My Water Boy

CLUCK, CLUCK, CLUCK!!!

   Despite all the times a certain little boy of mine makes me cry or provokes me to violently slam my cabinet doors shut,  I can't put into words how much I love him. Thankfully, this winter isn't proving to be as harsh as last years and we've even been blessed with "almost" spring-like weather the past several days. This means Carl and I can venture outside, even without having to wear our ski pants! It's been much easier work on the Shawhan farm thanks to Mother Nature's generous gift - Dan was finally able to pry the barn doors free this weekend from the ice that was keeping them permanently shut!

 

  We've been trying to take advantage of this nice weather spell while we can. Yesterday afternoon Carl and I went up to the dairy and took in the sights (and smells) while riding the gator. Today it was back to work out in our own barn.

 

  Carl already has a great attitude when it comes to work. He is always more than eager to "help" me in whatever task it is I need to get done (even when in the long run it creates more work for yours truly.) For example, when I clean out the horse stalls he likes to point and grunt to all the fecal balls that I don't pick up with the manure fork. He has even been so kind as to pick them up and bring them to me. YES! You read that correctly. The first time it happened I almost died. The air sucked out of my lungs and when I was able to gasp it back in again I ran in slow motion over to him all the while crying out "NNNNOOOO!!!!" in a deep, drawn out voice. Well, that has been a couple of months ago now, and Carl is alive and well, so I guess it didn't hurt him too bad.  I will be keeping a thing of soap out in the barn from now on for such instances in the future. (It's funny because other moms apologize for their kids sharing germs with Carl and I just think and laugh to myself, 'You have no idea what my son has touched.')

 

  Anyhoo, other than pointing out "You missed a spot", I think Carl's favorite barn chore is changing the chicken water. He has always liked doing this, from carrying the lid of the waterer down to the spigot

 to splashing his hands in the full container, he now knows that when I open the coop door, the water is probably coming out.

 

  Today was no different. Though he failed to bring me he lid, which is fine because I don't need it at the spigot anyway, he did pretty much put the lid on all by himself! I was a little impressed!

  This must be some gene he got from Dan because Dan's first jobs on the dairy when he was a little boy were to refill the calf water buckets and feed milk to them.

 

  Carl got the stubborn gene from me, because after I helped line the lid up on the waterer, it turned into a  clash of the Irish temperament tug-of-war fight to get the waterer out of his hands so I could put it back in the coop. Carl can carry a lid; he can't carry a full container of water.

 

  Thankfully the melt down didn't last long and I can't get mad at a kid who wants to help.

 

  And, might I add, that my little water boy is a whole lot cuter than that Sandler guy!

Frozen Eggs

CLUCK, CLUCK, CLUCK!!!

 

  Yup, that's right folks. One evening this past week we discovered a frozen egg! (Poultry eggs...NOT MY very own personal eggs. I'm not some over the hill celebrity who needs to preserve her reserves for the day her career will be over, though sometimes that lifestyle looks appealing!)

 

  Anyhoo, one evening Dan brought in the day's worth of eggs. I decided to make scrambled eggs for Carl's dinner that night and just reached for some of the fresh ones straight from the coop. We hadn't even put them in the refrigerator yet. The first one I broke open was just fine. The second was frozen! Or at least in the process of freezing. The 'white' was a slushy consistency and ice crystals were there. Needless to say I scooped this mess out and got another. (It even sang to me, "Let it go! Let it go!")

 

  Even in the bitter throes of last winter's polar vortex, I don't remember getting frozen eggs. Of course, that's not to say we didn't have a few. I suppose it's possible to have several frozen eggs when they sit out in the coop all day, especially if they were one of the very first eggs to be laid that morning (some of the biddies are 'early birds'...the pun was intended there). I guess there's no reason if they come in frozen they couldn't 'thaw out' in the refrigerator since it's not zero degrees in there. 

 

  Hmm, a mystery of life, we may never know the true answer...

 

  On the topic of this freezing weather- we have been keeping the chickens penned in the coop lately. This kills several birds with one stone in that:

 

1.)  We magically get more eggs! No one can escape the kennel area and go play Easter Bunny and hide their day's work;

 

2.) The chickens would just stand around the kennel all day huddled together. It's not like they go anywhere when it's this cold; and

 

3.) I have peace of mind that probably nothing is going to come in and attack them. You never know when a predator is looking for food in these conditions.

 

  Despite maybe being a bit testy they are penned in a lot, everyone seems to be handling the cold just fine!

False Alarm and a Mouse in the House

CLUCK, CLUCK CLUCK!!!

 

  Happy New Year from all of us here on the Shawhan farm! Before we delve into a new year of chronicles and characters, I feel like I would be cheating everyone if  I didn't share a story that took place the day before New Year's Eve...

 

  The first event took place in the hours of late afternoon, say around 4:00 or 4:30 P.M. (Late enough that all the hens should have been done squirting out their eggs by then.) I was upstairs in Carl's room sorting through all his books and re-organizing them on his bookshelf, which is located in Carl's closet. I had to move the bookshelf to the closet because otherwise a certain little boy would take his books, one at a time, and toss them over the gate and down the stairs. I decided to teach him early on how one respects works of literature, no matter how small, and took the temptation away all together and so far the plan has worked. Over the holidays, Carl accumulated several more books, including some that were Dan's and grandpa's, so I was sorting through the masterpieces of the Little Golden Books, Stan and Jan Berenstain and Mother Goose, when I heard a loud ruckus coming from the barn. At first I didn't think anything of it...I mean, how many times have those girls cried wolf, just to have me fly out there and have nothing be wrong?

 

  I completely forgot about the commotion when the bookshelf came toppling over and all of Carl's literary works fell on top of me with a soundtrack of expletives and a fear Carl was hurt. Thankfully, the cascade missed his little legs and he was content to sit down and start flipping through pages. As I began to replace the books, I heard the chickens again. Sighing, I stood up and decided Carl was happy for the moment, hurdled the gate at the top of the stairs and ran out to the barn.

 

  My original thought was the Mink Mob has struck again. What was I going to do about it? Stab it with the pitch fork? Shoot it? I could probably figure out how to shot the antique .22 Dan keeps in the barn for such occurrences, but it would take precious time the Mob could use to get away. Plus, by this now, I was sure we already had a s few casualties.

 

  When I got there I saw almost everyone milling around in the Kennel Bar area. They seemed pretty calm...not that edgy energy they get after an attack. I looked into the coop still expecting to see feathers and headless bodies against the door, but I didn't see either of those. All that was in the coop was an excited, and very VOCAL, Orpington perched on the edge of the nest box. Maybe she really was just announcing her work for the day was done? All that commotion for an egg? Just to be sure, I went into the coop and looked all around, even in and under the nest box. Well, no mink and no dead bodies. Same thing for the kennel area. As I was turning around, a motion and noise caught my attention. A HUGE white cat, with no tail I noticed, leapt from the hay and ran through the barn, under the horse gate and out into the pasture. It scared me half to death, and perhaps this was what had the chickens tail feathers all in a twist. Shrugging my shoulders, I returned to house concluding that the whole fiasco was just a false alarm.

 

  So a little later that evening, after sunset and before Dan got home, I was talking to my mother-in-law on the phone and discussing New Year's Eve plans. Carl and I were in the office. He was standing and looking out the window and I was spinning around in the office chair. On one rotation, I spun around and was facing the doorway when I looked down and there was a grey mouse staring at me with wide black eyes. My first impression was that it was a cat toy...after all, would a mouse really be sitting out in the open with a noisy little boy and chatty Chicken Lady? My brain quickly put the pieces of the puzzle together...I had seen my cat Cy sitting and starring in that exact same place before...the corner of the room where Dan keeps his golf bag, and this didn't look like the mouse toys Santa had left in Cy's stocking.

 

  Mid-sentence with my mother-in-law I exclaim, "There's a mouse in my house!" and I quickly drew up my legs, expecting the office chair to protect me from the motionless varmint.

 

  "There's a what?" She asked, confused, however her voice was laced with a trace of humor.

 

  "A mouse! It's here in my house! It's just sitting there looking at me! How did it get in here? It's in the office!"

 

  "Oh. We have mice too. Just set a trap for it."

 

  "But it's looking right at me!" I was finally able to get out the chair. "Come on, Carl. Hurry, hurry, hurry!" I grabbed Carl's arm and we raced into the kitchen, my mind racing as to what to do with it. I had no clue where the cat was...and if I found him there was no guarantee he would kill the thing. He'd probably bat it around enough to get the mouse moving again and it would get away. And there was NO WAY I was going to knowingly have a mouse running around in my house!

 

  By this time I was in slight hysterics, Carl was yelling because I had raised my voice, and my mother-in-law was laughing uncontrollably. I kept repeating, "I have to go there's a mouse in my house!" But I never did hang up the phone. Finally I got into the cupboard and found a large, heavy bowl. If I could trap until Dan got home, I'd let him dispose of it.

 

  It was a tense situation; me on the phone with a toddler walking up to this mouse, who just sat there. I was guessing the thing was alive...it hadn't been there earlier in the day. I was only about 5% sure of my plan...I was dealing with a mouse after all...surely it was going to dart away when I approached it.

 

  In the end, I came out the victor. I was able to walk up to it and place the bowl over top of it. I made sure Carl left the bowl alone until Dan got home and he picked it up with gloved hands and tossed the beast outside.  I did my part and caught the thing!

 

 The next evening, I was resting assured that all my cluckies were alive and well and that, as far as I know, we don't have a mouse in the house.

 

A Christmas Story ~ As Told by the Chicken Lady ~

  It was a cold December night, close to Christmas. It was late...Dan was asleep in the recliner, tired from waking up at 4:30 several mornings in a row. As I felt bad for him, I decided to leave him in slumber and volunteer myself to head outside for one last time that day.

  I grumbled to myself as I pulled on my poop encrusted ski pants over the thin layer of my pajamas. All I wanted to do myself was climb into a warm bed. It had been a long day at the mall, standing in long lines (apparently checking a customer out at Christmas time was the equivalent of performing brain surgery), my back still ached from the miles of walking, searching for the perfect gift for the people who have everything, and I had been close to passing out on several occasions from the heat of my winter coat in an over crowded store...oh and said coat now reeked of mall food from the food court.

  "I'm gonna have extra laundry to do tomorrow." I mumbled to myself, then cursed out loud from stabbing my thumb with the baby pin used to close those buttless ski pants. I sucked at the drop of blood oozing from my thumb then pulled on my gloves, thinking not for the first time, that it took longer to bundle up then it did to actually do the work that needed done.

  When I stepped outside, the crisp night air stung my cheeks and I hunched my shoulders and buried my hands into my coat pockets. It was a quiet night; the only sound that reached my ears was the soft crunch of my boots on the gravel driveway.

  "Not gonna have a white Christmas either." I said sarcastically aloud.

  Almost to the barn, I heard out of nowhere, deep and ancient baritone voices sing on the breeze that also blew with it the hint of wood smoke from Mike's chimney across the road:

"O come O come Emmanuel,

And ransom captive Israel..."

 

  I stopped dead in my tracks as the hairs on the back of my neck stood up straight. I felt the goose bumps race over my body even under the thickness of the heavy coat I wore. Now the only sound I heard was the blood hammering in my ears. As puffs of air came from my lips and hung frostily in the winter air about my face, I slowly turned around and looked behind me. All I could see was our house with it's cherry Christmas lights and inviting glow.

  I thought of Dan, asleep in the chair, and made a step to go back and get him. He knew how chicken I was in the dark...YES, I'm almost 31 and I'm scared of the dark! But usually it's the thought of the Exorcist chick standing in the glow of the night guard light that scares the crap out of me or that deranged clown on American Horror Story: Freak Show... not men's voices floating on air. In fact, maybe I didn't hear anything after all. Perhaps it was just a figment of my imagination.

  But when I turned back around, a huge light shone down on our barn, far greater than that of any night guard light. Again, I heard the voices on the wind, louder this time and yet, less frightening:

 

"Silent night, holy night,

Shepherds quake at the sight.

Glories stream from heaven above,

Heavenly hosts sing 'Hallelujah'.

Christ the savior is born!

Christ the savior is born!"

 

Completely stunned, I walked the last few paces to the barn with my head up looking at the sky. Only when I tripped and fell over the barn threshold, did I come crashing back to my senses. I pushed myself back on my feet, not bothering to brush off the strands of hay and straw that clung to my clothing.

  Jimmy and Charlie stood in their stalls, heads over their gates and looking at me. I blinked. They didn't blink. I licked my dry lips and looked over at the chicken coop. All the chickens were out in the kennel, lined up along the fence, quiet as church mice. The steers too were all inside and standing in a perfect line at the fence of their pen, looking in to where we used to store their hay under the low mow in the back of the barn.

  My heart sped up again and I began to shake as I crept slowly forward. As I did so, Jimmy and Charlie turned their heads to follow me down the aisle and so did the chickens; as if I were walking down the aisle on my wedding day.

 The voices sang again in time to my light footsteps:

 

"Why lies he in such mean estate,

Where ox and ass are feeding?

Good Christians, fear, for sinners here,

The silent word is pleading.

Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,

The cross be borne for me, for you,

Hail, hail the word made flesh,

The babe, the son of Mary."

 

   By the time I had walked down to the end of the barn, I thought I was again about ready to pass out. When I stopped and turned to the right, all the blood drained from my face and I had to clutch an old beam for support.
 

 

  When the voices sang out again, it was with a thunderous boom, louder than any rumble of thunder from the strongest of summer storms:

 

"Fall on your knees,

O hear the angels' voices!"

 

  And I did. I fell, right there in the loose hay and straw and chicken poop, on my hands and knees. Tears blurred my vision. I shook and sobbed out loud as I thought of own precious son, who means more to me than my own breath and life, pierced with nails and spears and other sickening means of brutality. My own little boy, who was also fast asleep, but warm in his clean crib surrounded with his favorite soft furry toys.

  Throughout my emotional outburst, no one said a word. I was aware of the steers, quiet save for their soft breathing, all seven of them standing at the fence with their heads bowed low. I was also aware of the voices, not booming this time -I didn't know how much more I could take-but in a sing-song (happy) way:

 

"Veiled in flesh the God-head see;

Hail the incarnate Deity!"

 

  Finally, as the emotional storm within me subsided, I raised my head (at the exact same time as the steers), snot pouring forth from my nose and down over my lips. I opened my mouth to try and say something, but no words came out.

  She just looked at me and smiled, and as my brain began to process things again, I thought hilariously that she didn't look anything at all like the scandalous Keisha Castle-Hughes who played her in The Nativity Story. When she looked back down at the baby in her arms, her veil and hair covered most of her face. The strong hand of her husband, who stood behind her, rested on her shoulder. I wanted to look at more, but my eyes couldn't budge from the baby.

  I have no idea how long I stayed there...maybe only seconds, or maybe it was hours. The cold was slowly seeping in through my winter clothes, my now lack of adrenaline no longer aiding them in warmth. Finally, as if on their own accord, my limbs began to move and I quietly stood up, my eyes never leaving the baby who made no more noise than what a contented newborn makes. Before I turned to leave, she looked back at me with a smile and looked beyond me to the east and nodded. I opened my mouth to ask what she meant, but before the words could be formed, I felt a force pulling me towards the entrance of the barn.

  Jimmy and Charlie were still standing at their gates, but their eyes were shut and Jimmy was resting his back foot, clearly relaxed and not wanting to be let outside that night. The chickens had all retired into the coop and I looked at the closed coop door perplexed. As I stepped over the barn threshold, all the electric lights shut off by themselves. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a small dim glow from the back of the barn.

  Finally, once out in the driveway again, I looked east and remembered that in the daylight we can see the beginnings of the Appalachian foothills. As their images came into my mind, I heard the voices for the final time that night:

 

 

"Go, tell it on the mountain,

Over the hills and everywhere;

Go, tell it on the mountain

That Jesus Christ is born!"

 

Come Along My Darlings

CLUCK, CLUCK, CLUCK!!!

 

  A couple of nights ago we decided to keep all the animals inside for the night because of the predicted rain. With that decision made, I went out a little later in the evening to tuck everyone in for the night. Now for the past several weeks, we have a group of Golden Comets who escape on a daily basis. (I'm sure we'd get more eggs each day if they were in with the rest of the flock...and I've been too lazy to search for their hoard of eggs I'm sure is out there somewhere.) Anyhoo, these broads are getting gutsier and gutsier, coming up close to the house and exploring new territories far past the safe reaches of the barn. Even as I'm typing this they are scouring the fence row at the edge of the yard.

 

  As I suited up to go outside, I could see out the window the form of two waddling chickens up the driveway towards the light of the house. They greeted me with soft clucks as I stepped out the door. As I began walking down the driveway towards the barn, they turned and followed me, seeming to be picking up the pace once they discovered where we were headed. All I could hear was the clacking of nails on the gravel and soft guttural singing all the way down the drive. When I turned around, I saw my two little darlings in a perfect line following m obediently.

 

 Not every evening is as humorous and soul touching as that one was. Usually I have to chase them back in and it's a goat rodeo of wings flapping, straw flying, cursing and squawking before everyone is safely inside for the night. But I'll take the treasured moments while I can!

One Fine Day

CLUCK, CLUCK, CLUCK!!!

 

  These past couple of days have been pretty special. Just when you think you can't love someone anymore, you discover that you can.

 

  Yesterday, in particular, was a simple kind of day. It was beautiful and sunshiny, warm enough to go outside and take advantage of, but Old Man Winter's presence was still apparent. Even though there have been acceptable days to venture out of doors before yesterday, the Chicken Lady was unprepared to take her youngster out for long periods of time.

 

  Last Friday Carl had his 18 month well visit check. After his doctor appointments, I like to hit up the local thrift store because you never know what goodies you might find. I was really hoping to score a snowsuit that would fit Carl this winter. I'm sorry, but I'll be darned if I'm going to spend a decent amount of money on something he's only going to wear this winter...and watch it be a mild winter at that! The whole episode was truly as if it was meant to be. I walked inside and went right to the infants/toddlers rack and there it was. An 18 month pair of ski pants! I couldn't believe my luck! I was scared to pick them up because they were on the very end of the rack, almost as if someone had put them there while they looked at other things. I half expected someone to come up and start an argument with me, like fighting over the last Black Friday door buster. I kept looking around...I probably looked like I was about to steal something...built up my courage and swiped the ski pants.

 

 I basically did steal those ski pants. $2.19 later, my kid is going to be warm this winter while he's outside. Peace of mind is priceless.

 

  So anyhoo, yesterday I dressed Carl is his new (and freshly washed) ski pants and winter coat and we went outside to visit the chickens. Carl was very excited to get back to his favorite place...outside!

 

 We went and visited the chickens first. He got right to work thrusting hay and straw through the kennel bars...

 

Though the ladies were excited to see their cherub friend, I think they were disappointed Carl didn't have any real treats for them. Aside from the debris of the barn floor.

 

 After our visit to the barn, Carl helped me pick up all (ok, maybe 2 or 3) of  the dead limbs from side yard and put them on the fire pit. We waved at passing cars and trucks, watched the school bus fly by and an unknown WHITE tractor that varoomed past. Carl also practiced stair climbing and descending on the deck steps.

 

  Eventually we found ourselves in the backyard. I was perched on the top of the knoll (our only version of a "hill"), and Carl was enjoying the act of walking up and down the slope. I thought how odd it was that in 6 months time the grass would be green and already mowed a couple of times. The leaves would be back on the trees, flowers would planted and mulched and the air would be warm.

 

 It was here that I got my idea for this particular post. It was here I looked up at the blue and cloudless sky, feeling the strength of the sun's rays on my face, that I also felt a pang of guilt. I thought about my old job in Cincinnati, and that someone my age should be sitting at desk, falling asleep at the computer and counting down the seconds to closing time. Oh, and actually making a living. Providing insurance and retirement. And here I was, basking in the sunbeams, thinking about my next blog post to the music of my toddler son's trills and babbles. As I looked at the afternoon's lighting on the side of the barn, I thought about Dan at the farm working and "making a living" so I could sit in my sunbeams and peck away at the computer to fuel my "hobby".

 

  I know what everyone says...I have the most important job there is and don't ever think that I don't "work".  Even the doctor last week told me I must be exhausted by the end of the day as we both tried to hold down a little boy, who was more interested in the cool crinkly paper on the table than he was to lay quietly so she could listen to his heartbeat. Physically exhausted, no...mentally and sometimes emotionally exhausted, yes. And because of all that, I feel bad. Guilty. Like, compared to a working mom, I have no rights to complain or to feel guilty for my hiatus from the workforce.

 

  On the flip side of things, I would feel guilty for leaving Carl to go out and be selfish; be it to work out or even sub and "work" for the day. I would feel guilty for leaving him with someone (even a paid person) all day because my place is with him. It's my place to sit there and snuggle in the mornings, to eat breakfast together and take him outside to feed the chickens hay and straw and dead leaves from the barn floor.

 

 A continuous tug-of-war that is always going on. Maybe that's true for all moms, whether they stay at home or go to work. Oh well, by the time it's all figured out, Carl will be grown and able to take care of himself. Even with all my pondering yesterday, it was still one fine day. I wouldn't trade it for anything else...even a farm fresh hard boiled deviled egg.

Who You Gonna Call???

CLUCK, CLUCK, CLUCK!!!

 

  "Who you gonna call?"....The Pied Piper!!!! Well in our case anyway. The Shawhan farm as been taken over with rats! Does anyone have the number to the tight wearing, flute playing yahoo who is famously known for enticing the vermin away? If so, do please share it with me!

 

  Actually, my complaint on the rats has lessened to some degree. This post should have been done a couple of months ago.

 

  Once upon a time, there lived a farmer and his wife who began to raise chickens. They also raised Holstein steers and had two happy and plump Percheron draft horses. Because the farmer and his wife were just starting out, they were raising these animals with ancient supplies. One of these supplies was the "steer stuffer". (I did an individual post on steer stuffers...it's what the corn is kept in, which is what the steers eat.) The stuffer the farmer and his wife had was very old and outdated. It was made of wood and steel and was basically falling apart. It also sat on the ground, offering no protection against the rats who could easily chew through the wood of the stuffer and therefore engorge themselves on the golden grain feast. The rats also decided to move into the tunnels they had dug in the dirt underneath the stuffer.

 

  Then, one day, the farmer and wife showed up with a brand new steer stuffer! It was made of more durable materials and wasn't falling apart at the seams! More upgrades were being made on the farm, which included a new fence around the steer lot and concrete pads for the waterer to sit on and the new steer stuffer. Because of the new stuffer, the rats were unable to chew through its walls. because the new device sat on a concrete pad, the rats were unable to burrow under it in the dirt. The rats had nowhere to go.

 

  Except into the barn. The new fence, stuffer and pads were nice, but the farmer's wife cringed every time she went into the barn and heard the incessant squeaking of rodents. They were under the chicken coop and in the walls, SQUEEK...SQUEEK....SQUEEK!!! Sometimes, though not all the time, the farmer's wife would see a fat pink tail scurrying into the shadows and would think about gagging.

 

  Then one day, as the farmer's wife was collecting the eggs, she was deep into the chicken coop, when she turned around to leave she saw a fat, grey blob, running to and fro just inches away from her feet (concealed only in slip on garden shoes). The only thoughts in the farmer's wife mind were that disgusting rat running over her feet! So the farmer's wife screamed her very manly scream, and danced around a bit, praying the rat would leave her feet alone, panicking because the rat was between her and the door. During her frantic dancing, the farmer's wife peed her pants just a tiny bit. Finally, the rat disappeared, to where, the farmer's wife didn't know, nor did she care. All she wanted was out of the small space where the rat lingered in the shadows.

 

 That night, when the farmer got home from a long hard day of work, the farmer's wife put her foot down. "That it! We need to get rid of those rats!" So the farmer went out and bought some magic green pellets and threw them everywhere the chickens couldn't go, nor the farmer's tiny son. Soon after that, dead rat carcasses began to show up at different places.

 

 Now when the farmer's wife went out to the barn, she had to make sure no dead rats where within her tiny son's reach.

 

 But she would much rather do that than listen to the squeaking of vermin or peeing her pants.