Chicken Delivery

Lissa brought the new babies. She couldn't resist a couple more than I ordered. We wanted a rooster to look after the hens, so got a straight run Buff Orphington. Also arriving in a little box were two Barred Rocks, two Rhode Island Red and one Americana pullets.

We had a fun time taming them down. They were only hatched two days ago and needed mothering. It was such fun to have them fall asleep in our hands. The day was plenty warm for them to be out on the deck. They will stay in the cardboard box in the workshop or outside, with a cat-proof old fan screen on top, until they are big enough to move into the coop. Now, they could walk right through the chain link fence.

If a person is the type to get all giggly cuddling chicks, they just have to admit it.                                                                                                                                                              
They seemed to grow before our eyes, especially their little wing feathers. They knew how to scratch for food right away, getting right down to business.

These little peeps seem so tiny and fragile that I spend lots of time checking the warmth in their box. After sunset, they have a heat lamp on a chain so I can adjust the height every hour. They only need a 100-watt bulb on these warm late summer nights.

I called Lis to report that they survived the first night in my care. She requested I take their pics daily so she can watch their amazing progress.

Here's the day two photo of adorable Lucy, the redhead, in a pensive mood.

The Bees Will Be Sad

Yesterday, I made a startling discovery on my way to the river. Part of  the huge basswood tree was down, almost blocking the path.  Beau sensed that something was amiss. The tree's massive horizontal branch must have reached a critical weight and broken off. I couldn't get close on account of the poison ivy, but a glimpse through the fallen branches revealed the spot where it used to be. I could be mistaken, but it looked like the tree was hollow there.

If it is hollow, my concern is the bees may decide to move in because it's so close to food shopping. I can only hope that my springtime sugar syrup will induce them to stay where they are. Pay no attention to that ideal bee tree, I say.

There will be lots of basswood firewood for me to cut next winter, but that will be small recompense for losing some of my special honey crop and the inevitable decline of the tree. Oh well, these things happen. The bees are very clever. Probably they know of other basswood trees in the many miles of choice locations along the Grand River. That surely can't be the only one.

At the hive this morning, the bees had gathered on the landing board and the hive front. I tiptoed away, not wishing to disturb a memorial service for the fallen tree limb.

Giant Ragweed Harvest

Every year at this time, I cut down the huge ragweed plants that have gotten past me. Most are over six feet tall.

These giants can be pulled up easily when they are small, but now it's another story. An elephant could do it. I use the long-handled pruner and yell, "Timber!"

Supposedly these herbs can be used as compost activators. I'll have to cut some up and add them to the compost, as soon as I get a machete. Meanwhile, it's easier to just haul them down to the brush pile.

Along the river bank, by the bridge,  thousands of these monster weeds have assembled to enjoy the riparian life. It's a closed community.

Even though there are more waiting for me to fell, this load is nothing to sneeze at.

The Fate of the Late Veggies

The beets should have been harvested weeks ago, if not more. In the past, I've grown Long Season Beets, but this year Harris Seeds sent an apology instead of seeds. It turned out that there was  a complete crop failure. Hmmm.

Consequently, I kept waiting for the Detroit beets to get bigger.  Some finally did. Taking a chance on them being tough and woody, I cooked them. They were tender and delicious, so now I have some to freeze.

The carrots were another story. Failing to harvest them in a timely manner hurt their feelings, leaving them embittered. After I'd planted, weeded, watered and otherwise spent lots of time on them, I couldn't just pull the puny things and put them directly into the compost. They fell into the category of not good enough to eat and too good to throw out.

The fridge was crammed full of other late veggies that I hadn't the heart or the appetite to eat. From a mere four broccoli plants, I froze 31 me-sized packages of  broccoli. I  ate quantities of them until I couldn't  face another bite. Even during the heat, they put on side shoots, which I dutifully picked. They were in the fridge, waiting to turn to compost. I finally stopped picking them. No doubt I shall be charged with veggie neglect.

Some late, somewhat rubbery green beans were sharing the same fate. I'd frozen plenty and even made some dilled green beans. God knows I've tried. Sob.

Since I knew I'd never eat any of them, I ran them all through the food processor and worked them into the soil where I'd pulled up some strapping big foxtails. Guilt eliminated.

Dog Days End Today, Supposedly

The extreme heat looked like it was breaking, at last. There had been adequate rain, usually after I watered from the cistern. For weeks, it was a bad idea to do much outside in the oppressive heat and humidity.

As predicted, the weeds pulled ahead and now needed to be dealt with.  The weeds didn't look too scary from up on the deck, but an apple tree and some hibiscus were in danger of disappearing  from the landscape entirely if I didn't get in there.

The first step was to yank out the cow guard fence and pull up the fence posts so I could use the weed-eater. The lawn mower would just push the weeds down. The fence, however, was secured with lots of grasses and weeds and it wasn't the work of an instant to pull it out.

The fence made it hard to mow around the tree. However, I was glad to have the protection for  that young tree when several enormous cows stopped by recently. Cows are like the weeds, much more terrifying up close. They brought their largish calves. I helped the guy who owns the herd, who was foolishly trying to herd them by himself. I carried an old broom, held aloft to give me a more imposing stature.  He said they had pushed down a fence and gotten out, so I lucked out to not have more over here than I did.

Another apple tree that I planted years ago didn't survive a cow using it as a scratching post. So, this tree has been perhaps over-protected since when it was a young whip that didn't even have limbs. It now has two apples. It's a Golden Delicious.

Step two of the land reclamation was to use the weed-eater. But the grass wound around the spinning trimmer head, making it more work to stop and untangle it than it was worth. I was able to use the hedge shears, which was a big bother, too.

The hillside by the garden has great soil. In springtime, after huge rains, I pulled up lots of chicory, those pretty but pesky weeds with foot-long roots. A few days ago, I yanked out a few more after a six inch rain. As far as weeds go,though, chicory was only a drop in the bucket. The others either have three foot long roots or the roots are somehow anchored in place forever.

In spring, I envisioned the entire slope covered with lovely perennial flowers. I didn't get around to planting any, possibly because the row of lovely perennial iris I planted there a few years ago got choked out by those invasive grasses and bindweed.

When I say that I actually love weeding, let me make it clear that what I like is weeding in cultivated ground, where the weeds can be pulled up out of the friable soil. What has gone on in the hibiscus patch is nothing less than a return to grassland. These are weeds that can only be dislodged with explosives. There will be no weeding as such in the area. What may work is smothering with cardboard topped with anvils. I don't have any anvils, so maybe some loose bricks and quantities of mulchie stuff.

The chicken coop needs to be cleaned out, which will be a start. A few weeks ago, the three old hens vanished. I'd like to think that they just wandered off and are scratching for bugs in a nearby field. However, knowing how they always loved the comfort and security of Fort Flocks at night, I have to admit that something got them. There weren't even any telltale feathers left behind. I miss them.

At first, I vowed to not have more chickens. The problem was the eggs that I bought didn't really taste like eggs. One would think that free range brown eggs would be just as good. Instead, they were pale replicas of delicious breakfasts of yesteryear.

Thus, I'll be bringing home some chicks when the local farm store next offers them, at the end of the month.

These Surprise Lilies add lots of cheer to the landscape. They make beautiful bouquets that smell a lot like mothballs.

Meanwhile, a return to heat advisory days has put the hill clearing project on hold. I would be less than honest if I said I was disappointed. Perhaps tomorrow will be better, but today's heat index of 108 degrees at least had some benefit.

I trust the cows, now in the pasture across the road, will not get out before I get the fence back up around the apple tree.