Farm Travails: The Sequel to Farm Tales

Several days ago, I decided to do some much needed weed whacking.  I have never weed whacked before.  Now I know why.  That sucker is heavy!  There is a good reason my dad was so eager to trade weed whacking in exchange for sweeping the lawn when I flew off the mower in disgust.  (See Farm Tales)  By the time I was done, my left arm was having mini-epileptic seizures that didn't quit until the following day at which time it simply hung limply as though I had suffered a stroke.  I will be weed whacking in smaller increments from now on.  

Once I was done weed whacking, I too suddenly saw sitting immobile on the lawn mower as a welcome relief.  So, using my handy new John Deere, I happily trundled around the yard.  For about 15 minutes.  Then the blades disengaged and refused to work.  At all.  I quickly sent a mildly frantic text to the guy I bought it from who has been fabulous and offers better customer service than everyone else associated with this house despite having been a craigslist find.  Andy asked me if the belt had broken.  Ha!  "Andy", said I, "If I knew where the belt was, what it looked like and if it was broken, I could probably fix it myself".  He then remembered who he was dealing with and offered to come pick it up, fix it and leave me a loaner.  Thank god for the good people in this world.  Meanwhile, my grass continues to grow into a field and clearly I will not be weed whacking my lawn.  

Thus that leaves me oodles of time to obsess over my new chickens.  Last night, I went out to their coop with a can of cracked corn per Katie's instructions to put them to bed in their shelter.  To my utter horror, I could not find Fran.  Anywhere.  Utter panic descended as I imagined having to tell Katie and her kids that somehow, in the few hours since they left my house, I managed to lose or kill a chicken.  After calming myself and performing a thorough search pattern, I *finally* located Fran in the very upper rafters of the shed behind a piece of wood.  Katie wasn't kidding when she said Fran could fly high!  I briefly considered turning Fran into a boiler chicken, tried to regain the 10 years I lost off my lifespan and rounded them all up and locked them securely in for the night. 

 What?  I like high places.  Look harder next time.

This morning, I went out to inventory the girls and make sure they were all still there and to my immense relief, all 3 came trotting out to see me and have some mealie worms.  I spent the day googling and drawing up plans for my vision of a more sustainable, environmentally friendly mini-farm that hopefully will provide me with eggs and next year, veggies so I am less dependent on others for the things I need around the house.  I may also have spent some ill advised time surfing petfinder, my ultimate downfall as we all know.

 Sliding down the ramp.  Steps will be added soon.

 

 

This afternoon, I went to visit the girls and noticed that Libby had the regrettable affliction of a clogged vent area.  In short, lots of chicken poop where those eggs are going to come from.  So...fortifying myself with a glass of wine, I went out with a warm, wet towel as instructed by Raising Chickens for Dummies (which is my bible.  Where oh where is Homeownership for Dummies?) and attempted to clean Libby up.  Which turned out to be laughably ineffective.  Chicken surgery was required.  I traipsed back in and retrieved my blunt gauze scissors and managed to wrassle Libby into a secure position while I trimmed her nether regions and cleaned her up.  She happily clucked and sat still for me the whole time.  Seeing as how I had a pair of scissors in my hand, that was probably even better for her than it was for me.  Flushed with the success of my first chicken surgery, I gave the girls some nice wormy crab apples as a reward for their good behavior. 

You want to do what to my vent?

Meanwhile the dogs, both of whom have been apathetic about the chickens, are suddenly taking a greater interest since mom is out there all the time.  

What do they have that I don't?

 

Nesting has begun to take place!

Could I just eat in peace please?

Do you see me now?

The chicken French Doors.  Only the best for my girls.

Hopefully by next time we will be back to farm tales instead of farm travails.  The weed whacker will be lighter, the mower will be working, the grass will be cut, the chickens will be easily seen....