A Senile Rooster

Poor Rupert is unsteady on his legs these days. Not only that, but he is acting nuts. He sometimes has trouble standing and other times he squawks loudly and runs crazily for some distance. At other times, he hides under one of the porches or stuffs his body into a yew bush.

At first, I thought the strong winds were catching him in the tail and propelling him. That theory proved incorrect when he still ran when it was calm. (His head has not been cut off.)

He sometimes loses it entirely, falls down on his tail, flaps his huge wings and squawks loudly. The most unfortunate part of rooster's dementia is that he no longer stays with the girls and protects them.

                                              A Ga-Ga Hen
Buffy, having been pecked on her head one time too many by the rooster and his accomplice, the Rhode Island Red hen, has taken to walking backwards. Her latest nutso behavior is to run squawking around the yard. A few of days ago, the routine sounds of  distress changed tenor. I found Buffy in the jaws of one of the neighbor dogs, who was unable to resist running prey. Enough feathers were pulled out to fill a small pillow.

She stayed in the nest box for days. Yesterday morning, I found Rupert  stuffed in the box with her, absently pecking her on the head. He looked like he was trying to remember the rest of his routine. I pulled him out.

Yes, I know I should put him out of his misery or leave him out for a coyote meal. With all his eccentricities, he does manage to wander back to the coop at dusk. He no longer can get on the roost, making him a restless,  roostless rooster. He beds down in the straw or in one of the nest boxes.

Rupert is only three or four years old, but in chicken years, it's time to cull fowl.

Another Fun Mother-Daughter Experience

Lissa works as a dental assistant so is unfazed by anything medical. In addition, she has always been good with critters. Beau loves her, because she took him in when he was a puppy abandoned along a country road. He thinks he's still that puppy when he's around her.

Lis is quite handy with all sorts of repairs. Yesterday, she replaced a part in my washing machine so I didn't have to buy a new washer.  Beau was a little worried when he saw her lying on the laundry room floor. She was able to complete the job while being licked in the face.

The rooster had been having trouble walking and roosting because his spurs had grown out to where they hit his opposite foot. So after dark last night, I helped  Lis carry out an operation in the chicken coop. Armed with a pliers and a hot potato in an oven mitt, Lis picked up Rupert and held him upside down. I held the flashlight while she applied the baked potato to each of his spurs in turn. Lissa assured me the spur has no feeling and is like a fingernail. Then she twisted off the spurs with the pliers. I put cornstarch on the little remaining stubs of the spurs, but there was scant bleeding to stanch.

Here is the outpatient this morning. This is one of the spurs.

When I got her bill for those few minutes of  medical service, I was astounded.

                         Patient: Rupert the Rooster
                         Date of Procedure: March 4, 2016

                         Anesthesia: $500.25 (25 cents for the potato)
                         Surgery: $1,000.
                         Home Visit: $1/mile, $75

                         Total: $1,575.25

                         Please remit at once.

She performed this procedure on him a couple of years ago. It wasn't nearly this much then, in fact it was free. 

She settled for homemade brownies.  

The Nursery is Filling Up

                                               Announcing New Arrivals

                  Date:  February 20, 2016

                  Baby Packman and Atlantic Broccoli

                  Baby Early Round Dutch and Bravo Cabbages

                  Weight:   Scant gram

                   Height:   Scant inch

                   Proud Parent: JoDee


Here they are, enjoying a brief outing in the afternoon sunshine. They sunburn easily, so spend most of their days under the florescent lights. Gradually they will be able to be outside all day. Nights are still below freezing.

There are lots of broccoli starts. some for me and some for Is and Lis. However, it's a little skimpy on the cabbages, only eight. Next, I'll sow some from a Pinetree packet of  mixed cabbage types. It will be fun to see what they grow up to be.

These little guys are soon to be joined by lots of flowers, which are on the neonatal shelf, with bottom heat. Some of them are too tiny to photograph and some haven't even sprouted yet.  I await them expectantly. They require lots of babying but don't cry in the night.

Winter's Back Is Broken

I often wonder why I always welcome February. It's true that in the past, there have been some spring-like days thus far in this month. However, mostly it is bitterly cold and bleak. Better for me to look at my flower pictures from last summer than dwell on the view outside.

Outdoorsy as I am, I've been a bit housebound with the cold winds. Every day, I bundle up and fetch more firewood, empty the wood stove ashes, gather kindling, carry water to the flock and scurry back inside. If there are signs of spring, I just can't see them. Tears are dripping on my glasses and running down my cheeks.

It was twenty-four degrees this morning, not gardening weather.

When Is and Molly came recently, we made garden plans and had a brief tour of the garden and flower beds. Above the roar of the icy wind, I told them where the marvelous veggies and flowers will be. No one believed a word of  it.

There is an old saying, "A February spring isn't worth a pin." I understand that's true for the fruit trees, which need for the cold to continue unabated until bloom time. But what about us? At this time of year, I long for some pleasant weather.

The good news from the weather radio is in a few days, temperatures will be in the sixties. I want to believe it. I can't let myself  remember how often better weather has appeared in the forecast. It was always a few days hence, never actually arriving.

Meanwhile, I'm crawling back into bed and have set my alarm for later in the week.

Oh, wait! After writing the above, the cold winds from the north gave way to gentle breezes from the southeast. The temperature got up to FIFTY degrees, practically balmy.

I rushed outside to this fencing hoop structure that I put up in the fall before the ground was frozen.

Happy to have the plastic film on hand,  I completed the project. Well, that was after getting Iris out of the tunnel. The plan is for the sun, when it chooses to come out, to warm the soil so I can work it enough to plant the early seeds.

Next, I did a plastic pots inventory in the workshop. There are plenty, but I'll get more seed-starting and potting soil soon at Planters. Broccoli and cabbage seeds are demanding to be planted soon. They have tiny, rather shrill voices.

Giant Bird Feeder

This is the deluxe version of the window bird feeder, the deck feeder. I screwed the aluminum pie pan to the railing, where it is easy to see if it's empty. It needs refilling about six times a day. I'm offering a smorgasbord of black oil sunflower seeds, cracked corn and milo.

I keep my Audubon bird book handy. Even the resident Mockingbird comes to the feeder, plus some cute Harris Sparrows.

It's hard not to have the Cardinals be my favorite. Even on these cloudy days, when everything seems brown or gray, they are standouts. Inspired by their cheery color, I'm knitting myself a bright red sweater. They may not even fly away when I go out to refill the feeder.

The Bluejays are greedy pigs, chowing down and swallowing the sunflower seeds whole. This feeder offers a choice of take-out or dine-in.

The other day, when it was snowy, I had to keep sweeping off the deck. Plenty of seed falls through the cracks, not in a bad way,  for the birds feeding under the deck.

One of the special functions of the deck feeder is it provides an Entertainment Center for naughty Iris.

The Outside Critters

Marmalade is the latest cat to show up for food. He's pretty wild, having come around last year but not staying to have a snack then.

The problem of course is the dog. Although Beau lives with two indoor/outdoor/indoor/outdoor cats, he goes sort of berserk when any strange cat shows up. He lunges himself at the sliding glass door to the back deck. I'm trying to train him to accept another feline.

When Marmalade tamed down enough to let me pet him, I let Beau smell my hand to get the drift that I was fraternizing with the enemy outside. Once, I put Beau under restraint in a far room when the cat was eating. Usually, Marmalade comes after dark. One night, he was patiently waiting for grub while the snow gently covered his back. Poor baby!

At this point, I think this cat would come inside. However, there's the matter of  lamp shades. Just last week, I replaced yet another one. A fly was buzzing around the light when Iris sprang for it, bringing the entire floor lamp down. She no doubt was emulating her African relatives.

A chase involving the big dog and a strange cat doesn't bear thinking about. I still recall the fiasco with the bat flying around the bedroom with two cats and the dog in hot pursuit.

There have been other wild cats here. There was Fluffy, the one with matted fur and Midnight, a black one that only came after dark. I prefer to believe that they migrated to other environs, rather than that they met with untimely ends. Chris tells me that my place has not been a haven for cats. Nine cats, even some indoor ones, have died or gone missing in the years since I've been here. Even though the playhouse has a cat door and a pillow on a table by a window, I have never seen one of the "wilds" using it.

The word "feral" is popular now, to describe homeless cats. Somehow it conveys a picture to me of  a bobcat or a cougar. I did see bobcat tracks in the mud down at the river one summer, too cool.

Speaking of wild things, here is one of the resident 'possums. He was hiding from me in the chicken coop. Adorable though they are, they do like eggs, so I shooed this guy out before shutting up the flock for the night.

When I lived at the farm, I found a possum in one of the nest boxes, waiting for a hen to lay an egg in her opened mouth. I know it was a female, because I could see tiny pink babies in her pouch. That was a great treat for me.

Beau cannot resist possums. He acts like they are his favorite stuffed toy. He carries them around for a while and then, finding them strangely unresponsive, he lays them down. He must have a gentle mouth, though, because no matter how many times he gets one, it is able to recover shortly and waddle down to its home under the playhouse.

I sometimes toss over-ripe bananas or apples under the playhouse, just to help the possums get through the bug-less winter.The bigger one, possibly the mama to this one, is a beautiful silver. I don't name them, preferring to call them all "Sweetheart."

The River in Winter

The Grand River is quite entertaining. This year, the banks changed from lots of sapling trees to lots of sand, due to the high water all summer.

Since I was down there the other day, the river apparently came up, froze along the edges and then went back down. It left these big slabs of broken ice. Okay, I admit it was too cold for me to check on it, being minus three degrees. The wind chill was minus fifteen, making me not really care what the river was doing.

This spot is the beaver slide, much steeper than it looks. Beau is not venturing down it. All that water left ripple marks everywhere, very pretty in a tropical beach sort of way, except for the ice.

This picture was taken on Wednesday. On Thursday, the temperature got up to 55, but another cold spell awaits on the weekend. Such is winter in the Midwest. I am grateful for these little warmish spells, when I am tempted to plant the garden. The only thing that is stopping me is the ground is frozen.

Free Range Flock

It turns out I was needlessly worried that Rupert the Rooster would lead the girls astray. Lissa encouraged me to let them all out, assuring me that they would come in at dusk. They do!

Here, they are racing towards me, expecting bread crusts or some other wonderful treat. It's true, they are spoiled. Their favorite snack is pancakes, which they encourage me to hold while they gulp them down.

Buffy still gives Rupert a wide berth, but the entire flock of four are seen here and there, enjoying their freedom.

Beau doesn't look twice at them, and Sandy has learned they are not to be bothered. Lissa says that a rooster will fight off a critter threatening his girls. Rupert does flap his wings and look menacing.

The ground under the apple tree has been downright cultivated by the chickens. Overwintering insects there will not be resuming their destructive little lives in springtime.

On drizzly days, the chickens' feathers repel the rain, except for the rooster, who looks kind of scrawny about the neck when wet.

On bitterly cold  or snowy days, I keep them inside, but otherwise they are free to roam. I may have to fence off some of the flower beds when the daffodils and Siberian Irises come up, but will leave their dust bath spot.

In exchange for their freedom, the hens are giving me a few eggs weekly, which is pretty good for this time of year.

The added benefit was the hens regained their back feathers, missing all summer. With something else to do besides service them, Rupert turned his attention to scratching up fallen leaves. It's good for a guy to have a hobby, I always say.

Stocking Up on Seeds Time

                                                     My Research Coffee Table

Christmas brought some fabulous gardening gifts. My friend Karen found out somehow that I was gluing my old Annuals book. She surprised me by replacing both it and the Perennials one. Learning from some source that I have trouble keeping track of the days, she also got me this cute cat calendar. From my granddaughter Carolyn, home for Christmas from college in faraway Georgia, I received this Old Farmer's Almanac, without which I cannot live. Notice inside the front cover is a deal from Parks Seeds! Nothing gets done without coffee and fresh half  and half, plus Isabelle's homemade biscotti, to die for. I'm spending my Christmas cash from my son Chris on more daylilies.

Now, down to business. It would seem that after all these years of making garden plans, I'd have an easier time of it. Not true.

              The Frost Date

For starters, there is the frost date. That has to be known in order to plan when to start the indoor seeds, which are all figured  weeks from last frost as the rule. Of course anyone would know when the last frost happens. In Missouri, though, the last frost can be four weeks after the "usual" date.

To make it more challenging, we frequently have temps in the eighties in March. Then it can snow on the daffodils in April. In fact, it almost always does. They don't seem to mind a lot.

My records at this location, where I've lived the last eight years, show frosts usually in April but slightly more in  May, so I have to toss out the generally accepted April date, and wait. The odd thing is that the last frost is only known in  mid-May when it becomes apparent that I could have planted my seedlings four weeks earlier. That's all very well, better late than too early, but what about the broccoli and cabbage, that like cool weather? They have to have enough leaves that frost doesn't bother them unduly, so I am starting them under lights in February.

                                                      What the Seed Catalogs Don't Tell You

The next problem is reticence on the part of the seed companies. Yesterday, I considered ordering some carnation seeds. I checked several reference books about them, finally getting the truth in an old volume. It revealed  that carnations prefer cool damp summers. Why not be up front and mention that at once? I see where the seed companies are motivated by sales, but why should the other references withhold this valuable information?

My problem here in the Midwest is wildly fluctuating temperatures and moisture.  This year,  I think I'll just ignore all plant lifestyle preferences, start all sorts of flowers and see what survives.

                                                       The Co$t
Those of us who do not  have unlimited seed budgets have to shop around for the most seeds per packet and lowest price. Once again, my biggest order went to Pinetree Garden Seeds (superseeds.com).  Then there are the must-have varieties only offered by one company, such as Little Sweetie Peas from Stokes and Long Season Beets and Bravo Cabbages from Harris. I have to have those.

                                                    Other Considerations
For the vegetable garden, there is the fun of checking last season's planting notes and making appropriate crop rotation plans. It's enough to make my head swim. I also like to plant by the light or dark of the moon, but not when starting seeds under lights. Let's not get carried away. For seeds that I've saved, I check my list of vegetable seed viability.

The midwinter high spot for me is the meeting of the family gardeners at Planters in downtown Kansas City.  There, we will get our bulk seeds, spices, special potting mixes, more plant pots and trays. I can barely wait.



Meanwhile, I'll continue to burn my mind to a crisp placing the seed orders.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Only a few more days. I can barely wait. My preparations are complete. When I nestle all snug in my flannel snowman sheets at night, I  have visions not of sugar-plums ( whatever they are) but of  broccoli.

One of my calendars says it is the First Day of Winter. That's wrong. It's my favorite time, the Winter Solstice, after which it is perfectly permissible to think about the coming year's garden plans.

I can't help it, I'm a gardener. That's how we are. There is this pull from the earth as the days finally start to get longer.  Soon it will be slowly moving toward life and living!

Yes, I know  "when the days begin to lengthen, the cold begins to strengthen."  Let's not dwell on that. This is the time for big plans, made easier because there is no danger of hard work for months. It's armchair gardening at its finest.

Although I am prohibited by a self-imposed rule to refrain from looking at the new seed and plant catalogs until Christmas afternoon, there's no stopping me from making soil amendments.

Already, I have been sprinkling bits of charcoal from the wood stove on the garden and lily bed.  I've added some chicken manure from the top of the nest box to the compost heap.

The soil is just lying there, cold and wet and forlorn. I was not able to work much organic matter into it last summer, with all that rain. However, there's no sense in dwelling on the failures of gardens past.

Now, it's not possible for me to glance at the front border when bringing in wood, without noticing some spots where new plants could go. Also seen are places where nasty invasive grass has taken hold. I mentally destroy it, using tiny land mines. Kablowie!

I had to glue the binding on one of my favorite garden books, Annuals for Every Purpose. It's a great reference book, but doesn't seem to be holding up under normal use. I was checking why my Gazanias are growing so well now, after many hard freezes, when they are supposed to be frost sensitive and prefer heat and dry conditions. I missed the part about digging them up in the fall for house plants. Now, they are in awfully wet soil and I daren't risk it.

A few days ago, we had so much rain that the river got out of its banks again.The Grand at the flood is a mighty river. Perhaps this season I should concentrate on wetlands plantings. Right now, I could just dig a hole anywhere for an instant lily pond.

While not peeking at the catalogs, I've worked puzzles featuring flowers and seed packets, watched Greenfingers again and fall asleep praying for a better year for cabbages.

Of course I'm ready for Christmas. I've baked three kinds of cookies. There will be a turkey dinner. The lights are up. My presents are wrapped. Plans are made for me to see the grandkids and my grown children. No one can tell that my thoughts are sneakily turning to the upcoming gardening year. That's if they don't know me very well.