A sad day

The good news is that little Gracie seems stronger. The olive oil seems to be doing the trick. I have not had to clean any chick buttzols (Terry's term and his spelling) for two days.

Julia (photo from 8/31/12)

The bad news is that Julia died today. When I did the chicken chores Tuesday morning, she was in a nest box sitting on an egg that had no shell. It's not all the weird for hens to lay eggs with no shell or with soft shells now and then. Needless to say, the nest box was a mess. I cleaned all that up and didn't give any thought to the condition of Julia's underside.
When I was on my way out for the morning buttzol check today, Hilda caught me and shared her list of crises. 1. The chicks were beginning to fly.  2. One of the heat lamps had fallen over during the night. 3. Julia was lying on the floor and wouldn't move.
We dealt with the chicks first. All clean buttzols today. Hilda changed the water and filled the feeder while I brought the old window screens up from the polyhouse. We adjusted the wall that supported the PVC pipe on which the lamp was hung and swapped the heat light for a red CFL "party bulb," as it said on the package. We will have to look for a mirror ball next. We put the screens over the chick pen to keep them from flying out. Lord only knows how long it would take us to round up an escaped chick in the garage.
On to Julia. She didn't look good. I lifted her off the floor. She was still heavy. She hadn't been suffering long enough to lose weight like  Ellie did. The skin of  her underside was red underneath feathers matted with egg stuff; her belly seemed distended. Is this what egg bound looks like? I filled a bowl with warm water and put on surgical gloves. I held her in the water for a few minutes. Hilda helped me pick off the wood chips and wipe the feathers. She then held the blow drier while I tried to fluff the feathers up. Finally, I took a deep breath and tried to examine  her internally. I didn't feel anything hard or sharp. Some yellow stuff oozed out. The smell almost gagged me.
I went inside to do some research. Julia's belly looked just like the picture of an egg bound chicken. Egg bound does not only mean that an egg is stuck. It can also refer to the condition of having an egg break inside the body. The sharp shells can cause lacerations. Whether or not the shell is hard, an internal broken egg can cause infection. Sometimes the oviduct gets twisted, which requires surgery. Who gets surgery for a chicken? Who can find a vet who does surgery on a chicken? I went back to the coop to torment Julia one more time. I could not feel anything that seemed abnormal.
I decided against having eggs for breakfast. I could barely eat at all. I put it off until after I'd had my shower. I was already running behind schedule and didn't have time to wait until my appetite returned. I ate some frosted mini-wheats and went to work.
When I got home tonight, Julia was lying on the coop floor with her head down. Hilda came out of the greenhouse to talk to me.
"Do you think we should put her down?" I asked. I quickly amended this to, "Do you think we should ask Terry to put her down?"
"Do you think he would mind?"
"I'll ask him." Only he wasn't in the tractor shed anymore. He'd gone out to mow again.
Upon closer inspection and actually to my relief, Julia was already dead. I got the shovel. Hilda put on gloves and put Julia in a plastic bucket. We walked to the tree stand and buried her next to Ellie in the hole Terry dug last December in case Della died over the winter.
We are sad for Julia's passing and grateful to her two years of service. It isn't the same as when Ellie died, of course. Ellie was special, and not even a year old. We are learning to revise downward our expectations of the life span of a chicken. I wonder how many more chickens we will bury in holes that Terry digs for the cat who will never die....

Pasty butt

Monday evening, one of the two silver Polish was not looking good. By morning, she was very weak. I don’t know why I didn’t think to check for pasty butt sooner. I picked her up and examine her behind. Sure enough, her vent was caked with poop. I remembered my experience with Sara two years ago and very gently rubbed the poop with a damp paper towel. I got too aggressive with Sara and took off some of her skin too. I got the vent opened. By the time I left for work, the chick was eating and drinking again.

As the days have passed, she is still small. Because she is wobbly and awkward, Hilda named her Grace. The other silver Polish has had some pasty butt as well, but not as bad. I named her Nadia in keeping with her Polish breed name and our previous habit of naming hens after celebrity chefs (Nadia G. of Bitchin’ Kitchen.)

This morning I did some research on backyardchickens.com.  The pasty butt discussion board suggested holding the chick’s rear end under tepid running water, blotting dry, and applying a bit of olive oil to prevent the poop from sticking.

I tried it, first with Gracie, then with Nadia. All on my own, I thought of using my blow drier to fluff up the feathers after her bath. I thought maybe Gracie wasn’t growing because she was losing heat through her matted feathers. I checked on them at the end of the day. Gracie’s feathers were fluffier than they’d been since I had to start treatments. The olive oil seemed to be working. Both chicks had clean vents.

All the other chicks seem to be doing fine. Someone on the Backyard Chickens discussion board said slow-growing chicks sometimes catch up, and sometimes they don’t make it. We will be sad if Gracie doesn’t make it. The more effort you spend keeping something alive, the more dear it becomes to you. I should have checked for pasty butt as soon as she looked puny. The should-haves don't count. I'll feel bad if she dies from my initial negligence.

Here’s a picture of some sleeping chicks. The way they flop down with their heads straight out always makes us panic that they’ve died. But at the slightest noise, they perk up and run around.

Sleeping chicks

One of the Araucana is getting pretty wings.

Araucana, left is getting pretty wing feathers. A Welsummer is behind her, a buff Orpington is to the right.

The first part of the video shows wobbly Gracie. Later on, there is footage of her taking a nap followed by Nadia scratching like a big girl. There’s a clip of a group nap toward the end.

Flowers continue to bloom. The ginger we planted last year is spreading and bloomed again. The bleeding heart is back. It and the prairie smoke get bigger each year. I was pleased to see the trillium spreading and blooming as well.

Bleeding heart

Wild ginger--flower is at the base of the leaves

Prairie smoke

Trillium

 

Cute Chicks!

Today was the special day when Hilda called the post office at 6:00 a.m. and found that our chicks had been delivered. I dressed quickly and went with her to pick them up.
Here they are in their box.

Box o' chicks

When we took them out of the box, we dipped their beaks in a dilute sugar solution to get them started drinking.

First drink

Hilda found a warming plate, so to speak, that is supposed to mimic a brooding hen. We lowered it down to the height of the chicks' backs. We weren't sure they would get the idea, so we poked them underneath to encourage their learning.

Hilda puts chickies under the heater

This year we ordered 13 Buff Orpington, 2 Silver Polish, 7 Welsummer, and 3 Araucana/Ameraucana. The Silver Polish and Araucana are all females. The Buff Orpington and Welsummer are straight run, meaning a mix of males and females. Both are dual purpose breeds. They get big enough to butcher but the females are also good layers. They will not mature as quickly as the broiler chickens we raised last year. We hope they will be less of a mess. We will butcher all the roosters and whatever hens we don't have room to keep. The Welsummer are supposed to lay chocolate brown eggs. Too bad they don't lay chocolate eggs. Can't have everything.

Buff Orpington

Silver Polish--note tiny size compared to other chicks

Welsummer

We were perplexed at first because we seemed to have only one Araucana, a dark brown one like Ina. After careful inspection, we think we have discovered two others with the characteristic face feathers. One looks very similar to a Welsummer and the other is just a wee bit lighter than the Buff Orpington. She will likely be pure white, like Sara.

We know the dark one next to the Silver Polish in an Araucana. We think the one above the dark one is also.

Here are some cute chick pictures AND some video clips.

Horse racing, potatoes, and birds

My, my, once spring comes it get so difficult to find time to blog. Last weekend we went to a pre-retirement gathering for a colleague at Arlington Park’s Derby Day. We had reservations in the Million Room. Fortunately, a coworker tipped me off that there was a dress code. I put on my last ironed shirt and a nice pair of pants and off we went. Terry and I took the train. The schedule worked out perfectly to deliver us 15 minutes before the first race and leave for home 35 minutes after the Kentucky Derby.

Our table in the Million Room was right at the finish line. Here’s a picture of the horses warming up.

Horses warming up

And here’s a picture of the horses coming in that I took too soon.

Horses, far left, coming to the finish line

The buffet was quite good. The prime rib had a delightful wine sauce. There were lots and lots of vegetables. Odd as it may sound, my favorite thing was a wedge of iceberg lettuce with blue cheese dressing. Not just any iceberg lettuce, but cute little heads about the size of a softball. An example is at 1:00 in the picture. Best iceberg lettuce ever.

My first trip to the buffet

We bet very little and lost it all eventually. It was a fun afternoon, nevertheless. When it was time to go, we walked out to the tracks with hundreds of other people. We were among the first. I asked the security guards which side of the track we needed to wait on to go west. Before long, casual observation was enough to determine that the north side of the track was going into Chicago from the higher population and the number of women in fancy hats and men in suits.

The train station. Which side goes to Chicago?

Back at home, the leaves are coming out ever so slowly.

Green grass and trees leafing out in the background. Oaks are slow.

We planted potatoes Monday afternoon. Terry dug the holes; Hilda cut the potatoes and planted them, and I raked.

Last year's potatoes that we used for planting

Terry digs; Hilda plants

I rake the holes closed over the seed potatoes

The summer migrants are back. It is like seeing old friends again. Hilda has seen the rose breasted grosbeaks, but I have not. Jane saw a hummingbird at her house this week. We haven’t even gotten the feeder up yet. Terry put the grape jelly out as soon as we spotted the first Baltimore oriole. Today we saw three males at once. Summer will be here before you know it!

chipping sparrow

Male goldfinches

Male Baltimore oriole with jelly glistening in his beak

White crowned sparrow

 

More signs of spring

Today is sunny but breezy. Hilda and I had a nice walk. Each time I’m able to get outside, I see more signs of life. I’m sad to report there is no activity where the white trillium is supposed to be. There is one rather lonesome-looking red trillium making an appearance by the garage. Too soon to tell if that bump in the middle will or will not turn into a flower.

Red trillium

The prairie smoke is doing very well and will be in full flower soon.

Prairie smoke

The wild ginger is up near the creek. Once this plant gets going, it is capable of outcompeting weeds. It will be interesting to see if it can prevail against the ubiquitous garlic mustard and reed canary grass.

Wild ginger

The trees are flowering all over, giving a fuzzy appearance to the thicket that borders the west side of our land.

Boxelder flowers

The tiny cotyledons on the wetland are big enough this week to show up in a picture. They all look a lot alike. It is probably more evidence that they are, in fact, all the same kind of weed. I don’t see any sign yet of the oats we planted as a cover crop. The birds may have eaten most of those seeds. I am going to spread more oats tomorrow in hopes that we get the rain that is predicted. The last front dumped rain all around us, leaving us with only 0.3”. Terry persists in telling me every morning how much rain we do or do not need. I remind him that it isn’t financial aid—rain is not awarded according to need.

Tiny cotyledons among the dead grass leaves

Hilda’s seedlings are doing well. We hope to start planting onions, potatoes, and cabbage next weekend.

Readiness activities

It has been a beautiful weekend. The thermometer reads 76°. I opened the windows to get rid of the lingering smell of yesterday’s red-wine-braised brisket. It smelled good when it was cooking, but enough is enough.

Terry got the tractor out yesterday to rototill the garden. The soil was perfect, he said. 

Terry rototills the garden

Today he and I planted 75 asparagus plants in a patch of soil where he used to have lilacs and Nanking cherries. He dug up and moved the lilacs last week. The Nanking cherries just got torn out. We don’t have the right site for them. He tilled the soil with the tractor, and today we were ready to plant. In a bold move, I put away my winter boots and got out my gardening boots. I put on my gardening pants and got my knees dirty for the first time this season. 

It will be nice to have more asparagus. Our pilot study that we planted a few years ago is completely inadequate. We have to harvest for a whole week before we have enough for one meal for two. It takes several years for the asparagus to get going. In the first year, you can only harvest for one week. The rest of the growth has to go to the roots. Next year, we can harvest for two weeks, and so forth. In several years, we will be able to harvest for the asparagus’ whole growing season.

The girls are so happy to be out and about. They come a-runnin’ every time anyone walks by the fence, ever hopeful that treats are forthcoming. If no treats are forthcoming, they don’t hold it against you. They just go back to scratching in the dirt, pecking at sticks, lounging in the sun, or rolling in the dust. One never knows where one will find something wonderful.

The girls come to the fence to see if treats are coming. Ingrid is particularly excited!

Hilda has been busy in the greenhouse. I made sure to get some pictures of her. Not to sound morbid or anything, but that is how I would like to remember her when she’s gone. She loves to work in the greenhouse.

Hilda pots up a cabbage plant

Onion (back) and fennel (front) seedlings

Brussels sprouts babies

I walked out to where we seeded the prairie last fall. The standing water has come and gone twice now since the snowmelt. I had to squat down to see tiny cotelydons coming through the soil. I’d like to think they are sprouting from the tiny seeds we scattered. Chances are they are just weeds. The seed catalog said on every page that it takes three years to really see the prairie develop. I must be patient. Think of how much asparagus I’ll have by then!

Spring at last

It’s been raining off and on. Yesterday afternoon, the temperature was 78°! Almost hot. After such a long cold winter, I had forgotten how much easier it is to live when it’s warm. I automatically brace myself for the cold air to hit me when I go outside but wait—it’s not cold. It’s nice! With the first warm rain, the grass has greened up considerably in the last week.

A different color on the lawn!

I had some leftover buttermilk after I made muffins. Buttermilk is reputedly good for chickens as a probiotic for their crops (“crop” in this case being part of their digestive system). I found two flattened hamburger buns, circa Labor Day, in the back of my freezer. I broke the buns into the buttermilk and gave it to the girls. It was the Best Thing Ever (as usual). I videotaped the event for your enjoyment. The chickens ate their treat in two phases. The first phase is to grab a piece of bread out of the bowl and give it a good shake, flinging buttermilk everywhere including all over the photographer’s legs. The bread gets dropped, picked up, shaken, dropped, stolen, and finally eaten. After the bread is gone, phase 2 begins. All the hens gather around the bowl and drink the remaining buttermilk making tap, tap, tap noises on the bottom. I didn’t realize until I played back the recording that the woodpecker and redwing blackbirds were louder than the clucking of the hens. As you watch the video, enjoy the sounds of spring, including the occasional gust of wind.