In the late 80s, there was a hair styling product called Mudd.
This hen saved her money and went with the Mud with one D. Her hair is nearly dreaded.
Well, I’ve got another broody hen. A bit late, but that’s ok. I’ve had November chicks before. Two Silkie hens failed to brood this year (psst, I think they’re defective), but this is a proven mom. Tomorrow I’ll have to box her.
I wonder if this is the lady who lunches. I suspect it is, because both moms are usually front and center in the GH come feeding time.
*Yep, it’s the one who leaves her eggs to eat. The eggs were abandoned this morning at breakfast time, but I felt them- still hot. Except for the risk of not getting back on the right eggs, this makes sense. At the end of a brood, she won’t be starving and depleted. And cranky. Especially if she’s running her heater in the early winter.
Fall is here. It snuck in one week and although the season could be said to change overnight, it was hard to pin it on which night, exactly.
I haven’t built a fire yet, but I usually hold out quite a while before I give in to a fire. No reason, other than my long habit of stretching my cold tolerance. HW is already wearing insulated Carhartt jackets and flannel shirts; I’m still in shorts (with my slippers).
The chickens are no-necking in the mornings, seeming a little grumpy about it. No outright frost yet, though, to reveal all the squashes. Any day.
After a terribly dry summer, the temperature suddenly dropped and it seems fall is here; the hot days are gone.
Week after week this summer the weather reports have been tantalizingly forecasting possible showers, but those much-talked-about teasers always vanish the day before they happen into the blazing sun icon – again – a whole row of full suns, week after week.
The apples are small, the grass is dry, we’ve already had a frost, and now, the weather has shifted into the third season and is plotting a course of decreasing temperatures – signalling to all that the last push of work – the last chance to do it, is on.
It’s time for toques in the morning – wardrobe change!
Here the heavy frosts have come. Almost every morning the goldenrod and grasses are stiff and white, and there is a disc of ice on top of the chicken water. The trees are all “in their colours”, one of the most beautiful times of year in Nova Scotia, since there are so many deciduous trees to blaze up in reds and yellows.
The garden is finished, and the greenhouse will soon have the winter tenants move in. The dog is finally comfortable in his fur coat after months of miserably slinking into shady corners, and the outdoors is naturally refrigerated. We have lit a fire more than once, to take the edge off a morning.
Now winter is RSVPing yes, and it’s time to get ready for her arrival.
The white hen is setting on her second batch! (Actually, she’s due now any day-time flies).
As soon as her two chicks from the first batch were deemed by her old enough to be on their own, she started slinking back into the coop for some “me” time, and laying another clutch.
Five eggs this time, a nice reasonable number. The brown hen has not been laying, so there are no eggs to steal. Brown hen is far too busy with six little peepers scampering around her. She gets no me time.
Her teenage chicks from the first batch are extremely put out, now that she’s setting.
They are no longer allowed to crawl under her at night. She does her head-down growling thing and slams her wings shut, pressing them to the straw. No admittance.
Last night I was talking with a favorite elderly friend of mine who described his philosophy of life as “answering the call when it came”. He described three literal phone calls that determined the direction of his life, but he was also talking about the call of the heart, that made him, for instance, choose his wife.
It made me think about how my life has arrived at this point. I never expected to live on the East Shore. The whole structure of my life is different now because of one phone call. Mogi: “There’s this house. I want you to look at it with me”.
And I love it so much. I would never have anticipated being so happy here, in this place, on this land, on the Riondel VFD, on the Kootenay Bay ferry almost every day and sleeping at the feet of some of Canada’s most beautiful forested mountains.
Today I was driving along the lake in an autumn slant of light that was escaping from the press of grey lumpy clouds to either side, and the bright orange leaves half on the trees and half strewn on the road everywhere contrasting with the pale white powdered alpine. The snow line hasn’t come down to touch us yet, so the snow world is still visiting with the red and gold world.