Natural consequences

So cliché, but true. It was one of those days.

The kids caught me enjoying a mug of apple cider. Shortly after, the jug was empty. Boo hoo.



My little Bean fell into the toilet. When you have a really small behind, singing and dancing while you sit on the pot is not the very best idea. But like I've said before, she is a tough cookie and recovered from it surprisingly quick. Sometimes the best lessons are the ones with natural consequences.

The big rooster. *sigh* He decided to pick a fight with me.

I know that look in his eye. The way he cocked his head to the side and stepped toward me. That confrontational moment. If you don't know roosters, dear reader, let me tell you one thing. You never back down. Or you lose. You must always ALWAYS be the bigger rooster. Even when Spring seems to be on track for an early arrival and the big daddy roo-a-roo hormones are raging. The dude has long sharp spurs, and his attitude toward my small children depends on who he perceives as being in charge here.

That would be me. No room for error.

(Or my husband. I'm okay with that too.)

Red picked an interesting moment for the battle. I had just stepped out of the barn, holding my little girl, who was in turn holding two fragile eggs... which meant I didn't have a lot of speed or ability to put my actually-yes-I-am-the-bigger-rooster moves on him. You might think that gave him the advantage, but it only meant he wasn't as soundly punished as he might have otherwise been.

Don't worry. His ego was really the only thing bruised.

My first grader decided his school lunch was inedible. When you try to fuel your entire day on nothing but (okay, thankfully he had his hearty oatmeal breakfast) three cupcakes and a handful of baby-sized carrots... and then decide the pasta mom made for supper is gross... it makes everyone's evening rotten.

And then, when I splashed into rather than stepped through my kitchen, I decided it wasn't such a bad thing. Because the floor probably needed to be cleaned anyway. I tried to fix the problem, but it appeared I only made it worse, so I decided a bucket would be a fine temporary fix. I am many things, but a plumber? Not me. I have experience in my prior life in the exciting world of Biotechnology, where I did honestly try to be a plumber on occasion. It involved three hundred rabbits, a plugged drain, a shop vac and some duct tape. The whole truth, I swear.

I realized that with this amazing mild winter we've had, I could be using my clothesline. Something I love. I was sort of frustrated that it hadn't crossed my mind a few months ago.



So it seemed somehow appropriate that the next morning, my sheets were still tangled up out there, crusted with frost and flapping in the fog.

What Arnold doesn't know

***Warning*** This blog post may contain disturbing images. Mommas, cover your babies eyes appropriately.

ban·tam [ban-tuhm]
noun
1. a chicken of any of several varieties or breeds characterized by very small size.
2. a small and feisty or quarrelsome person.
adjective
3. diminutive; tiny: bantam editions of the classics.

We'll go with definition number one, although number two is fascinating and truly, I had no idea my Bean could be classified as such. I've mentioned a time or two that Arnold, he is an adorable little thing, fun-sized (as my friend Rachel would say). He is a mini-chicken. A Bantam.


That's a naked corn cob on the ground beside him, for comparison.

Except he doesn't know this.

Also, his size? The reason my own offspring aren't afraid of him.


The wrong kind of perspective, Arnold looks huge relative to my boy because the bird is way closer to the camera.

Being a Bantam isn't a handicap for Arnold. Oh, no. Not in the least. As I said, he doesn't know he is a Bantam, and I, for one, am certainly not going to suggest it to him. Being fully mature now, Arnold has taken on the responsibility of every single one of his Mr. Big-Stuff Rooster duties. His small stature hasn't *ahem* slowed him down any. At least it doesn't stop him from trying.

Big Red, on the other hand, gets business done.

If you know what I mean.


Oh, honestly. Didn't you always wonder how they did it?

Timing is everything. I tell you the sad truth: My littler boy just walked through here, stopped to tell me they broke the light in their room, glanced at the computer and.... "Mommy, what is that?" Life on the farm. People, he knows what that is.

Ummm... I totally lost my train of thought there.

Okay, so... I swear I didn't go looking for that photo opportunity.

Lucky timing. Lucky, I tell you.

Not to give you a visual, or anything. Really, as if I would do that? It's more like "stackable poultry" when Arnold mounts to the task with one of the big girls. After a moment or two the hen becomes impatient, although it's quite an impressive - dare I even say "valiant attempt" on his part. She shakes poor Arnold off since she has much better things to do (like scratching at the ground), and walks away. Then, of course, Arnold crows. Because he's such a big proud handsome successful fella, like all roosters are.

Or!

Lord have mercy. Red catches them in the middle of it.



This is the more humiliating option for our little hero.

It's easy to understand that Red finds this completely unacceptable, since he is The Ruler of The Universe. He runs at the busy couple and kicks Arnold in exactly the way that only a jealous rooster can, launching him straight into the air like a space shuttle headed for yonder far reaches of our atmosphere.

The good news? We do have three sweet tiny little Bantam hens.

The bad news? Arnold doesn't seem to have noticed them yet.

An Afternoon

We have the teeny tiniest bit of snow. It's almost comical. Last year at this time I'm pretty sure we had five thousand inches stacked up and blowing all over the place. I could probably dump a bag of flour on the ground and make a picture similar to this one. Except the dog and chickens are rude, and flour is edible. So, actually, no. I couldn't do this with flour.



I might have to try, though. Since I brought it up and everything.

Yet another January day that did not feel like a January day. I could so get used to this. Yet another weekday afternoon with merely an hour remaining until the school bus returns and I have to face the music. Four o'clock frightens me.

The singing competition between our two roosters became more interesting than drawing in the snow with naked corn cobs. We wandered that direction. Dust and I'd-rather-not-know-what-that-is sparkled in mid-air, caught by beams of light streaming through the barn. He was fascinated.



Sometimes I daydream about a vacation where I just sit in front of the barn, in the warm sunshine, with some of these fuzzy critters. The easy life. That's what this is. Especially when January is wearing March temperatures. Especially when you have a South-facing barn with white paint that creates a practically tropical micro-climate right there.



Did I mention planning my garden? I have big ideas for last year's sunflower stalks.



Did I mention how much we looooooove Arnold? We do. So much. Arnold, on the other hand, does not appreciate how much we admire his adorable little self. At all.

Run Arnold! RUN!!!


It looks like he's just standing there, but that is one of his legs up behind him. Running for his life.

Five-word Headlines

I've got an entire orchard full of blog topics just ripe for the picking. But you know how it goes, when ripe you must pick now, or they drop and rot into a squishy mess on the ground. And you have to make your way through what you've harvested within a relatively narrow window of time, or you're left with baskets of stinking blog topics in your entry-way that you really should have taken care of three days ago. By then, it's too late. And too dang bad if you used wicker baskets. Good luck getting those clean.

And so, I think (painful as it may be), I'll just let you skim the headlines. I haven't got a clue which to actually write. Eh, or none. Perhaps tomorrow will bring something even more exciting?


Aurora Supplier Fails to Deliver

iPad App Eliminates Rooster Predicament

Daughter Steals Dad's Jackass Calendar

Feminine Hygiene Product Review Thrills

Book Relocation Project Alarms Mother

Oppressed Hens Plead for Rescue

Dreadful Road Attacks Tire Again

Abandoned Christmas Tree Claims Corner

Kid's Brain Deletes Spelling Words

Mittens Missing, Boy Launches Attitude

Intriguing Shoelace Knot Kryptonite Discovered

Ladybugs Replicate on Cardboard House

Curious Preschooler Counts Snowman's Balls

Aurora Prediction

The space weather forecast is pointing to some of us Northerners seeing dancing colored lights in the sky tonight. The sun flare was a big one, and the coronal mass ejection it produced should hit Earth sometime today. If you've got clear skies tonight, look North. It's supposed to be a nice one.

Some useful and interesting links:

3-Day Space Weather Prediction

POES Satellite Map

Kp Index - should go into the red zone later today

Edited to add:

Real-Time Auroral Oval (map)

Short-term Forecast

Honestly, I missed them

Guilty. I hadn't been out to the barn since Friday.

The kitchen table was wiped clean. The floor was vacuumed. Forks and spoons and a spatula and garlic-press were heaped up on a dishtowel. I still had to dry them. Life is just too short to spend time drying dishes. I usually let them air dry but the pile that time... way too big. The laundry I asked the boys to bring down was still strewn across half the stairway.

I heard the door and he came stomping in.

I knew what I should do but still asked, "Do I need to go to the coop?"

"No", he answered, "but you could go anyway." He gave me an update on which animals were in which odd places. It's like a page out of a Dr. Seuss book out there sometimes. Rather entertaining.

"Did you check for eggs?"

He forgot to do that.

No doubt they wouldn't freeze before morning tucked underneath someone's fluffy bottom. That's the nice thing about hens in the winter. Eggs are for sitting on, and the instinct to do so, apparently, is very strong. I would collect them in the morning.

And anyway, it wasn't that cold out.

My littler boy zoomed past me.

If I could bottle up even a quarter of his energy this house wouldn't have a chance. Every drawer, every closet, every spiderweb and spec of dust would be my victim. He shrieked like a little girl when I caught him with my wet hands. Running through the kitchen is risky business when a busy Mom would rather be doing something else.

I folded him into as compact a little package as I possibly could, and held him in my arms like a tiny baby. He giggled.

"I'm going to take you to my nest and sit on you to keep you warm", I told him as I headed for my comfy chair.

"No you're not!", he squealed.

...

Morning comes too soon. Monday again.

The wind howled all night long. It should have been our first second (third?) real winter storm of the season. We lucked out again. Maybe an inch of snow? Maybe two? Maybe it all blew away?

The bus comes.

I figure I'll take some crappy pictures just to post here. Because blogging is always better with pictures. And, well, I need to make a trip to the barn.

Ah, Arnold. You make me laugh, every.single.time.


"squeak-a-croak-a-squeeeeeeeeakkkkkk"

Sure enough, Miss Fuzzbutt has done what she is compelled to do, like I knew she would. I thank her for keeping the eggs warm through freezing temperatures overnight, and then wreck her morning by stealing them.



There's some metallic rattling noise on the other side of the coop wall. Odd. The girls are snooping around where they don't belong, looking very comfortable doing so, and now Mercy looks guilty.



It's an unauthorized empty nest and the dog knew about it. Payment for being their bodyguard, I guess. Game on. Next time I'll get them first.

And this... I have the birds trained. It's funny.

Hello? Where are they all?



I sing... "CHICK CHICK CHICK CHICK!!!!"

... wait for it ...

Here they come!



And Arnold is still singing squeaking to no one in the coop.

January

My husband left the weather forecast on the computer, just to be sure I saw it first thing when I walked into the kitchen... the luxury of a laptop. Instead I force my eyes away from the screen as I shut it. Denial can be such a beautiful thing.

I step out into the darkness.

The morning feels crisp, but it's just cold, not COLD. The door behind me closes and instantly its window fogs over. I watch for a moment while my bundled kid disappears from my view even more as he breathes on the glass. That distant growing humming squealing squeaking of the school bus echos off the barn. He's ready and waiting. I speed through a list in my head, and yes, I do believe we remembered everything today. I turn and head towards the barn.

I've got garden dirt all over my hands in January. It makes me smile. I'm sorting through these living treasures in my warm house. The paper grocery bag crinkles as I roll them around, choosing. My potatoes have sprouted, but they're still usable. I make my selection, and then have mud running over my hands as I rinse them off in the sink.

Next summer's garden is on my mind.

Two and a half bulbs of garlic remain in a lunch-sized paper bag. Onions too, some mine, some from a neighbor, some trying to grow. Carrots from a pink plastic bag that was tucked into the least accessible corner of my fridge last fall. Broth from my freezer, from my crock-pot, from my own chicken, from my hand. Soup that fills my soul. A higher level of satisfaction than simply cutting, chopping, stirring the pot. Providing.

The forecast mocks me from across the room. I want to check my email, and I can't continue this blissful ignorance. My eyes go straight to our low for tonight. It's that number.

I groan.

It's that big fat curvy number that even the hardiest of us prairie dwellers must admit is... well, sort of cold. It's that number where I weigh the risk of someone getting his tail feathers in a heat lamp and burning the whole barn down, versus the benefit that little bit of heat might give.

I had such hope we wouldn't go there this winter.

-20F

And the wind. There it is, an Extreme Cold Warning.



I think I have a garden to plan.