Looked down at the patio door and what did I see? A robin on the outside, standing right up to the glass between us, kind of looking back at me. Or maybe (more likely) seeing its reflection as another robin. It’s a bit of a surprise. Robins are usually summer company in the field, darting around, searching for bugs as I weed or harvest, not hopping around in near zero weather, in snow and freezing rain. It’s like being let into another part of their life. In any case, this guy or gal looks pleasantly plump and unperturbed. I’m glad to see they are quite all-weather and doing fine in the off-season.
birds
Orange-breasted, worm-eating buddy
One of my annual garden companions. First met the American robin when I started veggie farming. I thought it was a sign. The bird was quite near me, darting a ways, then stopping, seeming to follow me, not looking worried when I turned towards it. Other than urban pigeons and scavenging seagulls, I wasn’t used to birds being so on grounded. It soon seemed clear that it was following me, probably resonating with my kindred earthy spirit, recognizing a fellow field worker, accepting me into the tribe. Turns out that spending a lot of time on the ground, running around looking for bugs and earthworms, especially in open, freshly tilled fields, is just what the American robin does. I was only a part of its landscape. Oh well.
These guys are here every year, keeping company in the field. Later in the season, I sometimes see the chicks zooming around, cuter than kittens. I read that American robins are known to gorge on berries that have fermented, get drunk, and topple over as they dart around. Hope they don’t drink and fly (but they apparently do)!
American crow
A crow on a post. This is called an American crow, I believe, to be specific. I kinda, well, not envy them, exactly, but would like to try it out. The flying and casually perching on high for a look around. I’m in the field for the better part of most days, and practically none of that time is spent feeling immersed in nature. It’s more about whatever the task at hand. When the work is repetitive, which it mostly is, thoughts are floating around in my head, or I’m listening to a podcast or music. All through the day, though, the everyday intricacies of nature nudge to the front. I’ll stop to gaze at a hawk lazily circling (and think about which veggie-devouring critter it might be eyeing for lunch). Or suddenly notice the busy hum of bees and sit back from weeding to watch them at work. Or be slightly startled by the way tiny zucchinis have grown to dinner-size literally overnight.
Turkey vulture on patrol
A turkey vulture lazily circling way up, looking for dead flesh. I’m not entirely sure of my bird ID, but pretty sure. These guys circle all the time, barely moving their wings. I used to happily imagine they were some kind of hawk, on patrol over the vegetable patch, the clear, weeded rows a perfect background for spotting rabbits, maybe even zeroing in on seedling-munching field mice and voles. It was a pleasant thought bubble, burst when I eventually looked into it. The overall boxy shape, the fingered wingtip feathers, the patient gliding loops with little flapping, all seemed to say, “Vulture! Turkey vulture!”
Looking for leaves
The snow’s gone, replaced by puddles and mud. You can still see the road through the trees—the only aerial green so far is evergreen. An overall browned-out scene, but what’s not in the pic is the vigorous twittering of birds, the tantalizing hint of real warmth in the still chilly air, the slightly musty dampness of winter earth waking up, as the outdoors steadily gets ready to…explode!
Eggs from the wild
Four or five of the girls have been escaping every day, creating their own day pass, and doing a fair imitation of flying while they’re at it. In the morning, I open the chickenhouse door and barricade it with a strip of plastic fencing that leaves a 2′ gap at the top. After I leave, they hop up on the roost, propel themselves, furiously flapping, to the top of the fencing, perch there for a moment, and then head out.
I’m not sure if it’s always the same ones. There are 25 Shaver Red layers, and I haven’t spent enough time hanging out with them to really tell them apart. But I suspect it’s a gang.
They spend the day foraging far and wide around the farm, and return at night, waiting to be let back in. This has been going on for several days, since the meat birds left…
Today, Connor found a few eggs in a thicket they seem to like. Besides being a different color from all that exposure, the eggs are clearly getting SMALLER (they’re the ones in front). As varied and nutritious as their free-ranging diet may be, it’s lower in protein than the carefully concocted feed available inside. I guess that’s what’s up.
In any case, we’ll soon put up some kind of fence, cut out a chicken door, and they’ll have the best of both worlds: grass and bugs on the outside, protein-rich feed from the feed store inside, and a convenient place to lay. That will be our state-of-the-art in natural eggs for the next little while…
Chickens to meat
The White Rock Cornish X meat birds are now…meat! Today was to-the-processing-house day. Up at 5:15 a.m. to get them rounded up for the trip. And it seemed to be a pleasant one for them. They arrived looking laid-back and content after a breezy 35-minute drive. This was gonna end up their “one bad day,” but so far, so chill.
To save an hour plus round-trip drive to pick up cages from the processor, we decided to load ’em directly in the trailer. The original idea was to cover it with a tarp, but I waited till the last minute (this morning at dawn) to fit it, and there was no easy way to get the tarp secure. So, a last-minute solution that turned out great: snow fencing and wire.
Three sections were cut from a roll, overlapped, and fastened with twists of light-gauge electric fence wire. Really quick, secure, easy. Perfect! At the processor, I helped hand off the birds right through the slaughterhouse door. And that was it: back at 5:30 p.m. for the pick-up.
The trip was smooth, but the end was still a little impersonal: in one processor house door, out the other. I hope to fill in that last killing step soon.
So there we are, 39 free-ranged chickens, after what seemed to be a happy, active, fast-growing, 11-week life, are now government-inspected, weighed (average about 7lbs/3kg), packed in plastic, and pre-chilled for the freezer. This seems pretty close to sane meat production. Chicken dinner!