Safe Flight, My Hens

Jeff and Heather, Chris, Brittany and their two month old angel Luca came over this evening to take several of my hennies to their new home.

The upkeep of three hen houses and the care of 18 hens and one rooster is a challenge for one person.  Jorge, the ranch hand, has been instructed to no longer help me with any of the animal care.  How unfortunate.

A great part of Jorge's love for his job has been working with the animals.  He told me he is uncomfortable with this new directive as he recognizes the labor involved for one person.  He said he was sad about it because he misses the interaction with the animals and the variety in his day, making it anything but routine.

It does tug at my heart to see him drive by the animals and not stop and do some of the things he used to do.  He actually looks the other direction.  He is fighting his instinct as he is a natural caregiver.  The animals do not understand his distance.  They grew fond of him, his kindness and his gentle ways.  The goats used to get daily rides in the golf cart.  Now it's as if he shuns them, but I know it is not so.

The time has come to ease my load a bit.

Juliet, Ruby, Blanca, and Zorra, four of my new baby hens, were put in the poultry crate along with Dumpling and Black, two of my one year old hens.

Dumpling has been like a mother hen to the babies.  She has been showing them around the ranch and the places to find bugs, take a dirt bath and where there is protection and shade for a nap.   When they scratch up by the grasses at the canal, she is always with them.  Black is a very docile Black Australorp who ruffles no feathers.  They will be a harmonious flock.

Chris and Jeff are biologists for the Wildlife Services.  I met Jeff when he answered my call for help in investigating what was killing my ducks.  He's smart.

Jeff had mentioned he was setting up his new chicken coop.  As you may imagine, it is entirely secure and predator proof.  When I made the decision to re-home a few of my hens, he was the first person who came to mind.  Jeff had his flock established already but Chris was just beginning his.

As sad as it was to hand over my hand-raised babies and grown girls, there was a sense of relief.  A touch of relief in my daily chore load; a greater relief that my girls were alive when I said good bye.  It doesn't always work that way on the ranch.

The Death Card

In life there are cycles.  Two obvious ones: life and death.  And life, as I understand it, is not exclusive to the human form, or animal form for that matter, but to all living creatures, beings, matter, space.

The ranch seemed lifeless when we first arrived over two years ago.  The apple tree did not blossom, I didn't even know it was a lilac tree outside the kitchen door, the pastures were dried and yellowed, there were no visible creatures calling the ranch home, the air felt stale and still.

Then, the next spring, the apple tree had so many blossoms I wondered if the delicate branches would be able to support the fruit.  One crisp morning I got a faint scent of lilac and saw so many buds on the tree.  And look! A pear tree beside it.  Then the families of Mallards arrived.  The Canada Geese came. The feral cats started poking out here and there and then claimed the hay shed and the barn as their homes.  The wild birds sang and darted about.  This place was alive and so vibrant.

With any life, the next cycle has rolled in.

The negativity, anger and vindictive actions of late have permeated and choked the life energy here.

The apple tree had no blossoms this spring.  The lilac tree was bare.  The pear tree made a grand effort.

My little Negrita, my sweet sweet cat, was hit by a car.  I still cry when I look in her bed just hoping it wasn't her.  Her absence has forever altered the patterns of the cats.  I used to look out my bedroom window in the morning and see Negrita, Lynxie and Graysin stretched out on the hay soaking up the rising sun.  At night, I would turn on the light and catch them playing a literal cat and mouse game.  Now, I look out and all I see is hay.

Lynxie and Graysin stop in here and there, but the less than feral attitude has diminished.  I hardly see my Rayito, Little Grays and Twin who call the barn home.

The pond has taken on this incredible algae.  It has covered the pond surface like a bad color choice of carpet from the late 60s.  As it crept in, it pushed the Mallards out.  Now, the pond is surrounded by very tall prickly weeds, and topped with a chartreuse cushion.  Lifeless.

The Mallards used to follow me out to the pasture or up to the dry lot, "quack quack quack," they'd tell me.  Always saying they were ready for food.  It's remarkable to go from 50+ ducks throughout the day to none.  Not one. Not one true duck quack.

The pasture started drying up and browning because the water had been cut off.  Pickings were slimming down for the horses and goats.  The good blue grass was being overtaken by the noxious weeds.

The raised beds of the former vegetable garden became a garden of assorted weeds and undesirable grasses.

The round pen is Pippin's favorite place to escape to at night because his height falls just below that of the weeds and he can browse in stealth mode.  No horse activity in that pen.

Thankfully, the water was turned on again a few days ago and I started watering vigorously.  It's impressive how the combination of a little water and the bright Central Oregon sunshine can make anything grow in no time.  The growing season may be short, but it grows!  The pasture is greening.  The goats are wandering more.

With the rotation of water, I noticed the algae is shifting.  You would be stretching it to say it is going away; however, there are a few open spaces of water on the surface.

This evening as I was out feeding, I saw one Mallard hen sitting on the plank to the duck house in the center of the pond.  She had no companion.  Just her.  I called to her but she didn't respond.  A decoy? Her mood rang nostalgic.  It was as if she came to visit her former home just one last time.  As if she couldn't comprehend the "Do Not Enter" vibe of the abundant green foam.

I put out some food for her, and the chickens who followed me in.  I never saw her swim to the shore.  I never saw her fly away.  I looked and she was gone.

Full Buck Moon

July is the Full Buck Moon.  It is said July is the month in which the new antlers of the bucks start to push out of their foreheads, velvety, anew.

The White-Tailed Bucks shed their antlers after rutting season, sometime in the early months of the year.  They can be without their antlers during these months because they are not fighting for territory or the affection of does.

I could be a buck. Ready to grow new antlers which emerge covered in what seems like velvet.  This "velvet" is full of blood vessels that feed the antlers the vitamins and minerals they need to grow strong and healthy.  I am a buck.

Just before walking to the barn tonight, my sister Laurie sent me a thoughtful pre-sleep text message.  In response, I told her I would catch a star and send it to her; it would light up her dreams.

The barn is east.  Walking east, I saw what is left of the Buck Moon rising.

It seemed to be exactly half of the moon, like a generous slice of watermelon.  It isn't coincidence that brought me out to see this momentary slice of wonder.  I am a buck.  This is my moon.

Why Not Baseball Blog?

There have been quite a few curve balls being pitched my way these past few months.  Some have been easier to swing at than others.  Some have been just too darned wild to gain focus to begin to grip.

Then there are the moments when the pitch comes right to me.  An easy, "here you go" kind of pitch.

I still cannot identify that constellation in the south sky.  Tonight one of the stars was really flickering red.  And then just above it, the Milky Way was streaming.  As I sat on the stoop at the barn letting the goodles out for a late night stadium-fare, Rayito, one of my feral cats, comes walking out from behind the barn.  I haven't seen him lately.  He comes in just close enough to catch his vibe, he looked over at me to let me know he was doing alright, and pitter-pattered over to crouch down and watch the goodles browse.

I nodded my head in appreciation of the moment.

As I was walking back to the house, admiring the sparkling red star in my unknown constellation, a shooting star pitched itself in my direction.  I laughed.  I put out my catcher's mitt and caught that star in flight.