Loosening Up

A surprise awaited me when I stepped into the chicken coop a couple days ago.

Laying there atop the straw in the middle of the coop was a big white duck egg. We haven't seen a duck egg around these parts in a very long time. I don't know the last time Doris laid an egg; she's been freeloading on feed, water and shelter for some time now. That's OK. We still love her.

Because a few of our hens are laying some nice fat eggs these days, you may not see as big a difference as you typically would between the size of our duck vs. chicken eggs. But that dirty lighter egg right there in the middle is the sign that either Doris is back to laying, or one of our newcomers is finally loosening up a little. (Side Note: I gathered the eggs a little early in the day; we're getting 6 to 7 eggs per day from our 9 hens right now, which is allowing us to share with family and neighbors. I love the abundant laying season.)

Kristi, who we got the ducks from when she had to move to another town, said her little duck gang was laying regularly and she got eggs from them every day. Unless they've been burying eggs beneath the straw somewhere the last several weeks, they've been holding out on us. 

Today, though, I found two duck eggs, which tells me it isn't just Doris who's in on the action. 

I wonder if the girls are simply getting settled in and used to being around chickens, or if it's just because the weather is warming up and all farm animal systems seem to kick into gear at this time of year? Either way, I'm happy to see the new eggs showing up.

While I'm not as fond of duck eggs for fried eggs because the yolks are a bit sticky, I will include them in omelets with chicken eggs and they're fabulous for baking, somehow making everything you bake a little more special. A new bakery is opening in our town and I'm going to approach the owner to see if he's interested in buying duck eggs, since I know they are eagerly sought by pastry chefs and bakers.

One thing I can tell you for absolute certain -- I do not believe for one second that the eggs are coming from Mallory. I don't. No one's going to trick me on that front again. 

Love from the farm,

Teri

A Fresh Look at This Life

The other day, our niece Ellie was at the farm for just a little while. Knowing she had to leave in a few minutes I said, "Hey, Ellie, do you want to run down and gather eggs with me before you go?" She readily agreed and off we went.

With the warmer weather, the hens are changing up their habits a little bit, so we hunted around the chicken yard to see where we might find eggs. We found a couple in the little pot bellied stove in the coop where some of the hens lay consistently. We didn't find any eggs in the brooder shed, but then we struck gold when we poked around the feed shed, where the hens have been hanging out in some loose straw left behind from a straw bale. I spied one egg and pointed it out to Ellie so she could pick it up, then she moved a feed bag and let out a little cry of delight, "Aunt Teri! I found a NEST! They must have been hiding these here."

As she bent over and began grabbing eggs and handing them to me, she said eagerly, very proud of her find, "This is kind of like Easter egg hunting, if you think about it."

I love when someone comes to visit the farm and expresses excitement over a discovery or simply the experiences they get to have here in the outdoors with so much freedom -- it makes you take a fresh look around, to see the magic through their eyes and have that warm reminder of what a great, if dilapidated, place this is to live.

Today I felt that wonder and joy and gratitude all day as I worked outside. It is beautiful weather right now and, while I hope winter returns very soon to relieve the drought, I love stealing outside for hours  at a time to prepare for spring.

I spent a lot of time with the chickens and the ducks, refilling waterers, searching for eggs, feeding and just moving quietly and slowly among our little flock so they'd be comfortable hanging around me. At one point, I sat on the ground with a scoop full of chicken feed and poured a little in front of me. As I sat watching the ducks paddle in the pool then wander as a group over to the water dish to drink, eventually Wyatt the Rooster and a number of his ladies came sauntering up, pecking at the pile of feed, right up close to me. A few pecked at the pebbles and dirt bits in the tread of my shoes. I stayed still and spoke quietly to them. 

Otis, my sweet pup, lay nearby lazily watching the chickens and ducks explore the area, content to leave them be. Unlike some of our previous dogs, Otis doesn't chase the chickens. We took him to the coop from the time he was a several-week-old puppy so he'd think of the chickens as part of his neighborhood rather than food. It's worked out nicely.

In addition to quality time with the birds, I spread some compost material on the garden, moved pallets left over from delivery of our wood pellets to the pallet spot behind the well house, and watered the trees, which are thirsty from lack of snow and rain. I gave the honeysuckle bush a long, slow soak and raked and cut weeds around the place. I picked up stray items that get dragged by the dogs and the wind to the oddest places around the property, and I burned weeds along the side of the house, the first step in preparing the area for seeding with grass. I checked on the peppermint plant by the poplar tree in front of the house, watered the bees and cleaned out and refilled the ducks' pool.

Now, I'm going to look at seeds and hopefully get a little bit of garden planning done, then work on a Sunday school lesson I'm giving tomorrow.

I love days like these, when I remember how wonderful it is to live close to the earth and feel the promise of spring in the world around me and in my very bones.

Love from the farm,

Teri

My Man Mallory

OK, so I had a few questionable moments last week.

As I was discussing our new ducks, I had the nagging thought that brightly colored mallard ducks are always male, or drakes, as male ducks are called (see, I know stuff.) But then I heard someone make a comment that triggered a question mark in my head and made me think, "well, I guess I'm remembering wrong," and without further ado, I went with Mallory being a girl.

It never, ever, ever pans out for me when I ignore that niggling voice way back in the recesses of my noggin. Never.

So, yes, I know Mallory is a boy, and while Mallory may not sound very manly, I kinda like it. I think a fella with a certain kind of swagger can pull off Mallory. In fact, I'm betting with me putting it out there to the universe as I am, within five years we'll begin to see Mallory cropping up on the "Most Popular Baby Names" lists for boys. Mark my words. Mark. My. Words.

I'm psychic, after all.

Not really.

But, I do believe Mallory for men is going to catch on. (Is it just me, or did you just picture someone with a cologne spritzer standing in a department store, saying, "Mallory for Men?" in a questioning voice as they proffered the bottle as if to spray a passerby?)

Speaking of "fellas," you may remember that Mallory isn't the first gender-flexible name we've had around here.

First there was Bruno, who, I'm sorry, looked like a man and there was nothing feminine about her gait or her behavior, either. You can't blame us for being confused, since we were goose rookies. Once she started laying eggs, however, we were convinced of Bruno's female status, if not her femininity; and given that she seemed to have a webbed foot in each pool, we stuck with Bruno as her name.

Our other mix-up was with a little tabby cat called "Stella."

Stella was such a sweetheart, as I've discussed here before, but he turned out not to be a girl, either. Again, we were already hooked on the name Stella, so we opted to refer to him as "Stella the Fella." Problem solved.

So, now we have Mallory -- or as I now call him, "My Man Mallory," and on we go. I'm sure new tiny creatures will come to our farm again in the spring, and again we'll be doing the guessing game. We could play it safe and go with gender neutral names like Pat and Jamie and Chris, but I doubt we will. So our gender-flexible naming philosophy will likely continue, and I don't expect our future misnamed critters will complain any more than the ones who've gone before them have.

I once again resolve to listen to that niggling voice that tries to steer me to the right path. And I also promise that, because I've coined this new little phrase here as well, you will soon start hearing "gender-flexible" in the common vernacular.

Just you wait.

It'll happen.

Mark my words.

Love from the farm,
Teri