Still no rain

Hilda has been in the habit of letting the chickens out in the morning when she gets up. I have been in the habit of making a cup of tea and checking my email before I get dressed. Today, however, I was up early and, hearing no sounds from upstairs to indicate that Hilda was awake, I put on my gardening clothes and went up to open the coop.  It was so hot last night when we put the chickens to bed that I feared someone might expire by morning.  All ten of them charged out like kids on the last day of school. I realized I’ve been missing quite a show with my slothful habits. The girls run around flapping their wings as if relieved to finally have some space. They seem to re-establish the social order as well. One challenges another. They face off, rear their heads back with neck feathers ruffled, and fly smack into each other—the original game of chicken. It is not clear to me who the winner is, but it is obvious to the chickens. The one brief encounter settles something. One or both run off and soon resume pecking at the grass as if nothing happened. Ina, who has been a pistol from the get-go, fights the most. I wonder if she is the leader of the pack.

After a few minutes, everyone settles down. They scratch in the dust bath, graze, and hang out on the perches in the cage.

Hanging out in the cage

After doing the chicken chores and having my tea and breakfast, I went to the garden. I uncovered the summer squash, cantaloupe, and beans today. I am a big fan of row cover for pest management. If the bugs can’t see the crops, they can’t eat them. I can keep the cabbages and beets covered forever, but the beans, melons, and squash need to be pollinated. Once the flower buds start to develop, I take off the row cover. The plants look beautiful. It won’t last, but having a good start, they don’t normally get so many bugs that it interferes much with the harvest.

Zucchini (right) and cantaloupe (left)

Beans

About 9:30, the sky to the south got dark. Very dark. The clouds moved toward us, and we began to hope that it might storm. I saw lightening and heard distant thunder. The clouds took on a peculiar appearance. “Have you ever seen clouds like that?” Terry asked.

“Not often,” I said. “Maybe never.”

Bizarre clouds preceding NO rain

The sky didn’t turn that dark gray-green that happens right before a tornado, and I didn’t see any funnel clouds dipping down. At 11:00, I put all my tools away. The chickens had retreated to the coop, and I shut the door in case we did get a terrible wind. Terry was watering his trees. I persuaded him to come inside by quoting the lame tag line from the Weather Channel: “When thunder roars, move indoors.” 

For the next two hours, we watched radar map on the Weather Channel.  Light green, dark green, yellow, and even red moved west to east along the Illinois-Wisconsin border, headed straight for us. And then it went around. All around. There was one tiny hole in the storm front over northwest McHenry County. We got nothing. It is getting hard not to take it personally.

I expect the orioles will be leaving soon. Early in the week, I saw a juvenile beg a male to feed him, and the male gave an unmistakable “get your own jelly” lecture. It wasn’t a subtle, “Son, it’s time for you to make your own way in the world.” It was more like, “This is MY jelly. Go away!” The juveniles have responded by feeding themselves. When they are strong enough, they’ll all go to wherever they go.  Usually they disappear right after we take one spoonful of jelly out of a new jar, and then we’re stuck with the jar in the refrigerator until next May. The hummingbirds stay all summer, though.