Farmer mentions that year he fought to mud a crop in and then got froze out the first week of August. This year, he says, is like that.
I moved half the Cornish chicks out to the portable chicken run and Farmer moved the brooder house beside that so they can get out of rough weather. They’ve been sleeping outside on the grass anyway, even in these single digit nights, so I strung an extension chord with a light bulb in the building to coax them in. They weren’t interested.
Most of the birds I hatched out have been moved in with the hens and I’ve changed their run access, putting them on fresh grass again. The chicks love to run, pick and scratch but the hens aren’t interested in them, except to reinforce the pecking order.
The two roosters who fathered these chicks were so rough on them I locked the pair in another enclosure with no hen access. Currently roosters pace frantically along the opposite side of their common fence and will stay that way until winter.
My own children have been holidaying with their cousins. Princess returned mosquito bitten and overtired. Although she glared at us when we arrived to bring her home, she wanted nothing but hugs all day yesterday.
While I was thrilled with the kid-break and able to focus on some important work, (so much has been accomplished!) it’s so good to have her home and hear her singing again too.
“We’ll have princess hands,” she says, while we work in the garden. She can unlatch and close the hen house properly, gather eggs without breaking them and fetch me tools from the garden truck. She suffered no separation anxiety while away and is fast growing out of her clothes. Like summer, before we know it, she’ll be grown and gone.
But what if it ended now? I mean summer; a freak frost the first week of August and the garden’s done. I’d probably cry. We’ve only had one cucumber and without heat the lovely vines aren’t likely to produce more. Young potatoes and carrots wouldn’t keep long in storage either and only herbs are put away for winter so far. Peppers are small; tomatoes still green. We’d be hungry here, living from the farm.
I’m taking each cold night as a reminder: now is the time to live.