Mistaken Identity

Yes, I see you’re getting too big for your boxes. That thought sent me to Tractor Supply to

check out possible chicken coops. They didn’t have any in their store, but they showed me some

online. After investigating all the possibilities, I chose the absolute best one--- a terraced wooden

roof, a removable metal tray positioned under the roost for easy cleaning, and four nesting boxes,

one for each hen. Only thing, in order to make an online payment, I had to go home and bring it

 up on my computer.

      What fun! I clicked on the page and there it was. On the bar panel to the right of the

 screen appeared the very same coop, but on sale. A slightly lower price and delivery in two

days! Imagine that. I clicked the one on the right and finalized the order.

     Sure enough, two days later, the coop appeared on my porch—in two boxes, that is.  I tried to

 move one but couldn’t budge it. When the handyman, Dan, came by later that day he moved it

into the garage. And Saturday a church friend, Steve and his grandsons, came to help assemble it.

 Not an easy job at all, but it was really handsome when they finished.  The roof, the metal tray

that slid in and out, and the two nesting boxes. Two? I need four.  Back online I could see the

 mistake was mine. The coop only held two.

     So, while I had the computer open, I listed it on Craig’s list. I must’uv had a dozen calls that

 evening from people wanting to raise just two chickens. The first people who called pulled up

early the next morning, in the rain, with their flatbed and bought it. Now what?

One Two Buckle Your Shoee

    When the baby fuzz disappeared, pinfeathers emerged. Personalities formed. Meg grabbed the leader position hands down. Whenever she spied a spec on the side of the cardboard, she'd peck and the others came running to see what she'd found. If she'd fly a short spurt across their box, so would they.

    Jo, meanwhile, chose to be the loner, while Minnie and Maddie acted like Bobsey Twins. As the chicks grew, the box shrunk. Good thing Karen, the church secretary, called one morning asking if I needed the big computer box they had just emptied.  Oh yes!

     I got real busy cutting wide doors in both boxes, and joining them together. When I finished I had created a fancy double wide! Changing and cleaning out shavings became a breeze, post-reconstruction. The little brood could occupy one side while I cleaned the other.

     When the time came to install my feather duster for a roost, I punched two holes in opposite sides of the box, sliding the handle in place.  Later, when darkness descended, I peeked in to find all four little angels on their perch fast asleep. All's well that ends well, so it goes.

     However, one week later, I came in from church to find Maddie sitting on the top edge of the double wide. She didn't flinch or move a feather as I closed the door behind me. Frantically, my eyes searched the room for other escapees.  None. Only Maddie, sitting very still, waiting to see if I noticed her---I noticed!

Winter Outside, But Warm in My Kitchen

   

     The next morning scratching noises could be heard coming from the cardboard box on my kitchen floor.  Four sets of tiny feet were busy burying their water source in wood shavings.  Of course, they didn't realize what they were doing, but an upside down fruit jar at the far end of the box stood submerged in shavings. The feeder dish suffered the same fate; I stayed busy that first day. Late that night when I slipped into the kitchen to check on them, I stood mesmerized. Neither the cold outside nor the new surroundings had affected the little charges one bit. Sound asleep they were, four fuzzy yellow balls huddled in the corner 'neath the warming light.

     Two weeks had flown by when my little friend Kate and her grandmother came over and we gave them names. The Araucanas were named for Meg and Jo, from Louisa Mae Alcott's Little Women, and Maddie and Minnie seemed perfect for the Rhode Island Reds. We took turns holding each one because my friend Beth, in Glorieta, New Mexico always held her baby chicks letting them go to sleep in her lap.  After they were grown, you could still hold them. I knew I wanted to do the same with mine.

    One day when I was holding Maddie, I saw pinfeathers coming out on her wings. Oh my! They're growing so fast, I think I'd better pour myself a cup of coffee, and while it's warm and cozy in my kitchen, I'll just sit a spell and watch them grow.

Chicken Scratchin's

Before we take another step into November, I need to tell you something. Did you read my blog last week? What began last week as a preview of what's comin' is what'll be comin'! I've started to share with you my chicken scratchin's.

Something new in your life? Nail it down! Write it! Tell your stories about that new thing!

Hold Onto Your Fork--- Something Good's Coming

     It happened when I stopped by Buzbee's Feed Store that morning to pick up some mulch for my  garden.  They had already put the mulch in my car when I crossed the heavy wooden floor to the cash register to pay my bill.
     A lot of commotion under the stairs to my right stopped me, and I turned to see. A hundred gallon watering trough, postioned in probably the warmest corner of the store out of the draft, held the answer. I peeked over the edge to see blond wood shavings, framed by a big warming light, with fifty or sixty baby chickens down inside peeping.
     I asked Ray, the man waiting at the regisster, "Are those all the same kind of chickens?" I had noticed some were more gold-colored than yellow, and one or two were almost brown.
     "All Araucanas," he said.
     "Those lay the blue-green eggs, don't they?"
     "Yes."
     "My son, his wife, and  their two boys are raising some of those up near Denton." I  remembered how much fun the kids had with their chickens---them, and the entire neighbothood. I was there when their first hen squawked over her newly laid egg. I paid my bill, thanked him, and left the store.

     When I drove in my driveway, clearly, nothing had changed since I left: the same cloud-covered sky, still the same wintry day with a slight wind pushing in from the east. And inside I listened to the same empty echoes from the same empty rooms, hushed by the same silent carpet.

     Yet somthing had changed!

                                                                                                ...to be continued next week...

Henny Penny! The Sky Is Falling!

     Are you bored? Lonely? Winter blues getting to you? Why not take a trip to the Feed Store like I did? And, get you some little chickens, actally chicks? Put'em out in the kitchen near the stove like your grandma did.

     Check online if you're saavy or get to the library and read all about them,  That way you'll know which kind you want to buy. Me? I got two Rhode Island Reds and two Aracaunas---the first time, that is.  I chose the first ones because they lay brown eggs and the others lay blue-green ones.  See, you already know it's fun to check out chickens.

    What I needed was something to keep the house from echoing, something to break the silence, and somthing to change the routine. (something to come home to). I found it in four tiny balls of yellow down!  They all looked alike in the beginning.  They peeped, they pecked, they sipped from the upside down water jar with the round, red lid.  The rushed all day around the confines of their cardboard box lined with sweet-smelling wood shavings, then huddled up to sleep their nights away under the warming light.

     Have you been online lately? Checked out the library? There's so much to learn about chickens.

 .........continued next week

The God of Joyful Surprises or Turning Point

Tonight I begin with something Elizabeth Sherrill penned:
     My husband and I had never heard Itzhak Perlman perform in person tll that evening at Avery Fisher Hall in New York City, We knew from record liner-notes that he was crippled by polio at age four, but nothing prepared us for his awkward, lurching walk across the stage, supported on crutches. He reached the chair beside the conductor's platform, lowered himself onto it, laid down the crutches, unhooked the brace-clasps on his legs, and picked up the violin from its case on the floor.
     A moment of tuning, a nod to the conductor, and the orchestra launched into the opening movement of Beethoven's violin concerto. Perlman lifted his bow; the high, sweet solo line soared above the rest. And then there was an ear-piercing ping!
    The conductor signaled the orchestra to stop. Silence ensued as Perlman lowered the violin and stared at the broken string.  Would the performance be canceled or could a new string be found and attached? Would the virtuoso play on an unfamiliar instrument?
    Perlman nodded again to the conductor and put the violin back beneath his chin.  The orchestra resumed playing; the solo voice sang out, plaintive and angelic.  You can't play a violin on three strings! What kind of transposition, invention, substitution did it take to produce that  perfect sound?
   At the final note, all of us were on our feet, cheering, clappng, shouting for the sheer joy of the performance we'd witnessed. When the pandemonium died down, Perlman fastened his leg clasps, picked up hiscvrutches, stood up, and said with a bow to the audiennce, and a smile, "Sometimes we have to make music with what we have left"

   This story is my inspiration; I hope it is yours as well, sufficient to cause you to continue. Next week, I give you the first chapter of my "Chicken Tales".
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