Blame it on the Rain

Blame it on the Rain

In this case, it, can be just about anything.

The lack of hay in our hay shed.

The increased tempers of the boys that have spent too many days in close quarters.

Hulk-sized mosquitos with Hulk-sized appetites.

The fact that it has been too long since I’ve updated the blog.

It’s all the rain’s fault.

As you most likely know (I’m just assuming here that you either a.) already know me or b.) are related to me) we have been getting a boatload of rain.  Lots-o-rain, to be specific.

It’s quite ridiculous, actually.

You’re probably thinking that a lot of rain is a good thing.  I used to think so too.  However, too much of any good thing usually ends badly.

Except for chocolate.  One can never have too much chocolate.

The moral of the story, kids, is that the rain has delayed just about everything.  Slogging through inches of water only served to double the time needed for daily chores.

Things are slowly getting back to normal.  The rivers and creek are back down to reasonable levels and the basement is slowly drying out.  The garden is still squishy and the weeds have really benefitted from this time.  Yay!

I do have two happy updates.  Okay, so maybe three.

UPDATE #1: Elwood continues to improve.

In our last episode, you will remember that Elwood had developed an icky-gooey abscess on his ear.  He has shown tremendous improvement as you can see from this picture taken two weeks ago.

Healing Ear Abscess

Elwood has an ear for improvement.









UPDATE #2: Heidelberr Farms lives up to its name.

I may have had to pull on the hip waders a time or two, but the blueberries have to be picked.  I’m just thrilled that the blueberry plants are being so productive.  This has been the best year ever.  I don’t know if it is because of or in spite of the rain.

Ultimately, I don’t care why they’re producing so well so long as it continues.  My pancakes depend on this.  And so do I.


Blueberries. Sweet blueberries.









UPDATE #3: More chickies!

Because Rosie and I are gluttons for punishment, we have hatched another batch of chicks in the incubator.  We have four hatchlings to date and another prospective four that went back in the oven to finish cooking.  In another week, if all continues to go well, we hope to have our first hatched Cayuga ducklings.  But since it’s not wise to count your chickens…or your ducklings…before they hatch, we’re just thankful for this batch of four so far.

The downside of incubator hatching is that we either have to raise these chicklings and ducklings inside for the next 4-5 weeks (bye bye, downstairs shower) OR we have to graft them onto another broody hen.

As you might imagine, since my first encounter with the Hens-of-Death, I’m not terribly excited about this prospect.  Even so, it has been a beautiful (albeit terrifying) experience watching the HOD’s fiercely nurture their little brood.

Hatched chicks

Hey Chicky Baby

So there you have it.  Here’s to hoping for normal-ish weather.

Whatever that is.

Until the next time, my friends.  Stay safe, be blessed, and don’t count your chickens until they cross the road.


Here There Be Dragons

Here There Be Dragons

I nearly died yesterday.

Now that the adrenaline has died down, and my hands have stopped shaking, I can finally tell you my story.

It was a giant dinosaur.

It was a rabid wolf.

It was a screaming freight train.

Fine, it was a broody hen.

You happy now?

Death-by-hen, while extremely cool-looking on a headstone, is a terrible way to go.

Compounding the problem is the simple fact that I was heading off not one hen, but two. Yes, we have two co-mamas sharing a litter(?) of six chickies. Three chicks were naturally hatched and three incubator-hatched chicks were introduced to the Hens-of-Death (HOD) in a daring 3 a.m. ninja chicken raid.

The past 21 days while the HOD’s were brooding their nest, and even in the day after the little hatchlings hatched, they were content to play a game of strict defense. Puff up. Growl a bit. Hunker down and protect the chicklets.

Maybe it was adding to the team ranks. Maybe it was rabid dinosaur wolf DNA infused into the incubator chicks during incubation. Whatever it was, the game play of the HOD’s switched from defense to take-no-prisoners-burn-the-thatched-roofs-and-rip-out-their-faces offense.

I assure you that there was much flapping, and thrashing, and screeching, and the HOD’s were also making a fair bit of commotion too.

Oh sure, you can laugh now. But I can assure you, if you ever face the wrath of the HOD you will be screaming, flailing, and doing whatever it takes to survive too.

Just be sure to stay away from the edges of the broody area.

Here, there be dragons.