It’s hot, and there are chickens littered around, tipped over. They’re faking me out, because they can look very dead, unless they hold their heads up. Gah! Oh, phew. She’s politely retracted her leg from the path. You shall not…oh, yeah, you can pass.
Because of the crazy (now four) days of heat, I’ve been releasing all the birds, so that they can manage their own needs, and won’t ever possibly be trapped without water. The Silkies move no more than 4 feet, piling up under the pine tree they’re under anyway.
Some of them are panting, and some hold their feet wide and wings out flat like airplanes for a draft under their wings, but they’ve been just fine. There’s a stiff breeze, and under the pine tree, it’s quite cool. All they need is for the drinks to keep coming. I come around checking on them, worried, and they just look at me. What? We don’t need anything. Unless you’ve got snacks?
I check on the broodies, but they’re never panting. It’s quite temperate by the door of the GH when there’s some wind. It’s me that is ready for this heat to be over. But no, two more days of this. An overnight low of room temperature. Sheesh.It turns out that Apples and Sprout (Sprout has made a total recovery from the broken leg– not even the bump remains) prefer the other chickery, as do the first chicks. Conveniently, Perchick etc are out of there in seconds in the morning.
These are the first chicks of the year, and their mother on the box(airplane-winged). (I always, always, need more name suggestions – so many important chickens remain unnamed. Maybe I can auction naming rights, like newly discovered stars ). I’m kidding.
There’s one rooster that gets stuck in Apples’ chickery, not ever dipping his head low enough to see the way out, or jumping over. He’s a bit dim.I suppose we should expect this of Perchick.There are other pine trees too, several of them used as bird oases. Perchick’s chicks disappear in the jungle of weeds. That must be very cool, like us in an evergreen canopy.Her chicks are so bold and self-assured. Adorable.
It´s a HOT day. (30C, haha!) No one has much energy, including me. It´s hard to move quickly or remember things.
The hens are rolled on their sides with their wings spread like fans and legs stuck out at anatomically improbable angles.
The Colonel usually doesn´t let down his hair like this.
The pigs just sleep in their wallow when it’s this hot, and they get two deliveries of water poured over their backs. They are very happy with their last move – more buckthorn forest to laze around in.
It’s been so hot, for so long. Everything is parched, tired, thirsty. Fire risk is high.
Every day I haul water to keep the greenhouse and garden residents alive.
My broccoli is thriving! A surprise. Cabbages utterly failed last year, so I thought cruciferae didn’t agree with my garden.
Also I have 5 asparagi! (yeah yeah, asparguses). Asparagus is the first thing we ever planted, our first month here, but that attempt didn’t take. The asparaguys wanted a more prepared bed. Now they seem happy.
A honeybee working a blackberry cane by the well.
We’re standing on a pile of sticks. What’s it to ya?
We moved the little chickens into the treeline. Now they are always the “little chickens”, because they are. We are still looking and hoping for big chickens.
They are still in the first, big coop, but we moved them to the edge of the field to give them more shade. It’s working. They are spending more of the day outside.
Immediately, they started ranging farther from the coop. It was funny for me to walk down the path towards them with some scraps and see the rooster striding purposefully up the path towards me, before he saw me and beat a retreat.
Now we are done with the garden so we don’t have their entertainment there.
They must be hot in their fluffy fur coats. And hats. And sweatpants.