Barley And His Wives

This year turned out to be "The Year of the Rooster".  It had nothing to do with the Chinese zodiac, mind you.  It was because everyone unloaded roosters on us.

One day a neighbor showed up, shortly after the incident that led to the goats being jailed indefinitely behind permanent fencing (the neighbor to the North had caught them on wildlife camera destroying his corn field).  We took a deep breath when we saw the pick-up truck pull up, and wondered what priceless food crop they had eaten now.

But instead he wanted to give us ten roosters.  His elderly mother had ordered a bunch of straight run chickens to start a laying flock, and half of them grew into a rowdy bunch of roosters.  They weren't sure what to do with them, and hoped we could take them off their hands.

We didn't have the time or funds to raise meat chickens this year, so a bunch of free roosters destined for the pot was an attractive prospect.  Arrangements were quickly made, and we found ourselves with ten roosters all of a sudden.

A week or two before they crowed their last crows and fought their last petty battles, one of Rose's friends made the unpleasant discovery that a little pet chick that was supposed to grow up to be a backyard laying hen was actually a loud, obnoxious rooster.

Barley was just barely out of the awkward adolescent pin-feather stage when we got him.  He was still peeping, but nonetheless was able to screech out a surprisingly powerful peep-crow with his little beak gaping open.  It would have meant death to put him in with the other chickens, so he was kept in a separate coop in the orchard until he grew up.

Once the other roosters were out of the way, he was moved to a moveable coop, which he had all to himself.  He would get so excited to see us arrive every day.  His crow gradually got less squeaky and more polished and professional. He added some extra doodle-doos in there at the end, too.

Just after I planted my starts in the winter garden, we started having trouble keeping the hens in their moveable coop.  The cows were in the next paddock on hay, and Sappho (nicknamed Sapphole), kept jumping out, bumping the lids off, and then going to check out the neighbor's cornfield that the goats had already ravaged.  The hens were all over the place scratching up bugs and roosting in stupid places.  Miraculously, none of them went missing - at least none that we noticed, since they all look exactly alike.  Meanwhile, they ate my entire winter garden and scratched up all the beds.

It took a week or so to finally round them all up, and they started ranging quite far.  One of them made it all the way through the garden to where Barley was housed.  Confused by seeing the other coop, she bobbed cautiously over to check it out.

As soon as he set eyes on her, Barley go SOOOO excited.  He flapped and crowed and did little dances and raked out his wings.  After his long, monastic celibacy, here was a gorgeous female (well, sort of - she was in the middle of a molt, but I don't think he was so particular) coming right for him!  It was his dream coming true.

Ethan caught the stupid hen and popped her in the coop as a sort of revenge for eating all our vegetables.  Barley went insane with joy.  He was so excited he couldn't stop dancing around in a little circle.  The hen was bewildered and not super thrilled about being the object of his attentions, but it was too late - she was stuck with him.

A few days later, another hen ranged over that way, and in she went.  Barley could hardly contain himself again.  This was beyond his wildest dreams.

In just a few days, his breast became noticeably more puffed and his strut got more swagger.  His toes barely touch the ground now since acquiring not just one, but two wives.

Weathering

I am writing from the blustery aftermath of the dreaded Hurricane Matthews.  Obviously, I have power still, which is far better than the last hurricane that came through, although the media excitement wasn't as built up the last time.

Yesterday my mother called me in a panic, insisting that her students were claiming that Matthew was a massive hurricane that was due to hit right down the middle of the state and wipe us off the map.  I managed to calm her down, and reminded her that her students could hardly understand the rudiments of biology, much less a hyped-up media report. 

We did tie down the chicken coop lids this time, and we stocked up on hay and water for the animals.  Otherwise, I am fairly sceptical of the melodrama about storms hitting this area.  Don't misunderstand me - I know the damage was quite bad in other places.  Here in the middle of the state, we tend to be spared the worst.

Since I slept through the whole of "The Storm of The Century" at age eight, way back in the 1900's (ok, it was only in 1993, but I like the sound of "back in the 1900's"), I just don't get that excited about them.  Of course it sucked to have our electricity go out last hurricane, and when Mirin was a newborn in 2004 we had no power for a week - but that was less a testimony to the powerful winds than it was to how pathetic the transformer is on our line, and how incredibly incapable the utility company is when it comes to hurricane preparedness (why are electrical lines not buried in hurricane areas?  It seems so obvious).

The storm was supposed to hit us around 1:30, so we made plans to go out early to do the milking.  Of course we are late everywhere, so the timing turned out for us to arrive at the farm at 1:30, rather than be inside, safe and dry, at that point.

As we got in the car to head out, Ethan turned on the radio to check on the storm announcements.  The voice on the radio was saying how you should not, under absolutely no circumstances, be out driving on the road, and went on to emphasize that there had been a tornado watch in the next county, and anyone who went out driving today was just asking for it.  We shrugged and turned off the radio as we pulled out of the neighborhood.  Ethan did swerve around the road a little while driving, but it was only because he was trying to drink coffee at the same time, rather then because of high winds.  There was hardly any rain or wind, and most people seemed to have taken the radio announcer's advice, so there wasn't any traffic, and I actually felt fairly safe on the way, except for the aforementioned swerving.

At the farm, in the very teeth of the storm, the cows and goats were placid.  The cows were lounging under the oak trees, ruminating, and the goats were all excited about a pine branch that had fallen in their paddock. 

The chores went well - the baby goats were convincingly pathetic from under their shelter, so I gave them an extra scoop of feed.  The worst part was having my head rained on, because I have misplaced my amazing Chinese cooly hat I always wear, and I hate having my head rained on.  We are just getting over a nasty head cold, and my hair gets all musty.

Even during the most exciting blusters, I gauged the wind to be about a 5-6 on the Beaufort scale, which is only "gale" and at least six degrees south of "hurricane".  I am beginning on my second year of helping with weather journalling for homeschool, so I am fairly adept at it now.  I have been out doing the chores in worse storms that were merely summer thunderstorms, and at least it was cool, the rain was intermittent, and there was no lightening.  I don't mind hurricanes, but thunderstorms are terrifying.

Showers of Blessings

We finally got some rain yesterday evening as we were doing the chores.  It was ominous and cloudy all day, but for some reason the rain gods seem to prefer to shower us with their blessings exactly when we are out doing the chores.  Every day for ages there have been huge thunderstorms crowding around, but alas not actually raining on us.

The rain was more welcome than you might think - it has been so dry.  The cows are at the end of their pasture rotation, and the grass in the beginning is dormant and there is no regrowth.  The plan has been to put them on hay at the top of the garden - expensive, of course, but not deplorable, as I need hay and manure to start building the winter garden.

The most I have started on the fall/winter garden are some pathetic-looking starts.  I started early this year, back in August, but the hurricane that came through was not good for them.  I replanted again a couple of weeks ago, and everything has popped up right away.  The funny thing is that the replanted starts are at about the same stage as the older ones.  I don't know how people actually get kale in the ground on September 1st, as all my starts seem to hate growing when it's so hot.  I am wondering if it is even worth starting things until September if the later-planted starts catch up so quickly to the early starts.

The pigs have been in the garden, and have cleared out a good portion of the back of it.  It's about time to give them another section.  Things are (finally!) moving along a little.