I’m not even sure how much snow we have, but we have a lot of snow. So far the power is on. But I don’t think the 100 lbs. of birdseed I bought in preparation for the snow is going to hold out long. The birds are arriving in droves.
See for yourself.
The birds are practically knocking on the back door asking for more bird seed.
Harry ventured out to do a bit of damage control to the chicken coop. The chickens are nestled inside where it is heated and I have given them treats of kale and dried corn on the cob.
At one point there were about 25 cardinals outside in addition to all the other birds.
Robin
Due to my down time in the fall, I have been far behind on my spring gardening activities. That means that I don’t have loads of beautiful garden photos to show off right now, though rest assured things are greening up and growing nicely. The spring rains have even helped me do some springtime lawn seeding.
What I can do is report on the animal front. You were worried about my chickens, right?
T. Boone Chickens has made an amazing recovery from the fateful attack that led to the loss of our beloved Johnny Cash.
But you know how some people are improved by the trials, tribulations and crises that life throws at them? They develop a sense of calmness, serenity and patience? Love for their fellow beings?
Well, if chickens are the same way, T. Boone isn’t one of them. Although he has survived and is thriving, his temperament was not improved by the near-death experience.
Now that Johnny Cash, the former top rooster, is gone, T. Boone has the opportunity to indulge in his full roosterness. Sadly, he is not a gentle lover. In fact, he’s downright mean to my poor little hens. When Johnny was their lover, he was at least gentle with his attentions. T. Boone is clumsy, rough and—how can I say this?—not a particularly good aim.
T. Boone's clumsy attentions to the hens have left them a bit ruffled--feather tufts here and there.
The hens have to tolerate him, of course, but they are very put out by his attentions. And although he does seem to stand guard over them when they are out of their run and walking about the garden, he does a ridiculous stomping tantrum if one of the hens dares to get to close to one of the little treats he finds in the yard. Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp with those big chicken feet, like a toddler who hasn’t gotten his way.
I do worry about the new hens who have arrived here at Bumblebee. How will they ever deal with this brute?
Four young girls—two Black Starters and two White Leghorns—arrived a couple of weeks ago. We are keeping them separated and allowing them some supervised and separated meet-and-greet time for now. In a few days we’ll allow them out of their runs together to get an even better up-close look.
Maude greets one of the four new hens.
(By the way, send me your egg-intensive recipes. We’re getting six eggs/day and there are only three of us. When Ben heads off to The Citadel in August, Harry and I will have to deal with half a dozen eggs/day by ourselves.)
With all this talk about chickens, I suppose you’re wondering if I’m still a gardener. Yes, indeed.
In fact, I was working on doing some planting this past weekend and what should I find? Well, look here…
A nest of baby bunnies in the garden--right next to the lettuce patch.
Yep, a nest of baby bunnies. And the mom bunny very cleverly located them right next to our lettuce patch. Just a short walk to the salad bar!
I have touched the nest and talked to the babies about having mom relocate them. But she seems happy with their current digs next to my lettuce. So be it.
Harry, of course, is devastated, what with lettuce being his favorite food and all.
And so it goes here at Bumblebee…
Robin
I know I’m not alone when I say that I detest the winter season. It has only gotten worse in the past few years. In fact, since I have enthusiastically embraced the green living lifestyle, my contempt for winter has become a bit of an obsession. I may have to become one of those silver-haired snowbirds.
The thermostats are turned down and we have resorted to means other than our heat pumps to keep warm. It doesn’t always work, I should add.
I have gotten so cold that I have resorted to wearing those incredibly lightweight but warm Patagonia capilene long underwear most days. While mall shopping a few weeks ago I was tickled to find cashmere fingerless gloves that I can wear while typing. I bought two pair. And Brookstone had Tempurpedic slippers that I tuck my feet into at my desk. They pretty much park there because they are too clumsy to walk around in.
But winter is not without its rewards.
Last month, in the middle of winter on a particularly frigid day, I had the electrician here swapping out one set of programmable thermostats for ones that I can actually understand how to program. As we were chatting, I glanced out the front door and stopped mid-sentence.
A group of six Eastern Bluebirds was exploring the Purple Martin gourds that I have procrastinated moving in for the winter.
I watched, transfixed, as they moved in and out of the gourds and perched on the support poles. Once I regained my senses, I scrambled for my camera and long lens to take photos. Then I grabbed my Sibley guide to see whether it’s that unusual to see bluebirds here in November.
Apparently, it’s not unheard of for groups of bluebirds to stay northward and nest together rather than heading for warmer quarters. Margaret at A Way to Garden said she has even seen them near her New York home in winter.
Sadly, they didn’t stick around, so I’m still going to have to store those Purple Martin gourds.
In the meantime, I’m keeping a keen eye out for the potential return of Evening Grosbeaks. The Winter King Hawthorns that line the driveway near our house are loaded with the fat, red berries that attracted a flock of them last winter.
I only hope I am looking out the windows when they arrive. It’s my small consolation for having to dress like an Eskimo in my own home.
Robin
