Take Joy!

The Maternity Ward

Fowl Play

So, the other day John plowed part of the garden, preparatory to putting in potatoes when they get here. (And if you've never had potatoes straight from the garden, let me tell you: homegrown elevates the humble potato to something sublime.) He had help, of course:

Others were busy at the end of the garden, taking a dustbath:

Yesterday we turned them into the goat lot. Well, turned isn't precisely accurrate: what we did was cut a hole in the fence at the back of the lower lot and wait for chickens to find their way through. Here are some of the results:

I got two eggs today from the "nest" in the end of the hayrack. Apparently I will no longer be just gathering eggs, but prospecting for them!

And today John and Roger hauled the plastic pool that's been up in the garden down to the goat lot and sank it, then let it fill and waited for things to find it.

Which they did in short order.

I saw Frank drinking from it a bit later, after we'd all gone back to the house for lunch, and I'm sure the others will find it shortly. Just in case, we filled a couple of the black waterers too. And we've moved the feeding trough down into the lower lot.

The little (not-so-little any more; they're eating everything that isn't tied down) turkeys have found their way down, and I'm hoping the others will follow tomorrow . . . in any case, I'm closing the far exit (where I have the chickenlot wire propped up) to the garden tomorrow, and tomorrow night I will probably close the chickenlot door. That way, when they get up and out they'll have to go down in the back . . . except the guineas, who roost in trees, and the three older turkeys who also roost outside. Hopefully, they will follow the water and feed, and the other birds, down . . . We shall see, shan't we?

Walking on Water

Everything was frozen again yesterday morning . . .

I Apparently Have Too Much Free Time

or I wouldn't be hanging around the garden, watching the geese get it on . . .

He was all solicitous and charming at first

and then he jumped on her . . .

she didn't appear to be impressed.

You should have seen her ruffling her feathers and stomping away. "Here I am, trying to take a bath, and you attack me! You beast!! Leave me alone!"

(In case you're wondering, the "pond" is one of those plastic things that is supposed to be sunk in the ground, only we haven't gotten around to deciding just where to sink it, so it might as well be useful. The geese get in it every day and splash around and generally have a good time . . . this was an exception! Perhaps we will have goose eggs soon. . . the turkey hen is laying, and there are already four turkey eggs in Howard's incubator. I wanted to eat one, just to see if it tasted different, but John wouldn't let me.)

Autumn Trees

It rained yesterday. All day. I accomplished not a great deal, as I was trying to sew Emma's pirate costume and had way, way too much help: all the cats were stuck inside and wanted to be Where The Action Was, which they assumed to be the sewing machine.

Goats and sheep refused to come out of the shed. Chickens/turkeys/guineas made sporadic forays into the garden when the rain let up, then ran back when it began pouring again. Some, however, enjoyed getting wet:

 
Actually, there are a pair, but the other was busy rooting around under the blackberry vines and declined to come out for a photo op . . .

This is the view out the back door (that's the chicken house in the left corner):

 

And this is off to the side, across the neighbor's driveway (to the right, out of the picture, is another neighbor's field, which I covet for William. If I could only exercise eminent domain . . .):

 

And this is one of my two favorite trees. It's a hickory that is magnificent when all the leaves are yellow. Hopefully they won't immediately fall off, so I can get a good picture this year

 

Tomorrow is supposed to be clear, and fairly warm. I can leave the backdoor open for small furry animals to go in and out without having to play doorperson, and maybe finish up some things . . .