• Nothing Heals Like Love

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    Wednesday morning while I was working on the fence, BB spotted an injured chick. It was one of Hazel’s. I took it into the house to nurse it. It had injured its legs and couldn’t stand up. I didn’t have much hope for it.

    Thursday it was better, and after keeping it indoors, feeding it and making sure it got plenty to drink, we decided to let it spend the night with its mother and siblings. When it got dark, we tucked it underneath Hazel for the night.

    Friday, I brought it back indoors as soon as Hazel left her nest shortly after six in the morning. We kept it indoors, watching it improve, and put her back under Hazel for the night so it could sleep with its mother and siblings.

    This morning, I brought it back inside when Hazel got out of her nest. During the early afternoon, Hazel was in the backyard with her clutch, and I let the chick spend time with its mother and siblings. It still had trouble walking around but loved being with its mother again. When I brought it back inside for a rest, it peeped a lot, letting me know it wanted to be with its mother.

    This afternoon around four, I took it back out to be with its mother. This time it did much better. Following Hazel around and getting steadier the more it walked. Within an hour, it was running with its mother and siblings with little difficulty. Tonight it is sleeping peacefully under its mother.

    Watching how happy it was to be with its mother again after spending a few days in the “hospital”, and seeing how it improved when it was with her, taught me that even for a chick, nothing heals like love.

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    What is Hazel doing? She’s hunting bugs for her chicks. When she spots a bug in the leaves, she knocks it to the ground for them. Over and over she does it, sometimes jumping up to knock a bug off a high branch. How many chicks get to eat a bug picked for them by a mother who loves them?

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  • A Last Day

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    Today was the last Thursday market for the season at Bow Little Market. It’s been a fun summer taking produce to the market on Thursdays from June through today. After finding out from customers what they would like to eat, I’m looking forward to growing a greater variety of produce next year.

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  • The Straight and Narrow

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    What do plants think when we plant them in straight rows? In the wild, plants never end up that way, all lined up, in rows that march on to the horizon. When they pop up and see all their siblings lined up in front and back of them, do they wonder how the heck that happened? Does it drive them nuts?

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    While planting French breakfast radishes, I came across this curved twig, which turned out to be the perfect radish planting tool. The curved tip made it easy to poke holes for the radish seeds. This one is a keeper.

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    The previous radishes which used to call that bed home are on their way to the compost bin. Radishes grow to be rather large plants with flower stalks that reach three feet and higher. One plant will put out hundreds of pointy seed pods and thousands of seeds. With so many seeds, it’s a wonder the world isn’t one big radish field.

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  • You Are My Sunshine

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    You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,
    you make me happy, when skies are grey …

    Sunshine made me happy when I caught her checking out a nest. She didn’t know how funny she looked, standing apprehensively on one foot as she deliberated whether to use the nest or not.

    This swelling Artemis melon also makes me happy. It hangs like a green moon in a cloud of melon vines. For happiness, live among the chickens and plants. They’ll keep you entertained and humming a song.

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  • Back in the Land of the Wet

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    We are back in the land of the wet. Saturday’s storm blew away the sun with enough force to topple trees, knock down climbing beans, and floor rows of corn. It also whipped the electric lines from here to kingdom come. The power company says our power will be restored by Tuesday night.

    I got some of the sunflowers upright again, and while I cleared out the fallen beans, filling a basket with green beans and a wheelbarrow full of leaves and vines for the compost, a wild bee quickly found the upright sunflowers as if there had been no storm at all. Where did that bee pass the storm? Warm and snug in its burrow? Or did the storm blow it in from the San Juan islands or even Vancouver Island?

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