It's the end of June, and things are slowing down. That is, if you consider a drop from 120 mph to 117 a significant slow-down.
Finley was at camp all last week, and it was a bit more peaceful around here with only a third of the normal sibling conflicts.
There is a coyote in the area, snatching some of our chickens. Sometimes I don't mind when a predator gets one of our chickens, especially if it is a chicken that doesn't understand the concept of personal space. But one of the birds the coyote got was the mama hen that was raising four chicks. Hot dogs and liver have failed to entice the beast into our live trap. I am working on a plan to raise the height of the chicken yard fence in an attempt to keep the birds somewhere safe.
I noticed one of our favorite chickens had a freakishly massive lump at the base of her neck, and when it didn't go away after 2 days, decided she must have an impacted crop. The food (or a foreign object) gets jammed on the way to the stomach, and it just keeps building up until the chicken starts to die. Thankfully, my brother had dealt with this before, and a day with her locked up with only olive-oil-soaked bread to eat took care of the problem.
I managed to throw some plants I bought on discount from the Co-op into the garden yesterday. I've had them for the past week, but the unplanted part of the garden had grown some major weeds. As I was pulling up the big ones before tilling the rest under, I thought to myself, "I'm not a real gardener. I just play one in real life." I am wondering if it is too late to start some winter squash. If there was anything I missed this last winter, it was having some on hand to make soup whenever I wanted.
Japanese beetles and the big, green June bugs are out, now. Half of the leaves on my cherry trees have been turned into lace, so yesterday, (thanks to my mom) I got them sprayed with neem oil. Those big green beetles aren't as destructive as the Japanese beetles, and it is always fun to watch the chickens try to chase them down. I just don't appreciate when they fly willy-nilly right into my face.
While bush-hogging last week, I noticed a turkey sitting on some eggs in the tall grass. In past years, I accidently mow to close to her nest, and within a few days, I go back to find she has been routed out by a predator and her eggs eaten. I am hoping I left enough cover for her this time. I think I'll wander down and see if she's still there before I tackle the next job on my never-ending list...
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Friday, June 12, 2015
Things Are looking Brighter
I am done PMSing (at least for this month), I have some encouraging friends, and the two chicks that hatched out in the incubator yesterday seem to be doing well after being reunited with mama this morning.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Here We Go Again...
Before leaving to take the kids to the (amazing) day camp at our local state park, I wandered over to let the chickens out of the coop.
Yesterday, we had caught a glimpse of the broody hen's first chick to hatch. I had been a little worried when mama jumped off the nest to grab a bite to eat, leaving her baby and the large pile of eggs unprotected, but soon enough, she was back on the nest. After seeing other hens barge in with her to lay eggs, I wasn't sure how many of the eggs were due to hatch as well, but at least with her back on the nest, they had a chance.
This morning, however, I discovered the baby chick had ended up out of the nesting box and was outside the coop, running around desperately chirping for mama, who was still sitting on the nest. I tried to catch it, but it found a hole and disappeared under the coop. Needing to get the kids to the camp, I opened up the coop's big door, hoping that while I was gone, mama would hear her baby chirping and come to its rescue.
On the drive back home, I tried not to think about how this seemed to be the Everything-Goes-Wrong year.
The batch of chicks I bought early in the year all got sick and had to be put down. Finley's has started losing some of her 4H chicks, most likely due to the unsanitary conditions she had been keeping them in. I was trying to let her be responsible for everything, but my suggestions to clean their pen and put down fresh shaving had gone unheeded. I probably should have made her clean the pen, but at some point, kids need to learn by real consequences, and a mom gets really tired of nagging, you know?
And then there was the failed incubation of eggs. Since my last post, the second chick that managed to hatch died, and now I have one poor chick in the brooder. I thought about trying to put it in with the sitting hen, but that would have introduce another set of dilemmas, and now the chick was probably to old for it to work, anyway.
Getting out of the van, I shoved aside my pessimistic thoughts and headed back to the coop. If mama still hadn't come to the chicks rescue, hopefully I could catch it and put it in with Lonely.
To my relief, she had.
Now to deal with the clutch of eggs she was no longer sitting on. I went to the house and grabbed a paper sack with the thought that I would leave the unhatched eggs out in the woods someplace where they wouldn't stink up the yard and the chickens wouldn't get into them. The thought of them pecking at half-developed eggs was repulsive. Maybe some possum (they eat ticks!) would find them and have a good meal or two.
I started picking up the eggs one by one and checking for pip marks. As much as I wanted to be done with all the chicken drama of this year, I couldn't bear the thought of a little chick hatching out into a cold paper sack in the woods. A lot of the eggs were filthy, covered in dried, broken-egg yolk, feathers, and other unmentionable crust. As I was gently placing eggs in the bag, I heard a peep from the stinky nest, as if to say, "I'm not dead yet!"And, sure enough, I finally found an egg with a pip.
I carried the sack of eggs back to the house and set them it out in the sun in an attempt to keep them warm while I set the incubator back up. A few minutes later, the incubator was warming with one egg inside while I candled the rest of the eggs. The first one I picked up had a clear distinction between the air pocket and a shadowy mass inside. I think I even saw the shadow move. Egg after dirty egg I candled, most of them looking like something promising was inside. The nastier eggs, I washed off, then put them into the incubator.
So here I am again, bleeding heart and glutton for punishment, peering anxiously through the window of the incubator, waiting to see what life might break out of these 17 shells.
Yesterday, we had caught a glimpse of the broody hen's first chick to hatch. I had been a little worried when mama jumped off the nest to grab a bite to eat, leaving her baby and the large pile of eggs unprotected, but soon enough, she was back on the nest. After seeing other hens barge in with her to lay eggs, I wasn't sure how many of the eggs were due to hatch as well, but at least with her back on the nest, they had a chance.
This morning, however, I discovered the baby chick had ended up out of the nesting box and was outside the coop, running around desperately chirping for mama, who was still sitting on the nest. I tried to catch it, but it found a hole and disappeared under the coop. Needing to get the kids to the camp, I opened up the coop's big door, hoping that while I was gone, mama would hear her baby chirping and come to its rescue.
On the drive back home, I tried not to think about how this seemed to be the Everything-Goes-Wrong year.
The batch of chicks I bought early in the year all got sick and had to be put down. Finley's has started losing some of her 4H chicks, most likely due to the unsanitary conditions she had been keeping them in. I was trying to let her be responsible for everything, but my suggestions to clean their pen and put down fresh shaving had gone unheeded. I probably should have made her clean the pen, but at some point, kids need to learn by real consequences, and a mom gets really tired of nagging, you know?
And then there was the failed incubation of eggs. Since my last post, the second chick that managed to hatch died, and now I have one poor chick in the brooder. I thought about trying to put it in with the sitting hen, but that would have introduce another set of dilemmas, and now the chick was probably to old for it to work, anyway.
Getting out of the van, I shoved aside my pessimistic thoughts and headed back to the coop. If mama still hadn't come to the chicks rescue, hopefully I could catch it and put it in with Lonely.
To my relief, she had.
Now to deal with the clutch of eggs she was no longer sitting on. I went to the house and grabbed a paper sack with the thought that I would leave the unhatched eggs out in the woods someplace where they wouldn't stink up the yard and the chickens wouldn't get into them. The thought of them pecking at half-developed eggs was repulsive. Maybe some possum (they eat ticks!) would find them and have a good meal or two.
I started picking up the eggs one by one and checking for pip marks. As much as I wanted to be done with all the chicken drama of this year, I couldn't bear the thought of a little chick hatching out into a cold paper sack in the woods. A lot of the eggs were filthy, covered in dried, broken-egg yolk, feathers, and other unmentionable crust. As I was gently placing eggs in the bag, I heard a peep from the stinky nest, as if to say, "I'm not dead yet!"And, sure enough, I finally found an egg with a pip.
I carried the sack of eggs back to the house and set them it out in the sun in an attempt to keep them warm while I set the incubator back up. A few minutes later, the incubator was warming with one egg inside while I candled the rest of the eggs. The first one I picked up had a clear distinction between the air pocket and a shadowy mass inside. I think I even saw the shadow move. Egg after dirty egg I candled, most of them looking like something promising was inside. The nastier eggs, I washed off, then put them into the incubator.
So here I am again, bleeding heart and glutton for punishment, peering anxiously through the window of the incubator, waiting to see what life might break out of these 17 shells.
Friday, June 5, 2015
Don't Count Your Chickens
When I placed eggs in the incubator about a month ago, I only put fifteen eggs in, thinking that I didn't want more than a dozen chickens on my hands after they hatched. If half of those turned out to be roosters, we would have about six hens, three of which I planned to keep, and three I planned to give to a friend of mine who had recently lost most of her flock.
Three days before I expected they would start hatching, I candled the eggs and determined that one of the Lizzy-Chick/Fluffy head eggs had not survived incubation. Six more appeared to have not been fertilized. That left eight eggs I thought would hatch.
Then, on Monday morning, the day some out-of-town friends were coming to visit, I discovered an egg had pipped. The timing couldn't have been more perfect! I remembered vaguely from several years ago, the long, agonizing wait for that first egg to hatch. It would take several hours, I thought. I will try not to get impatient.
Our friends arrived, and we peeked in on the egg repeatedly throughout the day. Progress was slow. By nightfall, I was worried. Sometimes, if it takes too long for a chick to hatch out, the goo dries and the chick gets stuck inside the egg. I slept fitfully, praying that we wouldn't wake up to a dead chick.
Tuesday morning, a full 24 hours after pipping, the kids ran through the house screaming, "It hatched, it hatched!!!"
My worries didn't quite subside, however. I had heard stories about chicks hatching too early, or hatching with intestines outside the egg, and there was a weird fleshy lump on its belly.
A second egg pipped that day and only took 12 hours to hatch.
I thought we would start seeing more eggs pipping, but most of the eggs were eerily still. Finally, on Wednesday evening, the egg I really hoped would hatch pipped.
Thursday morning, not long after our friends left to head back home, the Lizzy-Chick/Fluffy-Head chick pushed out of its shell.
It had a second hind-toe just like Fluffy-Head, and its wet down promised a mix of colors. I was thrilled.
By now, the incubator reeked, so I decided to move the chick into a little box under the heat lamp where the two other chicks couldn't bother it. I tried to place it on the edge of the circle of light so it wouldn't get too hot, but I didn't realize how hot it really was under the light. When I went back to check on it a little while later, it was dead. It was all my fault.
The rest of the eggs never hatched. Apparently, conditions weren't quite right in the incubator.
I'm struggling today to find a perspective that feels right. Knowing someone I love that has experienced a more significant pain and loss recently, I don't want to be over dramatic in my own small sense of loss, or to reason myself away into flippancy. Sometimes life deals out a crappy hand we can't ignore, and when darkness threatens to overwhelm, we have to force into our minds all those beautiful things that make life worth living. It's not always easy.
Thankfully, that first little chick I worried over seems to be doing well. It still is sporting a shriveled little outie, but is active and loud.
The second chick is sweet and sleepy and can't seem to help falling asleep in my hand.
And out in the coop, a hen has been sitting on 20 eggs. I'm not even going to try to guess how many will hatch.
Three days before I expected they would start hatching, I candled the eggs and determined that one of the Lizzy-Chick/Fluffy head eggs had not survived incubation. Six more appeared to have not been fertilized. That left eight eggs I thought would hatch.
Then, on Monday morning, the day some out-of-town friends were coming to visit, I discovered an egg had pipped. The timing couldn't have been more perfect! I remembered vaguely from several years ago, the long, agonizing wait for that first egg to hatch. It would take several hours, I thought. I will try not to get impatient.
Our friends arrived, and we peeked in on the egg repeatedly throughout the day. Progress was slow. By nightfall, I was worried. Sometimes, if it takes too long for a chick to hatch out, the goo dries and the chick gets stuck inside the egg. I slept fitfully, praying that we wouldn't wake up to a dead chick.
Tuesday morning, a full 24 hours after pipping, the kids ran through the house screaming, "It hatched, it hatched!!!"
 |
| Just hatched. |
A second egg pipped that day and only took 12 hours to hatch.
I thought we would start seeing more eggs pipping, but most of the eggs were eerily still. Finally, on Wednesday evening, the egg I really hoped would hatch pipped.
By now, the incubator reeked, so I decided to move the chick into a little box under the heat lamp where the two other chicks couldn't bother it. I tried to place it on the edge of the circle of light so it wouldn't get too hot, but I didn't realize how hot it really was under the light. When I went back to check on it a little while later, it was dead. It was all my fault.
The rest of the eggs never hatched. Apparently, conditions weren't quite right in the incubator.
I'm struggling today to find a perspective that feels right. Knowing someone I love that has experienced a more significant pain and loss recently, I don't want to be over dramatic in my own small sense of loss, or to reason myself away into flippancy. Sometimes life deals out a crappy hand we can't ignore, and when darkness threatens to overwhelm, we have to force into our minds all those beautiful things that make life worth living. It's not always easy.
Thankfully, that first little chick I worried over seems to be doing well. It still is sporting a shriveled little outie, but is active and loud.
 |
| All fluffed out. |
 |
| The 2nd hatchling. |
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