The Insanity of Spring and Summer Ruled the Roost

 The fact that it is September in less than 48 hours blows my mind. While I'm ready for cooler weather, I am not ready to give quarter to shorter days and giving over to the cold and wind I know is coming. I honestly do not know where the time went. One second we were babying the tender sprouts in the seeding shed, and preparing to move them to the new greenhouse, And then it was a race to get things in the ground and sold before the heat destroyed all my efforts. Everything I touched seemed to be up against a deadline. 

Before we knew it it was college graduation time, planting time, shearing, birthdays, the 4th of July, farmer's markets, another birthday, surgery for the dog, the start of University, harvest, canning, and the State Fair. 

Along the way there was fun, stress, anxiety, storms, milestones,and of course, some funny stories and some great photos.  To be honest, I thought I had written two posts that don't seem to be here. I don't know where they are, but they aren't here, which is ridiculously odd.  One was about building our new greenhouse, and the modifications I made and its review.  The other was about heartache in the hen house.  I distinctly remember writing them, so I'll have to see if I can find them. So I'll spend the next couple of days catching you up.

March 2021

March is the Month we snap out of Winter, or at least try to. After the Skunk situation, we had moved past the iffy days of the month, and were moving headlong into Spring.  Enough warm air came in to keep the intense moisture we began to receive as rain, instead of snow.  Rains came inches at a time and a stream seemed to run through the pasture on a regular basis as it worked its way down hill to the lake.

Fortunately, wet alpaca toenails are the easiest to cut. Unfortunately, this means you have to snuggle with a wet alpaca. Now I love the boys, but oh my, do they stink when they're wet. Imagine 200 pounds of hairy, stale, wet fritos. or popcorn. Ya.

Even soaking wet they're still cute.  We did let them dry out before we caught them, slapped their harnesses on them and lined them up for pedicure day.  Merriweather, sat happily atop the hay and supervised.  

There was a great deal of annoyance with the day we picked.  It has to be warm enough not to deal with bulky clothing. It has to be cool enough that you don't get hot and frustrated, while working. It needs to be dry (see above), but not too dry or the nails are hard to cut.  Add to this that my newest clippers weren't up to par, but the old pair had lost their edge. PLUS none of the boys wanted a pedicure.  Heathens.

Stormy refusing to get up and 
walk to the chute. He tucks his 
feet under, locks up, and goes boneless.

After a great deal of pushing, prodding, and pleading all their nails were trimmed and fleece was checked to see how it was progressing for shearing in May.

With the incredibly wet weather I entertained myself by cooking, planning the garden and planting successions, weaving, and building.

Whole Wheat Braided Loaf

Cinnamon Roll Twists

The Seeding Shed

Mini Woven Cording For A Set of 19th Century Stays

(The following contains the passing of livestock, for those of you that are sensitive.)

The last day of March was miserable.

I had found a small mouse hole in the corner of the run that had by-passed the security mesh. I decided to seal it with concrete the following day when I planned to set some posts for the new greenhouse. Little did I know that that would be a fatal delay.

Doc went to work, I and I went out just after dawn to let the feed the hens. It was terribly quiet, too quiet.  As I approached the chicken run, I noticed the fresh areas of digging by the door, then as I turned my head, I notice the area of the mouse hole had been dug out and slightly enlarged.

The actual hole is only 
1.5 inches in diameter.

Then I saw the first little body, then another, and another. I feverishly opened all the latches on the door to the aftermath of a massacre.  Feathered body after body lay around the run. I let out a wail of shock and sorrow that split the dead calm of morning. 

I spied the quiet survivors hiding in the coop, high up in the rafters. I raced around to the door to the coop and flung open the door, keeping my eye out for the killer who could still be lurking, threatening in the coop. More bodies littered the floor. 

Sadness on Many Levels

My mind pushed sorrow out of the way, and focused on rage, and as fast as that came it went working in overdrive looking over the survivors for a quick roll call. Merriweather, where was Merriweather? There she sat, high on a perch, behind the rooster.  I grabbed her and pet her while I continued to gather myself and assess the carnage. The alpacas the whole time, standing on the other side of the fence in vigil, had witnessed the entire event, and now me, lining up the dead near the coop. They knew something was wrong and just stood there wondering why their little friends were just lying in the grass. 
14 of my 24 birds gone. A single bite to the back of the head. Faster than they could flee the sneaky beast. The chicken keepers most deadly, ferocious killer, a mink.

I knew he'd be back that night to collect his work. We set out a trap, and just as the sun set, he was mine.  He was huge. 

This left a huge hole in our flock, which I of course swore I wouldn't fill, until I did.