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There are about a million things I love about Bernie. The fact that he very rarely complains about my chickens is at the top of my list. And I will be the first to tell you that my chickens can be extremely annoying. So, despite the fact that Jethro spends the majority of his day crowing from the hood of Bernie’s back hoe, and Bernie has had to put fencing around every living plant in this yard to keep the chickens from annihilating them, he rarely complains about my chickens.

But there is one thing my chickens do that is particularly annoying and, although Bernie only occasionally mentions it, I know it bothers him.

My chickens love to dust bath under Bernie’s barn shed lean-to. They. Love. It. And, in addition to covering everything under his lean-to in dust, they leave dust bath holes. Really big dust bath holes.

And they seem to especially love dust bathing around a couple of the support poles.

So, being the wonderful wife that I am and, knowing that the future of my life with chickens may depend on it, I volunteered to help Bernie remove everything from under his lean-to, fill in the dust bath holes, and cover the whole thing in gravel. And yesterday morning, that is exactly what we did.

As we began working on it, Bernie left to go into the garage and get something. A few seconds later he yelled “Penny - come quick.” I could tell by the way he said it that there was something he wanted me to see, so I grabbed my camera and ran over to where he was, at the back of the garage. And this is what he wanted to show me.

Another rat snake! And he wanted inside the garage - so that is exactly where he went.

He also decided to check out the under side of Bernie’s motorcycle.

And when he got tired of me following him around with camera and Bernie herding him with a broom, he slipped outside and headed for the woods.

Good bye, Mr. Rat Snake.

So, with a gratuitous shot of Bernie’s cute little behind…..

we got back to work fixing up his lean-to floor. After much shoveling, gravel hauling, and raking, it started looking much better.

And so, even though every single stinkin’ muscle I possess is screaming in agony, we finished re-doing Bernie’s lean-to floor.

Shhhhhh. Don’t tell Bernie, but the chickens immediately began checking it out.

When we came inside, Elvis and Priscilla were extremely interested to learn what we had been doing, and they hung on my every word as I told them.

And they agree that I am, indeed, a good wife.

Bee Free,
Penny

In my earlier post, I showed you the hidden nest that a couple of my hussy hens have taken to laying eggs in by the edge of the woods. I’ve found hidden nests in the past, and I’ve destroyed them, but ended up regretting it. Because then the little hussies just make another hidden nest that takes me forever to find.

So this time, I decided to play it smart. I removed all the eggs from the nest and laid a fake plastic egg in it, with the hopes that they would continue to lay eggs in that hidden nest and I wouldn’t have to find the “new and improved” hidden nest they were sure to construct.

Well, earlier today I went out to collect eggs and decided to check the hidden nest. As I bent over to look in it, I saw something in the nest. And it was most definitely NOT one of my hens. It was a snake! I am not kidding. And the snake had a huge lump about 1 inch down from it’s head that looked very suspiciously like the outline of an egg!

I ran back to the house as quickly as I could and grabbed my camera but, in the short time it took, the snake was gone. And so was the fake plastic egg. I bent down and looked under the brush that covered the hidden nest, and I saw the snake! Well, part of the snake. It was all wrapped up in the brush. But I did get a picture. It’s not a great picture, but you can see it really is a snake - and if you look closely, you may even be able to see one of his eyes:

After I took that picture I poked him gently with a stick in the hopes of getting him to move so I could get a better picture of him - but he zipped down a hole that was right under where he was laying. Smart little bugger to make his home a place where his meals were delivered right on his front door step.

Bernie was in town when all this happened, but when he returned I told him about it and showed him the picture. He said “That’s just a little rat snake.” OK, I’m no snake expert, but I can tell you it was not little. It was a pretty good sized snake. Big enough to eat the fake egg, which is larger than any of the real eggs my hens lay. Needless to say, I destroyed the hens’ hidden nest and will now have to search for their new hidden nest laying grounds.

I googled rat snake and I was not happy to learn that not only do they eat eggs, they will also eat baby chicks! I immediately went outside and told all my baby chicks to be on the look out for rat snakes. And I suggested they steer clear of the woods for a while.

They immediately ran into the woods.

Am I the only one whose chickens refuse to take them seriously?

Bee Free,
Penny

One of these things just doesn’t belong here:

No, it’s not that rusted truck tool box I once used as a brooder and has now been banished to the edge of the woods. Look a little closer. To the left of the box, under that pile of brush:

And look what I found when she got up:

There were nine of those eggs in that little hidden nest. They’ve got another nest or two out there, and I’m going to find them, dammit!

And don’t you look at me like that, you little hussy.

I want to show you a few things in the greenhouse. We’re doing a little experiment and growing a couple of peppers and tomatoes in the greenhouse this year. We’re hoping they do well and have an extended season. So far, so good:

And look at this pretty little Colorado wildflower (thanks, Lilla!):

This little wildflower came from the seeds I brought back from Nebraska:

So did this Morning Glory:

Mom brought me a bunch of flowers and plants when she came to visit last month. I have no idea what this one is, but it really has a beautiful bloom:

And one of the pots she brought me had some little rogue Impatiens in them:

The Basil is starting to grow now.

The Oregano is getting a little crazy.

And the Thyme is doing great. My dear friend from Texas brought me the pot it’s in when he came up to visit a couple of years ago. I love that little pot and it makes me think of him and smile every time I look at it.

Oh, and look at these fig trees my father started rooting for me and brought up last month:

I’m hoping to get them planted next spring. Maybe if I put chicken wire around them and then fill it with leaves and straw in the fall they will make it through the winters up here.

OK, speaking of chickens, I need to go hunt for some hidden nests. I really don’t like doing that. Not only do I rarely have luck finding them, the hens laugh at me while I’m searching.

Little hussies.

Bee Free,
Penny

It’s been a tough week on the homestead. I’ve struggled with posting on this blog and exactly what I was going to write about. I still don’t know. But that’s never stopped me from posting before, so I guess we’re all going to figure it out together as I write this.

A week ago Monday I noticed one of my White Faced Black Spanish hens walking and running a little funny. I didn’t give it too much thought. She ran right up to me for her treats when I headed out in the afternoon, and even if she had an odd gait, she made it to me just fine and gobbled up her treats. But in the late evening, I spotted her laying down outside the coop - something that is very unusual for her. When I stepped outside to check on her, she tried to get up and come to me and kept rolling on her side. I helped her up and watched her a few minutes. She could not stay on her legs and kept falling over.

I brought her in the house and put her in a pen in the spare bathroom. I was hoping some rest and special attention would help heal what ever was wrong with her. Her appetite was great. She ate, drank, and pooped normally. She even laid two eggs during the week. She had no symptoms of illness - she just couldn’t stand on her legs. She didn’t act as though she was in pain - in fact she spent most of her time trying to figure out how to get out of the pen the first day. I finally had to leave her in the dark so she would stay off her legs.

As the week progressed, her legs seemed to become more and more useless and she became more and more restless. I gave her 1/4 aspirin each day in the hopes that it might help with any swelling or discomfort. Bernie scrambled her an egg each morning and I added yogurt and cheese to it. I hand fed her each meal on my lap and she seemed to love the attention. But she was getting no better and I knew it was unfair to keep her in a pen the rest of her life. I knew I was going to have to put her down, but I kept praying things would get better. Finally, by Sunday, I had no doubt what needed to be done. And I knew I was going to have to do it.

Bernie never really wanted to get chickens. He grew up working on farms and he never cared for chickens. He doesn’t even care to eat chicken. But he knew I wanted chickens, so he acquiesced - with one stipulation. These were going to be my chickens and I was going to take care of them.

So even though Bernie had worked on farms as a kid and was the “axe man” when it came time to cull chickens (and I thought my summer job working as my dad’s secretary was the worse job ever!), I knew I could not ask him to put my chicken down. I knew I was going to have to do this on my own.

So I didn’t say a word to Bernie. I took my beloved Black Spanish into my shed, where I had driven two nails in my work bench. I gently laid her down and slid her neck between the nails. She was amazingly calm. I grabbed her legs, stretched her out, held the cleaver above her neck, and then stood exactly in that position for a full five minutes. Is this cleaver sharp enough? Is my aim going to be good enough? What is that awful pounding noise? Oh, that’s my heart. I wonder how hard I have to come down with the cleaver? Why am I so light headed? Oh Lordy, I forgot to keep breathing. I wonder if I should even be using this cleaver? Maybe I should go ask Bernie if it’s sharp enough.

So I picked up my Black Spanish and cleaver and headed to the back yard to find Bernie. And as soon as I laid eyes on him, I burst into tears. Between sobs I asked him if my cleaver was sharp enough. I could tell by the look on his face that he was about to tell me he would take care of this issue, but for some utterly stupid reason I blurted out “I’m going to do it! I really am. I just need to know if that blade is sharp enough”.

Bernie went into his shed, got a hatchet, and sharpened it on his bench grinder. He walked to a tree stump in the back yard and hammered two nails in it for me. He asked if I was ok and I said yes. He handed me the hatchet and went back into his shed.

When he looked outside at me 10 minutes later and I was still standing there with the axe poised over my poor chicken’s neck, he walked over to us.

I looked up at him. “She’s asleep. I think she passed out from boredom.”

“I can see that”, he replied.

“I think if you will hold her legs, I can use both my arms and chop her head off.” I was trying to convince myself as much as him.

Bernie grabbed her legs and I grabbed the hatchet with both hands raised it above my head, and then began hyperventilating. After several minutes Bernie said “Penny, do you want me to do this?” I felt a rush of relief. “I’ll hold her legs” I quickly answered.

I grabbed my little hen’s legs and turned my head. And with one loud thud, it was over. My White Faced Black Spanish never felt a thing. I, on the other hand, felt everything. I was relieved that it was over. I was sad that this had to happen to my Black Spanish. I was happy that Bernie rescued me. I was disappointed that I didn’t see this thing through by myself. I burst into tears and Bernie held me as I sobbed my heart out.

Later Bernie said to me, “Well, we both learned something today.”

“Yea, we learned that I’m a wimp”

“No, I already knew that. I learned it was unfair of me to expect you to kill your pets. I’m sorry.”

We talked for a good long while about the whole experience. And we agreed that when it comes time to cull all the cockerels I ended up with from the hatches this year, he will be the “axe man”, and I will hold their legs. In the end we’ll have several chickens in the freezer, I won’t have a nervous break down, and Bernie won’t have to see me cry. Not a bad deal.

Bee Free,
Penny

My introduction to raising chickens began with a trip to the post office to pick up a little box packed with 27 two day old chicks. I’d never owned a chicken before and as I opened that box and saw 27 iddy biddy little faces staring back at me, I was overwhelmed with a sense of responsibility knowing that each and every one of them would be dependent on me for their survival. I took that responsibility very seriously. Some of you would say I took it TOO seriously, but that’s not the point of this post.

I fretted, worried, and fussed over those babies obsessively - and well beyond babyhood. And, ok, I STILL do that today, but that’s not the point of this post either.

I’m getting to the point. I promise.

OK here’s the point. I think. After watching my broodies with these six hatches this year, it occurs to me that mama hens don’t offer just a whole lot of babying to their biddies. Those babies are expected to hit the ground running - literally. They get quick, sharp pecks when they get out of line and they get left behind if they don’t keep up. I am sometimes appalled by all this.

Two days ago one of the broody moms took her chicks into the woods and one of her babies was busy scratching and pecking in the run and missed joining the procession as mama marched the others out of the run. When the baby realized she had missed out, she began screaming bloody murder at the top of her lungs. Mama began her dust bath and looked back at her chick as if to say “Well, figure out how to get your little fuzzy butt out here”. I just couldn’t hold my tongue.

“YOU were NOT raised that way! I would have NEVER left you behind like that and I would have NEVER let you cry like that. Where did you learn that type of behavior? Honestly! I raised you better than that!” But even before I finished my scolding, mama hen was rolling her eyes and settling down deeper in the dirt.

Yesterday the hatch before last was exactly 2.5 weeks old. They are still babies, for heavens sake! But as I went into the coop to tuck everyone in last night, I saw this:

No more piling into the nest to sleep at night. No more cuddling with mama and basking in her warmth. I almost grabbed every one of those babies and let them sleep with me in the bed. But after waking up with a baby goat next to him, Bernie has kinda laid down the law about who sleeps in our bed at night and, although I find him unreasonable on this subject, I figured I better not push it.

By the way, that’s Pico on the roost below the babies. Isn’t he turning into such a handsome boy? He’s a little horn dog, but he’s still darn good looking. The hen’s aren’t impressed with him though. They deny his advances as much as possible and beat the holy living tar out of him on a regular basis. Although I think a couple of them are coming around to his charm.

While I don’t always agree with their methods, these mama hens appear to be doing a great job raising these babies. I’ve offered advice and tips to them, but it falls on deaf ears. Hard headed little snots. I just don’t know where they get that from.

I hate to end this on a sad note, but earlier this week a Golden Penciled Hamburg came up missing. Bernie and I searched every inch of the yard, surrounding woods, and building on this place and could not find her. I find myself looking to see her rejoin the flock each day, but so far there has been absolutely no sign of her. It’s possible she wandered out of the fenced in yard and became a snack for a hungry animal, although these Hamburgs are extremely loud and we heard no sounds of distress the day she disappeared. I suspect she likely suffered the fate of the other three Hamburgs I’ve lost, but laid down to die somewhere we couldn’t find her.

The Golden Penciled Hamburg is a beautiful breed and they’ve added a fun dynamic to this flock, but I have no desire to add anymore. Losing four has been heartbreaking and I am fairly certain their deaths have been from genetic causes. I have three left. I hope they are around for a while.

Bee Free,
Penny

Just as my other hatches, this last hatch happened at day 20. Yesterday, all four of the eggs the broodies were setting on hatched out. The broody Hamburg has concerned me all along with regard to exactly what her mothering instinct would be. Hamburgs are notoriously NOT a broody breed, and she wasn’t the best broody I’ve had. When I took her off her nest each day, she would often stay outside for about an hour. When she went back to nest, she would get on the wrong one. I made her set on fake eggs and let the Phoenix broody hatch out the four eggs. I just didn’t trust that Hamburg.

Well, after the eggs started hatching, I put two of them under the Hamburg and she seemed to be doing great with the new babies last night. This morning, however, I found one of her babies in the far corner, and the Hamburg kept pecking the baby when it got close. I took that baby and gave it to the Phoenix, who was more than happy to have three to tend to. So the Hamburg has one baby - and I will say she is a ferociously protective mother of that little baby. Every time I try to lift her a little to look at her baby she screeches and pecks the snot out of my hand. The Phoenix broodies are protective too, but they don’t react as vicious towards me.

She is truly in heaven with that little baby. And the Phoenix is doing wonderfully with her three. The nine little 2 and 1/2 week old babies are learning to free range with their mamas and loving every second of it. And it’s getting difficult to tell the difference between the older, 4ish month old chicks and the adult chickens. They grow so fast.

It’s been raining steadily all day, but that didn’t stop Diesel and Dolly from demanding to go on their daily mail run. I put on my rain gear and we took off for the mailbox. On the way home, Diesel and Dolly decided they wanted to go off road and walk through the woods to the house. As soon as we got a few feet from the road into the woods, I began seeing the most beautiful plant - everywhere. I thought it was a fungus of some sort as it was growing out of fallen, rotting pines and on the forest floor. And it was white. A beautiful, white fungus looking flower thingy. These flowers were growing in clumps and those clumps seemed endless. They decorated the woods beautifully on such a rainy, dank day.

I didn’t have my camera with me because it was so wet and rainy, so I picked one and brought it to the house. Look at this pretty little thing:

(Forgive the background - I held it next to the window so I wouldn’t have to use a flash and inadvertently got The Big Top in the picture.)

Isn’t that pretty? Can you just imagine seeing the forest floor covered in those snow white beauties? As it turns out, that’s an Indian Pipe. And it is not a fungus. It’s a flower. This is how the flower part of it looks:

Indian Pipes are really fascinating little things. They are plants that produce no chlorophyll, which is why they are white. Although they are not a fungus, they do have a very important relationship with fungus. And apparently bumble bees love them. If you are interested in reading more about Indian Pipes, I think this website offers the most information in an understandable and succinct fashion.

Oh! Yesterday was Bernie’s birthday. I asked him how it feels to be a year older and he replied “I’m not a year older. I’m just another day older.” Well, according to my math that’s A LOT of days!

Happy Birthday, Honey. I love you.

Bee Free,
Penny

I let the two broody moms out of their brooder pens with their babies today. I really need to get them out of the brooders so I can put the next two new mamas in them. They are due to hatch their babies out Wednesday.

As usual, these two broody moms just can not get along. They immediately launched into a brawl. I sat out there with them for a while and separated them several times, and eventually Broody1 took her chicks into the chicken run and things seemed to settle. Before too long, Broody2 had her chicks in the run as well. Everyone seems to be getting along just fine now - even if the two broody moms both now have bruised eyes.

Against my wishes, Broody1 has already taken her chicks into the woods, next to the coop. I really worry about them being out there, but they don’t pay any attention to what I want.

They are still all in the woods as I type this. Broody2 has her chicks in the chicken run.

Even though the chicken coop is right next to the woods, the sun shines on it all day long. I normally don’t worry too much about that. In the winter, the sun heats the coop nicely. And in the summer, the chickens spend most of their time in the woods - or under Bernie’s pole barn next to his barn shed. That’s a constant source of annoyance for Bernie, by the way. But it makes the chickens happy, and happy chickens makes me happy, so Bernie doesn’t complain too much. Even if they have scratched out holes the size of the grand canyon under his boat, behind his tractors, and around each support pole to dust bathe in.

At any rate, with broodies living in the coop right now, and new babies staying in there as well, I started getting a little concerned about the sun beating right on the coop all day and raising the temperature inside the chicken coop. I decided to tarp over the shrimp net I have covering the chicken run. Not only would that shade the coop a great deal, but it would keep the chicken run from getting so muddy in the rain. So this morning, Bernie helped me secure the tarp over the shrimp net. It now looks like the Big Top Circus resides in our yard.

I know it looks awful - but the coop and chicken yard are mostly shaded all day long now. The chickens seem to like it. Bernie seems to hate it. And I can overlook it since it makes my chickens more comfortable. We’ll take it down in late fall so that the coop will get sun in colder weather and the weight of the ice and snow doesn’t pull the shrimp net and tarp down.

Something I meant to mention earlier about this last hatch is that four of the eggs I put under the broodies were eggs I had stored in the refrigerator from 1 - 3 days before hand. I had heard that refrigerated, fertile eggs will hatch out just fine, and I wanted to experiment with it myself. So I opened one of the egg cartons in the refrigerator, randomly pulled out four eggs, marked them with a different colored pen than the other eggs I gave the broodies, and then put the refrigerated eggs under those broodies. And guess what? All four of those refrigerated eggs hatched just fine. I share this with you in case you have chickens and happen to lose a favorite hen. If you recognize her eggs and have some in the refrigerator, you can take them from the refrigerator and put them under a broody or in an incubator and hatch out her offspring. Be sure to bring the eggs to room temperature before placing them under a broody or in the bator. Otherwise moisture can collect on the inside of the egg and possibly mess up the hatch.

Bobby Lee is still enjoying his Reign of Terror. He really torments Duke something fierce. In all fairness, Duke used to really torment Bobby Lee though. I guess Bobby Lee figures turn about is fair play. None the less, Duke still participates in keeping the flock in line, much to Bobby Lee’s consternation. Pico regularly tries to get frisky with the older hens, and Duke just will not stand by and watch that happen. Neither will Duke allow the hens to fight. While Bobby Lee does seem to be extremely alert and watchful over the girls, he can not, quite frankly, hold a candle to Duke. Maybe he’ll grow into the role.

Bobby Lee is such a good looking boy.

And Duke still has his rugged handsomeness.

It occurs to me that it is a bit like a circus around here with all these crazy chickens. Maybe naming the tarped over chicken run The Big Top isn’t such a bad idea.

Bee Free

If you’ve read this blog for any time at all, you know that I am totally in love with my chickens. They are incredibly entertaining and each has a personality of its own. I love watching my chickens and how they interact. And just when I think I have them figured out, I get thrown a curve ball or two.

In the past few weeks I’ve watched something happen within my flock that I never would have believed if I had not seen it with my own eyes. Duke has relinquished his position as alpha rooster of the flock. Bobby Lee has now taken on that role, and I must tell you I am as heartbroken as I am shocked. Duke has always been such a strong rooster and a fierce protector of his flock. He and I have gone rounds more than once, but I learned to deal with him and accepted his “cockiness” because he has always been so good to the flock and he did such a wonderful job of keeping them all in line and safe.

When there is more than one rooster in a flock, it is common for the role of alpha rooster to be passed on to the next in line as time goes on. This can occur because the alpha rooster is too old, ill, or just plain tired of the responsibility.

Duke is not too old. He is just over a year old. And he’s not really ill. He seems to be fairly healthy. Although I do know that he is quite large and has always wheezed while getting across the yard. Perhaps he just felt he no longer had it in him to be an adequate guard of the flock. Or maybe he just grew weary of the responsibility. I guess I’ll never know. What I do know is that he has relinquished his role as alpha rooster to Bobby Lee.

Duke doesn’t really seem too bothered by this event. He still has his favorite girls that hang out with him and he still sleeps on his same spot on the roost. But he now runs from Bobby Lee, who jumps on Duke when he attempts to breed. And Duke is now the last one in the coop at night, and does not go into the run in the evening until Bobby Lee has gone to roost. As much as Duke seems to accept this, I am having a hard time with it. I do not intervene, and I’ve let nature take it’s course, but it still breaks my heart. I hope Bobby Lee will live up to the title of “alpha rooster”. I think he has some big shoes to fill. Duke does have five toes, after all!

A couple of weeks ago we had a particularly nice day and opened all the windows to let the nice weather into the house. We were sitting in the living room when we heard a quite unusual crow. With four roosters now crowing, and two of them being only three months old, we occasionally hear some odd noises coming from the roosters.

“That must be Jethro or Pico” I commented to Bernie. He looked out the window and said “Uh, no. It’s one of your White Faced Black Spanish Hens. I just saw her. She’s crowing like crazy.”

I jumped up and looked out the window, and even though I did see a Black Spanish right outside the window, I also saw Pico. I was convinced Pico was the one that was crowing.

I’ve heard that hens will indeed crow, but it is usually in the absence of a rooster. I have four roosters, so I simply found it impossible to believe I had a hen crowing.

Well, see this girl here?

Yesterday we were outside painting the frame of my new outside sink when we, once again, heard that odd crow. I stepped around the garden shed and looked into the chicken yard just in time to catch that little Black Spanish hen crowing! And she did it several times. This sweet little girl

is crowing, for heaven’s sake! I feel fairly certain this event has something to do with Duke stepping down as alpha rooster and the disruption in the pecking order of the flock. Bernie now tells me he is positive he’s seen one of my Phoenix hens attempting to crow as well. Good grief. This flock has gone insane.

Speaking of the outside sink Bernie and Daddy made for me, we finished painting it. Ignore the fact that my garden shed is NOT painted, and just admire the beauty of this outside sink:

Lordy, I do love that sink.

J.P. commented on the last blog post that a broody Hamburg is rather uncommon, and requested pictures. So, just for J.P. here’s my broody Hamburg:

This happens to be the very same Hamburg that the chicken hawk attacked earlier this year. Fortunately Bernie and I saw it happening and managed to scare the hawk off before he killed her. She’s still growing feathers on her lower back area.

Here’s the broody Phoenix that is in the nest box next to the Hamburg:

You can tell by her chicken saddle, bald head, and the bare marks on her wings that she is one of the roosters’ favorites. Her chicken saddle has a picture of Piglet (from Winnie the Pooh) on it, so Bernie calls her Piglet. She’s a sweet girl and follows Bernie all over the yard, when she’s not broody.

These two broodies are penned in nest boxes because my two brooder pens have the two broodies in them that hatched out the 9 babies a little over a week ago. They’ll be going out of the brooder in about another week, which is just about the time the two newer broodies are due to hatch out their eggs - and then they’ll move into the brooders. This is what I rigged up to close off the nest boxes that have the two broodies in them:

I stapled chicken wire to one side of each box, and then just hooked the other side of it to the opposite nest box wall. It works just fine, and the girls seem to enjoy not being harassed all day by the other hens wanting those nest boxes. Once every day or two, I make sure to remove them from their nests so they can eat and drink. None of my broodies has ever been good about leaving the nest once they start setting.

These chickens like to keep things interesting on the homestead. I think they worry I might get bored with them. They leave little chance for that.

Bee Free,
Penny

While tucking the chickens in the coop the past two nights, I noticed one of my Golden Penciled Hamburgs in a nest box. I thought she might be starting to get broody, but this morning when I let the chickens out of the coop I found her - dead in a nest box. She was one of my soft shell layers, and I checked her vent just last night. There was dried yolk and egg white on the feathers under her vent, but the vent itself was clear. I was upset that I lost her, and absolutely baffled about what could have caused it. So, next to sticking my finger up chicken butts on a routine basis, I did something I never thought I would. I cut her open. Her abdomen was filled with yolk and egg white, but other than that, I saw nothing that would raise a lot of concern. I’m no necropsy expert by any stretch of the imagination, but I’ve studied the subject a little and was hoping something unusual would catch my attention. It didn’t.

You may recall I lost another Hamburg that died quite suddenly last year. I have no idea what happened to her either. It makes me sad to lose a chicken, but I know that sometimes these things happen. I hope this is just a rare, odd, occurrence.

On a lighter note, the pups and I walked down to get the mail today and on the way, I noticed this in one of our cedar trees:

How very odd. When I flipped one of them up, it looked like an alien blob.

A little later, I found the same thing on another cedar.

In a weird and scary kind of way, I thought they were actually quite pretty.

And I noticed this slime on the trunk of the trees:

I carefully backed away and ran in the house to google this orange/slimy/spaghetti looking goo. As it turns out, those big orange blobs are Cedar-Apple Rust Galls. And that goo on the trunk? That’s Cedar-Quince Rust. These are both a type of fungi. And they are neither one cool to have. Both can eventually kill their host. The Cedar-Apple Rust Gall is especially worrisome. It is a two host fungi. It depends on both the cedar tree and the apple tree. We have many cedar trees, and only two apple trees - which is apparently enough for this fungus to live. In the early nineteen hundreds, the Cedar-Apple Rust fungus was apparently decimating the apple orchards in Virginia. So much so that the Cedar Apple Rust Act of 1914 was passed. This act required any land owner in Virginia that had a cedar infected with the cedar-apple rust fungus, and living within two miles of an apple orchard, to chop the tree down. I am not kidding. It was an official ordinance. As far as I can tell, this ordinance was never repealed and remains in effect today. Not that it pertains to us. We live no where near an apple orchard. But it is rather disturbing that we have trees with this fungus. It’s cute and all that, but it’s still a fungus. And it’s still not cool. I mean we do have two little apple trees that were likely the result of a bird pooping seeds out of it’s little butt. And now I learn these orange blobs of gall are a threat to our little apple trees. *sigh*

Mother Nature can be a real buzz kill sometimes. But she happens to rule around here, so I’m trying to figure out a way to live peacefully with her. And I’ve learned she doesn’t negotiate. At all.

Bee Free,
Penny

We’ve been having fairly nice weather on the homestead for the past week or so, but yesterday and today have been absolutely beautiful. It got up to around 95 degrees yesterday, and today is looking about the same. Bernie built three more benches for me to put around the creeks so I can sit in the shade while the puppies splash around and play.

One rainy day last week, Bernie decided to make a bed side holster. We certainly don’t worry much about anyone messing around here at night, but we have been startled awake by the occasional bear looking for a midnight snack in our yard. The bed side holster allows his gun to be readily accessible - and it’s always a good idea to be prepared for things you may or may not expect. Bernie’s bed side holster is really nothing more than an old license plate and a defunct ankle holster that he riveted to it.

It only took him a few minutes to make, and it works like a charm.

Friday night I came up one short on the head count when I went to tuck the chickens in for the night. I looked around through the woods and could not find her. We eventually found her in the garage. She had apparently sneaked in there sometime during the day, and managed to knock over a lawn chair we had sitting against the wall. She was trapped between the folded legs and looking pretty puny when we found her. I freed her and put her in the little infirmary I built in the coop. She was very thirsty and spent quite a while drinking water. Both of her wings were hanging limply by her side, dragging the ground. I was a little concerned, but the next morning when I checked on her, she had laid an egg and was fussing to get out with the others. I released her and she spent the day free ranging with the rest of the flock. Both of her wings still hang down a little, one more than the other, but they seem to be getting better. This morning they aren’t hanging quite as low as yesterday, and I am hopeful she will be back to normal in a few days.

I’ve still got one Silver Leghorn laying soft shelled eggs. Of the 19 laying pullets, she’s the only one that continues to have this issue. I leave crushed oyster shell down for them 24/7 and feed them back egg shells each day. They free range, and have a good quality layer feed available at all times. I hope this girl’s little egg making parts get it together soon. Here’s a picture of the egg she layed yesterday afternoon. I’m squeezing it a little so you can see how soft shelled it really is.

It’s Sunday morning and the day is warming up nicely. Time to get outside and get busy. Diesel and Dolly love yard work, but we’re having a hard time getting them to understand that the pile of twigs and branches we are gathering needs to remain a pile. Each time we put something in that pile, one of the pups will grab it and deposit it right back on the lawn - tail wagging the whole time. It takes longer to clean up the yard this way, but it sure makes it much more entertaining.

Hey - do you “tweet”? I’ve finally given in and joined the Twitter community. Great way to see at a glance what’s going on with friends. If you are interested in following my tweets, just go to Twitter, search for miss1cent, and then click “follow” - or click on the “follow me on Twitter” link in the sidebar on my blog page. Twitter is free, easy, and kind of fun! I tweet when the blog is updated too.

Bee Free,
Penny