Category: barns

Once Upon a Time in the West: a first kiss and a fisticuffs

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fisticuffs:  to fight with the fists. 

First Known Use: 1605  ~ This correct definition is from Merriam Webster  and can be found HERE

~*~*~*~

Once when I was seven we lived in an unincorporated little suburb of Southern California.  Somewhere in the middle between Pomona, Montclair and Chino if I recall correctly. The little two bedroom house on Kadota Street was  surrounded by cows and cattle fence.  Smaller even than our current Farmlet, it was our family’s little bit of heaven on one-quarter acre.

I had a few friends, but being a bit of a Tomboy back then I really rather favored the friendship of a little blond-headed boy named Johnny.  We use to walk the pastures, build forts, climb trees, and play in the hayloft.  We loved to spin tales and then act them out.

Because of our boyish friendship it came as quite a shock, when one day in the hayloft Johnny tried to kiss me!  On the lips!  He leaned in, and I defensively crossed my arms over my chest between us,

and then pushed him away…

hard.

He went flying back and over the edge of the hayloft.  Crawling to the edge and looking down, I could see him laying there, on his back, and underneath the cow.  He was looking shocked and shouting up to me he exclaimed,

“Well, what’d ya do that for?”

I told him,  “Kissing was for grown-ups”, then climbed down the ladder and ran for home.

Over the next few weeks I avoided Johnny at school.  So it was a complete surprise to find him waiting for me on my way home one day.  He was angry and trying to pick a fight!  I wasn’t having any of that, so I crossed the street and tried to walk on by, but he caught up to me, grabbed my arm,  and hit me!

Of course I got really mad and lit into him, punching him right back, until he cried and ran off for home.  When I got home I said nothing to my parents, because I didn’t want to get in trouble for fighting.

Later that day, his dad came to the door with him in tow.  His dad wanted to speak to my dad.  The conversation went something like this as I recall,

J’s dad:  Your son beat up my son and gave him this black eye!

My dad:  I don’t see how that is possible…  (he was cut off)

J’s dad:  You’re calling my son a liar?

My dad:  I have two son’s.  On is two, and the other is in a cast over there in the living room, and he can’t even walk!

J’s dad to J:  You told me he beat you up?  What’s going on!

J:  No daddy, not him, her!

J’s dad:  You let a GIRL do this to you?  (smack)  Get along home!

Poor Johnny!

~*~

Johnny and I never were friendly after that day in the hayloft, and he never tried to fight me again either.  😉

Of note, a favorite song of mine from about that time was Perry Como’s Catch a Falling Star.  I used to sing the refrain all the time, because it was catchy and I liked the idea. 

“Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket, save it for a rainy day…”

However, the whole song has a line in there that may have given Johnny the wrong idea?  Who can say?  😀

Hoo-Boy with pictures: think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts…

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Today we went to look at a little place in the foothills of the Appalachian mountains.  It is small, but just right for the critters of the Farmlet because it is just over two acres which is way more than they have now!   The house that sits on the land is just right for a couple thinking of retirement.  It is cozy, has a spare room for visitors, a basement and a screened back porch for enjoying the day, or evening, without being eaten by mosquitoes.

If you came for a visit…

 

(click the first photograph to open the carousel)

So now we pray, and wait to see if God says yes!

Polly Wanna What?

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One day my goose Polly honked at me through the back door.  She climbed right up the stairs to the mudroom door and honked loudly until I finally went to see her.    Then she hopped down and began to walk away!   She did this many times.

On this particular day I was cold and I looked out the window to see what was up…

She must have heard my footfalls on the wooden planks as I walked over to the window because when I looked out this is what I saw.

She looked at me as if to say:  “Well, I’m waiting, com’on out will ya, I got something to say!”

Well, when she put it that way, I donned my Crazy Chicken Lady attire and went out to see what she wanted.

Seeing me she quickly turned and waddled to the gate by the barn and began to rub herself back and forth along the gate.

She reminded me of the prisoners who rattle their cups along the bars in the old movies.  This was a signal I immediately recognized, and so I opened the gate for her.

Quickly she continued on

Waddling as fast as those little flappy feet would take her.

They are quite fast this morning because she is a goose on a mission!

Polly wants to lay an egg!

~*~

Looking about in the sleeping nest she moves a bit of straw around and then honks at me again:  “Meh!  I can’t lay an egg in here.  It’s filthy!”  Which is putting it politely…
Geese are not the cleanest of bed mates I am afraid.
I see her moving the straw again, and know what she wants.  She wants a clean nest! She begins rubbing herself on the back of the kennel fence this time.  (I use this fence to keep them out of the rest of the barn at night, because geese just LOVE to chew and dibble and will ruin even the toughest of items if you let them.)

I open the kennel fence and she goes over to the bales of straw.  Clipping the twine allows a flake to fall to the floor and she immediately begins to tear it apart moving it and arranging it to her liking.   While she works I put up a blockade to keep her out of the other side of the barn where she might get herself into trouble.

When I am done I leave and pull the kennel fence shut so the cats and other animals can’t get in to disturb her.

In about a half an hour I return to let her out, but whoopsie!  She’s not done…

Laying an egg is strenuous work. She looks at me as if to say, “Hey, a little privacy here!  Come back later!”

And a bit later…

There it is!

~*~

An interesting factoid for you:  One goose egg is equal to three chicken’s eggs.

One goose egg will make any cake you bake the best you have ever eaten!  Now don’t feel too bad that I am taking Polly’s eggs to make cake… You see, her eggs are not fertile this year, because I have no ganders.  I thought I had a gander when I got the three baby Hueys, but it turns out they were all girls!  (You can read all about the arrival of the Hueys HERE)

Oh, but never fear.   I have new baby Pilgrim ganders arriving on April 30th, and next spring it will be as it should be!

~*~

Now, because she is done, and ready to go join her friends, I open the kennel fence and we walk back to the side of the yard where the rest of the geese are eating and swimming.  They honk greetings all around and then continue their grazing.

Polly has been telling me when she needs to lay an egg for about a month now.  Last week was the first time she came calling at the back door for me.

Strange, smart, amazing goose!

~*~

ADDENDUM:   Because so many of you have remarked on Polly’s intelligence,  I  have added a link to a 2007 article from the Boston Globe entitled,

Eggheads:  How bird brains are shaking up science  <— Click

This article is on the intelligence of the avian species!  They really are quite remarkable in their thinking and reasoning abilities.  Far more than we have ever given them credit for. 

So, from now on when someone calls you a “birdbrain” you may just take it as a compliment!

It’s what I do

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A coworker once asked me about my weekend, which launched me into a conversation monologue about my chickens.   I told her my husband and I had built some security into their run because of hawk problems, and that I had mucked out the chicken palace.  At that last comment she snorted incredulously,

“You enjoy doing that?“

to which I replied,

“Well, yes I do.”

My chickens and geese depend on me.  I get up, don my “Fashionable attire for feeding chickens and geese on COLD mornings,”  brace myself, walk out the door, and set to work.

The routine is the same, it never varies by much except for how cold it gets.  Today the ice on the chicken’s water is only the thickness of cardboard.  Once last year it was over an inch thick and I had to go out and crack it again midday!  This morning I easily break it with my wellies, and then reaching in with my ungloved hand, I lift out the shards.  My fingers burn from the icy chill.  Quickly I dry them on my wooly robe, and just as quickly reglove them.

Next, I let out Quasimodo and Miss Dixie, check for an egg, and grab their food dispenser to take with me to the barn for refilling.

Quasi is my special needs silky rooster.   He has curled toes, that make him hobble and lurch, and he’s blind in one eye from an infection he picked up as a baby chick.  Miss Dixie is a mixed breed, little white splash hen (Blue Andalusian and Buff Polish) who thinks that Quasimodo is the perfect mate… she can say,

“No, thank you dear.”

and there is nothing he can do about it.

Now, the fun begins!  It’s off to the barn to let out the geese.  As I near the roll up door I hear them becoming animated.   I try to sneak up on them every morning, but their little grunting noises tell me that they’ve once again heard the gate latch.  I approach the door and call out,

“Good morning duck-butts, good morning!”

Which gets them knocking on the metal door with their beaks in response.  Huey stretches his long neck under the door and rushes out, next comes Polly who strolls out, stops, and taking a moment, looks up at me as if to say,

“Good morning to you Missus!”  and  “What took you so long?”

Last is Little Dorrit, who once everyone else is out of the way, begins flapping her wings and honking as she becomes airborne!  This little morning flight gets her four feet up out of the straw and six feet out of the door.  When she lands she takes off running and honking to catch up.  I listen as her little flappy feet slap the frozen mud and I realize I’m smiling.

Last stop, the chicken palace.   I open the gate to the run and hear them all cooing inside.  Someone has gotten into someone else’ space in the door lineup inside the coop.  Squawking and rustling ensues.  I call out…

“Good morning stinkies, com’on out!”

I open the coop doors and they rush, tumbling beak-over-butt-feathers to get out and find breakfast.  Some days, I let them out first and when they realize the food isn’t there yet, they race back to me, and stopping they look up as if to say,

“What’s this trick?  Where’s breakfast?”

I refill their food dispenser, put food into the other chicken’s feeder, check their water and then go in to check for eggs.  This morning I find that there is one, freshly laid, blue-green jewel in the back nest.  Reaching in I pick it up and discover that it is still warm.  Removing my glove from the still frozen hand I take the egg and cradle it there.  It’s heat begins thawing my fingers as I place it into my pocket.  Unwilling to let go, I leave my hand there with the egg until it becomes too cool to work its magic.

Almost done!  Now, returning to the little coop, I hang the newly filled feeder for them, then looking back, I check quickly to be sure I haven’t left any gates open.

Pausing before I go in, I reach back into my pocket and pull out the little egg.   Looking at it I think,

“This is why I do it.”

~*~

My little reward from my girls for the time I take to keep them happy.

~*~

Ahem, if you haven’t clicked on the link to “Fashionable attire for feeding chickens and geese on COLD mornings”  then you’re missing out on a rare and candid view…  😉

~*~