Morning has Broken

The dogs wake us up early. Often, I enjoy getting up at 5:30 or 6:00. It's cool then and I can take my
time, have a cup of tea, and slowly start my day. First things first, of course, the dogs need to be fed. Then I put on my sandals and go out for one of my many daily strolls through our garden. 

Our garden is on the wild side. It's a pollinator garden, meant to have only native plants, though a few non natives like mullein and Queen Anne's Lace have snuck in. I'm afraid I can't bring myself to pull either of them - Queen Anne's Lace is not considered invasive, anyway, and Mullein? It reminds me of my Colorado home.

My excuse for walking through the garden is I'm looking for various invasive plants - some, like oriental bittersweet which can strangle entire trees or multiflora rose which grows at an alarming rate and smothers out everything around it. For the most part, though, I've got these under control. I'm sure there are other invasives I need to watch for, but not everyday.

This is my time to observe and wonder. 

Morning has broken like the first morning

Blackbird has spoken like the first bird

Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the world

I've loved this song since hearing it for the first time when I was in high school, but I didn't fully understand it until we moved to New England.

Sweet the rain's new fall, sunlit from Heaven

Like the first dewfall on the first grass

Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden

Sprung in completeness where His feet pass

When I walk in the morning, the ground is soft and squishy. We mow the pathways, but mowing doesn't take away our lovely, soft carpet of creeping charlie, cinquefoil, and wood sorrel. My feet are soaked by the time I go in, not because it rained, but because there is dew! The growing has continued at a more reasonable pace now that it's summer, but spring was an explosion of growth everwhere! It's hard to explain how totally amazing this is to those who have always experienced this in the spring. It's even harder to explain this to our friends in the western part of the country where plants need to be gently coaxed into thriving in such a dry climate. 

To walk out in our garden in the spring is to see creation happening. Each day, there is something new. More birds singing. More plants springing up from the ground. Having a pollinator garden means letting go of preconceived ideas of how everything is going to look and where plants will be from year to year. This year, we have several boneset plants growing with the goldenrod and Echinacea has traveled to a few new places, sharing space with goldenrod and asters, partridge peas and wood sorrel, self-heal and broad leaf plantain. 

Even the names of the plants seem somehow magical - boneset, beardstongue, St John's wort, wild bergamot, golden alexander, whorled montain mint, rose milkweed, blue flag iris. 

We've had Eastern cottontails make their nest somewhere in the garden. They hid it well. A catbird often comes down and supervises my visits. Early on, when some of the old grass turned to thatch, prompting me to panic (that's not supposed to happen, is it?), I was comforted when I saw birds come and pull up the dry grass for their nests and search underneath for bugs. I've been saddened by the smaller number of bees and other pollinators this year. I hope it's just an off year and they will return healthier next spring. 

When we visit Colorado, I will find a place to walk and see wildflowers and plants there, too. Having spent my early years in Wyoming, I know how to look for life and beauty, even when it's not obvious, a skill I value now. What I have in my garden now is a place to rest. My mind clears. My whole body relaxes. We are stewards, but not the only ones. We share this task with the catbird and the cottontails... also groundhogs and skunks, opossums, and the occasional black bear. We share it with the bees, the black wasps, cabbage white butterflies, monarchs, frogs, and grasshoppers. 

It replenishes me and I feel like the spring. My desire to create goes a little off the charts, too, and I have about 10 craft projects in the works. Things are getting done, albeit in a scattered sort of way, because what I want to do most of the day is be in the garden - and just be. 

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God’s re-creation of the new day

* Morning Has Broken was originally written by Eleanor Farjeon in 1931. It was published in a collection of children's poems and sung to an old Gaelic tune called Bunnesan

Voles

Cricket caught a vole the other day.

Voles are not mice, though they are somewhat related. Voles are more closely related to hamsters, which means they are cute. Really cute. They also seem to be a bit slower moving than mice and, at least the ones we saw, were a bit slow realizing they should run away from our dog. The sun was out, it was warm, and the critters wanted to sit in the sun.

One got away. Fortunately for this one, the first of our pups to spot it was Bennie. He sniffed at it and backed up when the little fellow tried to makes itself look big. Bennie, I would guess, probably was wondering if this was one more puppy he needed to care for. The only danger this vole faced was the possibility of getting a thorough washing.

Cricket wasn't having it. She is a hunter and has spent countless hours stalking squirrels. The fact she has never caught one makes no difference to her. The minute she sees a squirrel or chipmunk, she's on high alert.

Despite our efforts to keep her away from them, one tiny vole met its demise. I took it away from Cricket and scolded her. She looked bewildered. I think she was expecting praise. The great hunter had been successful and was trying to decide how best to eat her catch. Though I know there are recipes online for fried vole and vole sauce, I refused to share this information with her. No way was I going to encourage her to eat them.

Most people probably would be thrilled if their dog proved to be an excellent vole hunter and would have encouraged them to develop a gourmet cuisine comprised of voles, mice, and other rodents. My reluctance undoubtedly stems from being a kindergarten teacher for twenty years and telling nature stories to the children. The stories were sweet. The mice and squirrels and fairies and elves in the story were cute.

I'm keeping watch on Cricket.

We have voles in our yard. They're cute. Maybe I'll give them names.

Happy Spring! Happy Easter!

Twenty-six years ago, on April 20, 1993, we were getting ready to go to church for Easter Mass and asked Patrick, then 9 years old, to make sure the animals had been fed. He went to do his chores, then ran back in quickly. Our goat, Bonnie, had given birth to two little ones just moments before he had gone outside.

It was a year of babies at our little urban farm. Bonnie's twins, Blossom and Buttercup, were the first arrivals. Then came chicks and ducklings. And in July, our daughter, Emma, was born. 

Those were busy years. We always seemed to have too much to do and too little time. Our lives were full. As our kids grew older and our parents grew older, we took on the task of hosting more of the holiday celebrations. There were always guests - family, friends, neighbors.

Now we have the opportunity to slow down a little and celebrate the holidays in a simpler way. We spent last weekend in Maine with John and Coco and the grandkids. Today, we'll have a simple holiday and celebrate our new life in Massachusetts by planting some flowers.

The Puppy that Meowed

"Oh, what a cute puppy!" my dad exclaimed. He loves animals, especially dogs, and loves it when we bring our wee fosters to visit with him. This time, however, it wasn't a puppy. Curly is our first foster orphan kitty. Dad couldn't remember this detail, however many times he was reminded.

"IT'S A KITTEN!" Mom shouted at him from across the room.

"Huh?" replied Dad, cupping his hand around his ear. He had hearing aids, but kept losing them. Now he has an amplifier. We speak into it and he can hear through the ear buds. Theoretically. If he'd keep it turned on. Most of the time it's off and when I reach over and turn it on, he jumps. I don't think he really wants to hear.

We're all getting used to having an orphan kitty to raise. Bennie has warmed up somewhat, jumping up to give her a quick lick as we're feeding her. Cricket is miffed. How dare we let that thing in the house!

Cricket, if you remember, was mama to the 5 adorable pups we fostered in July. The pups entertained us for 3 weeks before they were all adopted within 3 hours at an adoption event. We had already decided that Cricket was staying with us. She was fiercely loyal to me and followed me everywhere. She and Bennie got along well. She is quiet and easy going. Except when she sees a squirrel.

When we let her outside, she will stand on the porch and stare at the apple tree. She knows they are there. Before I notice anything, she'll suddenly run and jump right into the crotch of the tree. The squirrels dash off quickly. I suspect she thinks Curly is a baby squirrel. Cricket is now spending most of her time outside, guarding the back door. She's not taking any chances of having any more squirrels come in the house.

Curly, meanwhile, is growing bigger and stronger. And, miracle of miracles, she's pooping. Only foster parents of orphaned animals can understand why we get excited about this. Won't last long, of course, but we're still in the excitement phase. We know how quickly these little animals grow, so we savor this time as best we can.

We've got a new development as of today. Bennie has decided the kitten is his. He cleans the little one thoroughly when she wakes up and does the job of making sure Curly poops. He also cleans up after her.

For those of you picturing Bennie with a tiny wash cloth in his mouth.. go with it.

Okay, so now that Bennie has claimed the kitty, Suddenly Cricket is interested. Bennie was having none of it. I know he was telling her, "I said it was a puppy, but you didn't listen."

Cricket looked doubtful, but curious. If Bennie has something, she automatically wants it. Curly said, "Meow". Bennie smiled and cleaned Curly all over again.

We went back to Mom and Dad's apartment last night to have pizza and ice cream and cake for dad's birthday. Dad was mildly interested in the food, but he was more interested in our animals.

"How's the little puppy?" he asked.

Newest Puppy Adventure

New fosters! Cricket is a great little Mama dog and, as opposed to the Kaylee last year, she doesn't mind if Bennie plays with the pups. Anything that keeps them out of her fur is fine by her. She's letting us know, in no uncertain terms, that the pups are growing up and won't be needing her too much longer. 

Cricket getting to know us.

Cricket and Bennie got along from the very beginning! Bennie didn't even bark when we came home with another dog. We introduced the two adult dogs before bringing in the pups.

And the pups! No names yet, but 4 females and 1 male. They are full of energy.

Cricket is curious about the chickens.

The hens' look of dismay when seeing 6 more dogs in the family.

And Uncle Bennie is fulfilling his duty by playing with the pups and letting them climb all over him. He's so patient with the little ones! 

One More Try - new chicken nesting boxes

Well, we've got a couple of new nesting boxes made in hopes that the hens will not be able to reach their eggs. It's kind of hard to see, but those are paint roller pans in the boxes. The idea is that the hens will lay an egg, then the egg rolls down the slope to the tray. We'll see if the hens will use it! 

See! Under the board, there's an egg. Okay, this is a fake egg, just to make sure we got the measurements right and it will fit.

The hen is still setting on her golf balls and she was not thrilled with being moved out of the way for the boxes.

Chicken Hill

Cannibal Chicken Update

We've managed to get our daily egg tally up to 5 or 6, only when we're able to check for eggs every 15 minutes or so, especially in the morning. One day, we brought in 8 eggs because I checked so often, I practically caught them before they hit the floor.

Chris is letting the hens out of the smaller chicken yard so they can eat the weeds during the day. They love it and they repay us by laying eggs in places where we'll never find them. A few hens have stayed loyal to the nests in the chicken house and that's where we get our eggs each day. One black and white Barred Rock hen has become broody. She sits on the nest all day and, as soon as another chicken lays an egg near the nest, she tucks it under her. She's as loyal to those eggs as Horton the elephant was to his.

For better or for worse, most of her "eggs" are golf balls.

Yesterday I went out and heard the distinct cackle of a hen in distress. Our broody Barred Rock was running towards the gate, towards me, making all sorts of racket. I crouched down and she actually came up next to me and continued cackling. Huh. Our hens are not pets. They are used to us and know we feed them, but other than that, they can take us or leave us. I've never before had one come to report a problem. I figured I'd better check things out.

Sure enough, some rude hen had stolen her nest and was sitting on HER golf balls - I mean strangely shaped eggs. 

I thought about it for a minute and realized our broody hen was WHY we were able to keep some eggs from getting eaten each day. She was protecting them. Oddly enough, she doesn't seem to mind when I pick her up every 20 minutes and take the real eggs. As long as I leave the golf balls under her, she's happy.

I shooed the other hen off the nest and left Ms Broody happily hunkered down on her eggs again. We've got a good thing going with her and she deserves a little reward.