ever seen in my life. It’s eyes are big and doe-like. I am pretty sure it has long eye lashes. Its ears are perfect. It has the cutest face I have ever seen. And that little rat just sat and stared at me. I couldn’t help myself, after a bit, I said hello to it. It didn’t budge. It just kept staring at me. It meekly scooted back under the coop when I finally went back to my task with the groceries.

I deeply understood Ron’s decision to let the rat stay.

When I came inside the house, I told Ron and our son the story of my encounter with the rat. Ron seemed pleased I understood his perspective now. Our son asked if we were being hypnotized by this rat. He was joking, but I am wondering.

At any rate, we now have the most adorable rat I have ever seen living under the coop. I have no idea how many friends and family members this little rat is fronting for, but I assure you, we are going to pay for this decision later. I have no doubt about this. But, my goodness, what choice do we have?

Apples: Part III

~ Crystal Sands ~ 4 Comments

Day 147 of 365

“Foraged Apples, Sweet and Sour” by KierinSight, Unsplash

Just as I was starting to understand that I wanted to change my life, to live more connectedly to nature, to get close to my food, I met a colleague who worked in the grants office at the university where I was teaching, and she understood me as others had not yet been able to. I treasured her. One day, I arrived for a meeting, and she had a gift for me—a bag of organic apples from a farm near where she lived in New York state. I held those apples with such love and admiration, and my gratefulness to this person ran so deep. I am a person who is deeply grateful for gifts. It seems so wonderful that someone thinks of me to give me anything. But organic apples! What gift in the world could I have loved more? 

Apples and I keep having these “run-ins” of sorts, so I have to write just a little bit more. Plus, there’s something about a trilogy, I think. I have been thinking about why I love apples so much all week. I realize, after a week of pondering apples, they represent hope to me. 

Apples are special, not in their sweetness and beauty, but in their sweetness, beauty, and durability. After all, strawberries are so sweet and beautiful, as are raspberries, and so many other beautiful fruits from the harvests here in Maine. But apples. Apples can last. You don’t even have to freeze a good storage apple like a Granny Smith or a Liberty. Even the ever-so-sweet Honeycrisp stores well. You just wrap them in newspapers and put them in a basket in the basement, and those apples will feed you for months. How generous of them to be so sweet and so sturdy.

The events of my life so far have shown me that sturdiness is important. I have this feeling it’s going to be even more important as life goes on. 

Climate change is already making our lives harder, and it feels like things are really just getting started. Still, there is some acceptance I notice in myself that I didn’t have before. Because I work with people in the sciences on their dissertations, I have noticed a shift in the rhetoric about climate change in the last year or so. 

For a while, there were the warnings: “Listen up, climate change is going to happen if we don’t do something right now.” Then, the rhetoric got really unusual. Scientists were angry, yelling, desperate to get our attention, something not common at all in academic writing: “Listen here! This is serious! We’re not even kidding!” Of course, it seems the course was set. Now, there is a shift toward a kind of acceptance: “Okay, so this is happening. Let’s help humanity figure out how to adjust, migrate, adapt, survive.” 

Somehow, though I would have thought this place of acceptance would feel more hopeless to me, it feels more hopeful. Maybe it’s that the reality of it cannot be avoided, but it seems like more and more, the people I know—and not just the scientists—are looking for ways to adapt, which often involves learning how to live more in harmony with Nature. The farmers I talk to are nothing short of heroic to me, but they are determined. And, in seeing this, I find solace—and hope. 

The state of affairs with the apple exemplifies what smart people can do when they have to. When Michael Pollan published The Botany of Desire in 2001, he expressed deep concern for the state of the apple. We had farmed the diversity right out of the apple, and lack of diversity within any species is dangerous for that species. If everyone is the same, it doesn’t take much to wipe everyone out. Strength is diversity. Isn’t it interesting that this seems to be a truth humans struggle so greatly to learn? 

But true it is, and, thankfully, people like Michael Pollan raised awareness about the apple. Then, more people started doing something about it. Farmers started to work hard to preserve heirloom varieties of apples. Small farmers and individuals got involved and started working to ensure more apples varieties were cultivated. And consumers helped too. They showed they were open to different and interesting varieties of apples. 

I used to only buy my apples at chain grocery stores. I remember a time, not that long ago, when I bought apples at the grocery store, I really had just three or four varieties to choose from—Red Delicious, Granny Smith, and a something yellow, maybe a Gala, maybe a Golden Delicious. Today, even at the chains, I see at least seven or eight varieties, sometimes more in apple season. And so many people now shop from small farms and at farmers markets. In John Forti’s speech at the Common Ground Fair last month, he said that, in the last decade or so, the number of farmers markets in the United States has grown from the hundreds to the thousands–and the growth continues. 

Historians and farmers continue to work together to preserve heirloom apples. The work on this here in my adopted home state of Maine is remarkable. Maine treasures its heirloom apples. I recently discovered a map of heirloom orchards here in Maine and hope to visit one this year. How fantastic would it be to try a Sundance, a Zestar, or a Cox Orange Pippin apple? And there is a whole movement toward cider apples and a market for hard cider. We don’t want to lose this diversity, so we work to keep them going for future generations. 

And if we can work together to ensure future generations have heirloom apples, we can work together to figure out ways to adapt to climate change. Hopefully, right? 

Apples are such a gift, such a reminder that nature is magnificent, sturdy, that humans can be magnificent, and that life can be so sweet, even if we have to be a little sturdy to ensure we can enjoy it. 

I wanted to conclude my apple trilogy with a quote shared with me by a dear friend, one who sees through my wall of protection so well that I decided to just go ahead and take it down. It’s a quote by Louise Erdrich, from her novel, The Painted Drum, which I have yet to read but is on my list for this coming Winter. When you read this quote, I am certain it will be on your list too because it’s full of truths about life, love, loss–and apples. 

Think of this quote. Go to the apple orchard. Pick the apples. Eat them. Remember to love them. Remember to love. 

“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and being alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You have to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes too near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself that you tasted as many as you could.”

Oh, Ruby

~ Crystal Sands ~ 2 Comments

Day 125 of 365

Yesterday, Ron let me sleep late after a tough week of mom worry. I was worn, so he got up and did the morning chores by himself. When I got up later, he told me Ruby had moved herself from the garage to the coop. I was skeptical, but he said he was sure he saw Ruby in the coop and couldn’t find her in the garage. I was still skeptical.

Sure enough, I found her hiding in a dog crate in the garage, still broody. I can’t believe she has gone broody yet again. This is the third time this summer. The first time, she raised babies. Then, a few weeks after her babies were let go, she went broody again. Thankfully, on her own, she just snapped out of it. I was so glad. That hen lays beautiful eggs. But she has laid eggs for just a few weeks this whole summer. She went broody again last week, and she’s been screaming and squawking at everyone in the garage ever since.

Ron is worn from her behavior. Broodiness does make a hen particularly difficult. They will try to fight you all the time about all the things, including you just walking by. Today, Ron told me we should close the doors on the dog crates, so Ruby can’t hide in there and be broody.

“But Juliet needs to lay her egg in the crate,” I explained.

“Well, can’t Juliet just find someplace else?” he asked grumpily.

“Oh, she’ll lay someplace else, and we’ll never find them.”

He wasn’t happy with this response, but I went outside and opened the dog crate door when Juliet started squawking to let me know she was ready–in her crate. Ron and I made the plan to close Juliet in the crate while she was laying, lock Ruby out, and when Juliet was done, grab the egg, let her out, but close the crate to keep Ruby from getting in there. We do need to break her from being broody.

This plan worked, except Ruby attacked Ron when he went to get Juliet’s egg. Good times!

Juliet lays a perfect khaki egg. When Ron saw it, he said, “Yeah, I can see why you don’t want to lose this egg.” I was satisfied that he understood the importance of the egg.

But poor Ruby. She’s so difficult. She sat for hours on top of the crate, which is covered in seed starter containers. It could not have been comfortable. Later, when my son and I got home from cello lessons, we found her perched on top of one of Ron’s homemade sawhorses, near a quilt we use when we take our bikes out in the pickup; she was just pretending like she was in a nest. I swear, I could tell she was pretending, trying to make the best of it.

I felt so badly for her, but truly, she already raised babies this year. We can’t have any more babies. She has to wait until next year. So I started singing to her.

Ruby is named after my grandmother who I don’t really remember, but apparently, she adored me before she died when I was about three years old. Her name is magnificent to me, and when Ruby, our chicken, was a baby, she was so beautiful and red, I figured Ruby was the perfect name. Truly, however, my favorite part of having a chicken named Ruby is singing to her “Ooh, Ruuuuby,” just like in the song. Of course, that song is actually quite terrible in its content–about violence and war and anger and betrayal–but that chorus is catchy, isn’t it? I love to sing it to Ruby. Most of the time, she talks back when I sing to her.

Ruby is VERY talkative. One time, she was getting ready to go to sleep in the garage when my son was outside beatboxing, in as much as a white kid from Maine can beatbox, when he said he was going to have a beatbox contest with Ruby. So he went over to her and did some beatboxing for her. I am not kidding you. She looked at him long and hard and then just let out all kinds of chicken noises like I have not heard. She was loud too!

My son said, “Ok, Ruby, you win.”

Today, when I got in her face and started to sing her song, she let me have it. She just squawked at me so loudly. It wasn’t that far off from her beatbox competition submission. She hurt my ears for sure. Maybe my singing hurts her ears. I wouldn’t doubt it. I love music but am a terrible singer.

Honestly, I am not sure how we are ever going to get her back into the coop, but soon, it will be winter, and then we have to figure something out.

Oh, Ruby!

The Weather Report for Chickens

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

Day 89 of 100

I was going to write tonight about corn and give a crop report. It’s fascinating to me what Ron has managed to do in the garden despite the water and temperature struggles this summer. Some things have failed–but not many things. But I will have to give more detail tomorrow because I have a joyful story to tell, and I feel like, right now, if you have a joyful story to tell, I want to hear it. I hope you feel the same.

This is Juliet’s baby, who is on her own with her brother since last week. Oh, Juliet! She has no name yet because I have to know her a little before I can name her well. Today, I learned something about her. I was giving watermelon to the big chickens first, and this tiny hen squeezed under the fence, ran out there with the grownups and stole some watermelon. That’s bold. There’s an order in chicken culture, and this would be punished with a good peck if she were to be caught. She surely knows this, but that baby ran out there anyway while the other babies watched in awe and stole some watermelon. This is fantastically bold.

I always give my chickens the weather report to try to help them through the bad days. I am so sensitive to how they feel that, when they are struggling with extreme weather like we are, I worry extra. I try to make their lives reasonable during tough times, I mean, the watermelon rinds are piling up out there. Still, hot and miserable weather is hot and miserable weather for everybody. Generally, in the summers, I can say, “just a few days, and we’ll get a little break,” but it became apparent last month that we were in for a long heat wave and dry spell the likes of which I have not seen in Maine. I did not want to tell my chickens the bad news, so I just laid low.

But, today, as I delivered another round of watermelon and checked all of the waterers, I got to to deliver the good news as well–one more bad day! The cooler temperatures are coming for us on Monday. The high tomorrow is supposed to be 95. The high on Monday is supposed to be 70–and the rain is coming too! All the animals, including some very old hens who I was really worried about in this heat, seem to be going to make it!

Mary Jane is still alive. I gave that old girl a pep talk today. She is doing much better than I thought, so I told her to hang in there a little longer. If she can make it just one more day, she can live to see another glorious fall around here. Chickens LOVE the Fall. The cooler temps, the leaves, the bugs on the leaves. Even if they take turns molting, overall, fall is a fun time for our pasture-raised chickens. The pasture gets extra fun.

I was feeling so good about sharing the good news with all the animals tonight when I tucked everyone in for their bedtime. Shortly after, I came inside after wrapping up the duck game. While outside, I could hear music coming from the house, as, of course, all of the windows are open. When I came inside, I found Ron and our son dancing in the kitchen with the music so loud I am sure the neighbors could hear it. It was 7 Nation Army by the White Stripes, and they both looked so quirky and adorable. Our son was wearing his sunglasses and dancing around with his “old da.” The best part was that Boudica was joining in and jumping and playing in between the two of them.

I smiled so big my face literally hurt.

There is joy in the air on our little homestead. The rain is coming. The heat will break. Ron has kept the crops alive, and I have kept even Mary Jane alive. It’s been tough. I am so thankful rain and cool are coming.

The weather report looks good.

P.S. If you are a farmer or homesteader reading this post and you are struggling with heat and drought, my heart goes out to you. I hope with all of my might that you get some rain soon, too.

Home Again, Home Again

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

Day 82 of 365

We are home, and I am with my Boudica again! Just now, I was outside freshening the duck water, and Boudica came up to me with a big smile on her face. She, apparently, did a great job with the sitter, but she’s happy we’re home.

I experienced a lot of mixed emotions being home. I was happy to be here, but things had changed more than I thought they would in just three days. Mainly, I missed the departure of my tiny neighbor’s second and last brood of babies. I had a bad feeling I was going to miss it, and I did.

I took this picture the day we left. There were four babies, and there was simply no more room in that nest. I hate that I missed them go. Last time, I was able to witness it. Thankfully, I got this picture right near the end of things. I had read you have to be careful getting too close to the nest right when they are about to fly. You can scare them into trying too soon and cause problems.

I approached the nest so tentatively and pretty soon realized this little gang of wide-mouthed baby Eastern Phoebes was only going to watch me with mild interest–and I do mean mild. Yes, I am thankful for this photograph.

Interestingly, when we got home Ruby was out with the flock!

I could not believe this, but there she was, acting like a normal chicken. Kate, who has officially dumped her baby was also out with the flock, as was Bianca. Everyone was behaving so well and so orderly like. How could these be my chickens?

But it didn’t take long for the quirkiness to reappear. As I was out saying hello to my babies, who grew so much I almost cried when I saw them, I watched as, one by one, all of my quirky chickens flew over the fence and came my direction.

At first, Ron was like, “Well, you spoil those chickens too much.”

But, later, he said, “I’m sure there’s just a certain comfort level with mom being home. It can’t be easy on them to be cared for by a stranger.” I agree with this wholeheartedly. I am amazed at how differently my chickens behave when people they do not know come around.

Our little vacation was the first one we have taken since becoming homesteaders. There’s just too much work to leave to other people for very long, but we did it thanks to a fantastic farm sitter. I am so glad to be home, but I don’t want to wait so long before we do it again.

And I am hoping with all of my might that, tomorrow morning, I hear “fee-bee, fee-bee” outside of our bedroom window.

Ruby’s Back in the Coop

~ Crystal Sands ~ 1 Comment

Day 59 of 365

When I started this journey, Ruby started her journey with me. Right as I started this blog, Ruby got her eggs. For the last nearly 60 days, I have observed Ruby’s journey. I loved watching her be a great mom. The last few days, I have been watching her have a really hard time coming out of motherhood. Her hormones have made her a wreck. I can empathize.

Tonight, as we were wrapping up dinner, I heard a baby chick screaming in the garage. They scream big for even the smallest things, but, of course, you have to go check on all of it. I found Ruby in the crate, and as her babies tried to join her, she was giving them a good, hard peck on the head.

There were seven baby chicks in hysterics running around the garage.

I reached in and pulled Ruby out of the crate. Immediately, a few babies piled in. I held Ruby a long time trying to decide what to do with her. I talked to her and gave her lots of pets. She even let me hug her. I decided to walk her to the coop and see how she did. Everyone else was on the roosts for the night.

I sat her down, and she ate some food and walked around looking a little lost. But then…she hesitantly hopped on the roost and looked up, longing for a higher roost but so hesitant. Ruby never fit in with the flock very well even before becoming a mama. I worry about her trying to find her place in the pecking order again.

She seemed like she was going to settle herself with the bottom roost, but there was plenty of room on the second highest roost. I reached down and scooped her up. She fussed about it a little bit.

As I held her, I talked to Mary Jane, who would be above Ruby (Mary Jane is a meat bird we pardoned and just so happens to be one of the smartest chickens I have ever met), and told her to NOT peck Ruby on the head. I touched her feet and told her to be sweet. Then, I told Betty, who would be next to Ruby, to be nice to Ruby.

I sat Ruby on the roost, put my hands on her feet, and leaned my head onto her back. I thanked her for her hard work being a mama.

No one pecked her on the head.

Spoiled Ducks

~ Crystal Sands ~ 4 Comments

Day 53 of 365

We have seven Indian Runner ducks. Six are the ones we special ordered from the best waterfowl hatchery we could find. One is a duck who taught me one of the most valued lessons I have learned in my life. She’s a chocolate runner named Anna Maria, and I will have to tell her story one day soon. It will take me some work to do justice to Anna Marie. She’s special.

But she’s spoiled. All of our ducks have become so spoiled. It happens every summer. We are with them so much they get used to us and start bossing us around. Only, this year, it’s worse. Every year, they get a little bolder and a little bolder. It’s a new level this summer. Today, those ducks sat at the back door and quacked very loudly until we brought them treats–three times. And, I assure you, a group of female ducks can make a lot of noise. So, you give in.

Our neighbors are not that close, but duck sounds carry. Our neighbors have geese and ducks, and when my son and I go for a walk down our road, when the ducks and geese start carrying on, you can hear it for like a quarter of a mile for sure.

So I worry about the loud ducks. So I give them everything they demand.

It’s usually Anna Marie who starts it. She’s extra spoiled. She’s been through a lot in her life. We got her when she was about one year old and have been spoiling her extra every day of her life. Ducks are very smart. They all figured out that everything Anna Maria asked for she got.

Yesterday, we found that some of the ducks were leaning across the fence into a garden area eating the broccoli leaves. Ron went over to them away, and they all ganged up on him and quacked and quacked at him. They were clearly griping at him. Ron had to move the fence farther from the broccoli, and those spoiled ducks quacked at him, complaining about it the whole time.

Tonight, while I made dinner, I took the ducks their nightly greens from the garden. During greens season in the garden, every single night, Ron or I give the ducks their fresh greens.

And I’m not even kidding about this–our ducks will not eat store-bought greens. I have thrown some to them at times when I have bought lettuces in the off season. They’re organic. But nope. The ducks will not eat store-bought greens. They would rather go without. How are they this spoiled?

But they are. And they are so cute they can get away with it. And it helps us on feed bill that both the chickens and the ducks can eat from the garden. I mean, look at them. You can see why they are so spoiled. It’s why every single night I play the duck game.

A Wasp Sting and a Fairy Egg

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

Day 52 of 365

Thursdays are the busy grading days, so I am writing late. But I spent the entire morning picking strawberries. I am in awe of how many berries our plants are producing this year. We have shared and shared, and I am pretty sure I am going to have enough berries to make all the strawberry jam this year. Well, I might go to the big strawberry farm and pick one good batch–just to be safe.

While I was out picking, I had all of these wonderful thoughts in my mind about how generous the berries were. I was watching the birds play all around me. The sun was warm, but the air was cool. I was in love with the moment and with nature. “Nature must love me back,” I thought. “Just look at how generous these berries are being.”

Then, I thought I felt something in my eye. I thought I felt a little sting. It hurt, but there were so many berries. I just kept picking. But, by the end, I realized I couldn’t keep my eye open or see very well. When I went into the house, I found I had a giant swollen eye lid, and though I could barely see my eye, it was very blood shot.

I took a Benadryl and put ice on eye. I whined until Ron gave me some attention, and he then washed out my eye, which helped. It all hurt quite a bit, though I should add that I have learned in my life I have a very low threshold for pain, and my melodramatic son comes by his melodrama naturally I think.

“Nature bit me,” I told him, “just when I was romanticizing it.”

“That wasp didn’t mean to sting you,” he said. I knew this, of course. I was still mad at the wasp. Ron could take the wasp’s side if he wanted, but I looked like Rocky.

Later, my eye was all better. Ron made a wonderful dinner with garlic scapes, salad, beets, and peas–all fresh from the garden. It was like a feast.

And, then, when I collected the eggs tonight, I found a fairy egg! It’s only the second one I have ever seen. It’s so tiny and cute.

Now, I must keep grading essays. I can’t decide if my life is very interesting or very boring.

A Miracle Egg (and Kate’s a Mama)

~ Crystal Sands ~ 1 Comment

Day 40 of 365

I have be eluding to a miracle egg in the last week or so because I didn’t want to jinx my wish that an egg I had under Kate might hatch. I am quite superstitious.

A couple of weeks ago, when Kate and the adopted babies rejected each other, there were five eggs under Kate that she had been sitting on for two weeks. When I switched the eggs for the baby chicks the night we tried to give her the adopted babies, I put all of the eggs in a box near her crate. I wanted to candle the eggs, just to see if our rooster was doing any good work in this department, as he is wonderful but quite old.

I couldn’t carry all of the eggs at once, so I carried in all I could–four eggs–and just left the other in the box in the garage. I candled all four eggs, and they were all duds. I was sad about our rooster but glad I had bought new babies from a good breeder.

Of course, the next morning, Kate and the babies rejected each other, as you know from my earlier post. Kate was so confused and so devastated she lost her eggs. She kept looking and looking for them. In a sad state that morning, I grabbed that egg in the box that had sat in the chilly garage all night.

“What are the odds that egg is developing?” I asked myself. Of course, then I had to admit, even if it was fertilized, it had sat out all night without heat. I had heard of eggs making it for some hours without heat, even though my standard rule is 1 hour. I thought for a moment. “9 hours,” I said out loud. I sighed mightily.

But it wouldn’t hurt to try, and if it would help Kate get to motherhood more quickly than starting all over, it would be worth a try. I took the egg in the house and candled it. There was a baby in there that was quite developed. I said all the bad words. I won’t share those, as I know some children read this blog, but I said all the bad words. I was so mad at myself for not checking the egg the night before. I could have kept the egg warm in the house, just in case Kate rejected the babies.

But there I was–with nothing but a hope for a lot of luck. It would take a miracle.

I put the egg under her and made a wish as I did. Again, I am very superstitious. I also grabbed three eggs from the coop and thought maybe she might get one baby out of those. I thought poor Kate deserved to be a mama. Seeing her get so upset about losing her eggs that morning broke my heart. So, within half an hour, Kate was back in business. She had eggs back under her. Worst case, she would have to go 21 more days with the new eggs from the coop. Best case, one week with the miracle egg.

But a week passed, and there was no hatch. I took the abuse from Kate and grabbed the egg to candle it. I thought maybe it had developed further than when I had seen it last, but I wasn’t sure. It had been a week and though I tried to make a good mental note, I doubted myself. Still, “a few more days, just in case,” I said to Kate when I put the egg back under her.

A few more days passed, and there was still no hatch.

Yesterday, when I woke up in the morning, I told myself “today will be the day I’ll dispose of that egg.” I needed a miracle, but I researched my odds. I understood my chances were small; still, I was melancholy about it.

“After tea,” I told myself. Every morning, after morning chores, my husband and I sit and try to talk for at least half an hour. We won’t see each other much until dark, so we try to touch base every morning.

We had just finished tea, and Ron headed outside to start his work for the day. He came back to find me and said, “Guess who is a mama?” My eyes widened!

“I heard Kate purring and couldn’t believe what I was hearing,” he said. When he went to look, there was a little baby chick. I could tell he was so happy for Kate too. This is one of the many reasons I love that man.

I ran to the garage, and there, right in front of Kate was her little mini-me. Not only did that baby hatch, five days late, but that baby also looks just like Kate did when she was a baby. It’s almost too much cuteness to take.