Category: Reflections

  • It’s Easier with Another

    blue august sky

    Three days ago the sky was a cobalt blue with wispy clouds. Today’s sky is definitely fall like. Thick, grey clouds accompanied with gusty winds. Summer is coming to an end.




    The two hens who decided to join forces and raise a brood together are fun to watch. Every hen raises her chicks slightly differently. But this is the first time I’ve had two hens pair up from the get go. When they were sitting on the clutch they were on top of each other.

    Each day they go out together with their chicks, who happily float from one mother to the other. The two hens are never far apart. At night they squeeze into the same nest with all the little ones tucked underneath them.


    They could be the start of a movement among hens. Why do it alone? It’s easier raising a brood with another.

  • Hottest Day of the Year

    morning light in the cottonwoods

    The forecast yesterday was for a hot day. 87ºF (30.6ºC). This morning the forecast changed to a high of 84ºF (28.9ºC). Our first day this summer above 80ºF. It felt warm from the first step this morning. The sun was already burning the top leaves of the cottonwoods. We topped out at 82ºF (27.8ºC). Tomorrow and beyond, we are back to cooler weather. A heat wave that lasts one day, that’s fine with me.

    Blackberries ripening are a sure sign that it is August.

    black berries
    marjoram blossoms
    daisies and marjoram

    It’s a great day to relax and enjoy the colors of this time of year.

    mint flowers
    hollyhock blossoms
    two mother hens

    And what to make of these two? Here they are tonight, each coddling more than ten chicks underneath their feathers. They sat on the same clutch of eggs. Often on top of each other. I ordered baby chicks because they only had a few eggs and I needed to get more pullets. The baby chicks arrived Wednesday morning. I set them under both of them. I’m not sure how they determine which chick is going with which mother when they all wake up each morning, but they’ve got it figured out.

    I’m afraid what the bill will be for all the therapists the chicks will require when they grow up. “I never could figure out who my mother was,” I can hear the chickens tell their therapist.

  • An August Morning

    sprinkler on lawn

    August morning, the season for sprinklers. The soft szz szz szz szz sound they make as the spin is soothing. It’s comforting working in the garden and listening to the sprinklers in the background.

    spider web in lawn

    Morning dew reveals the spider webs in the lawn. They appear as thick clouds, shrouding the lawn. I suppose morning time, when the webs are so visible, is not a productive time for the spiders. Any creature is sure to see their snare and stay clear. If I were a spider, I’d sleep in until the sun dried my web, and I felt a juicy bug wriggle my web.

    spider web in lawn
    spider web in lawn
    ducks on morning pond
    dead bee on daisy

    The dead bee I found on the daisy is still lying in state. Nothing has disturbed it during the night. How many others passed during the night to mourn her passing? How long will she wait in state until a breeze takes her to her grave, or raindrops wash her body away? She may slip quietly onto the ground, covered by dust by summer’s end, each year a little more dust collecting on top of her, until millions of years pass, and one day a paleontologist uncovers her fossilized body. Maybe I should wrap her body in parchment, write a note for that paleontologist, letting them know she died on a daisy in August. That certainly would shock the paleontologist, to uncover a fossil with a note.

  • August Evening


    The pond in August makes the perfect dining room. The conversation turns to what the ducks on the other side of the pond are doing. Needing to wear long sleeved shirts in August is a luxury. We’ve yet to reach 80º this summer on Bow Hill. There are no 80º days in the forecast so maybe this summer we won’t get that warm. Then again there is still all of August to go.



    Things are always different when you look closely at them. From a distance, this cluster of daisies look serene.


    Yet one of the daisies is the final resting place for this bee. It’s short life is over. When a worker bee dies far from the hive, is it even missed? I’m sure no search party is sent out to look for it. The buzz at the hive goes on.


    Nearby, two other worker bees are working into the evening, gathering pollen and nectar to take bake to their hive. Maybe they’ll tell the others at the hive that worker 721893 won’t be coming home.


    It’s bedtime for the chicks. They are big enough now that they don’t need the warmth of their mother. They couldn’t possibly fit underneath her anyway. Soon they’ll be roosting and on their own.

  • When You Are Insane

    shears-cutting-grass

    When you are insane, you get the idea that cutting the lawn by hand with trimming shears is a great idea. If you’re sane, it’s not something that crosses your mind. But the grass around the tofu cabin has turned into tall grass. It’s more a wild meadow than a lawn, a fact my husband keeps reminding me. But the chickens like the tall grass. And the tall grass looks like it would be great nesting material if cut nicely and dried.

    ruby-investigating-shears

    Ruby is curious what I am doing. Often if I am out by the tofu cabin, half the flock comes out to investigate what I am up to. But it’s only Ruby who spends the afternoon with me, seeing what the crazy one is doing.

    ruby-looking-for-bugs

    For her it’s an opportunity to find things to eat in the cut grass. Most of the time when chickens are pecking at things in the grass, it’s impossible to see what they find. Tiny beetles, mites, spiders, ants, basically anything that moves is what they eat.

    windrow-of-grass

    A lawnmower would turn the tall grass into pulpy mulch. The sharp shears cut the grass clean and make it easy to rake into lovely windrows. In less time than you imagine, I have a fluffy windrow of cut grass. This should make great nesting material for the hens.

    There is a thick, soft blanket of moss at the bottom of the grass. I’m sure it will feel lovely against a hen’s tush. The robins (Turdus migratorius) sure love it. They’ve carted sheets of moss off to make thick, plushy nests. There is a doctoral thesis waiting to be written: “Impact of nesting material on the survivability of robin chicks.”

    Speaking of things doctoral, remembering the scientific names for animals and plants can be difficult. But the scientific name for robins, Turdus migratorius, sticks easily. Think “migrating turds” and you’ll recall Turdus migratorius in a flash.

    windrow-of-grass

    Another windrow. These will dry nicely in the sunny summer days. I just need to figure out a dry place to store them before the rains return this fall. But when you’re insane, the possibilities are endless.