I’m embarrassed about this post. But nature around me so often reflects the reality of my larger human experience, I just must share. Like contemplating weeds in relationship to trying to eradicate cancer, or its opposite, fertility and health and abundance of a harvest in a time of remission.
Yesterday I was struck by some animals in quarantine. First was during my errand of the day. I drove Steve out to Albany to pick up his newly painted truck. The guy who does the painting is also a dairy farmer. These two calves were bought earlier in the spring. Because they’re from a different farm, they were bottle fed and also need to be kept away from the rest of the herd so they don’t bring in any bacteria or disease from there. They have a very good view of the chickens that free roam, including this giant, shiny rooster who goes wherever the heck he wants!
The second example is, sadly, one of my new chicks. At the beginning of March I ordered six layers, my favorite breed, silver-laced Wyandottes, and to make a whole order, 19 Cornish cross broilers. They were so adorable!
The broilers, per their name, are meat chickens, bred to grow fast and eating machines. Within two weeks they were twice the size of the layers and we moved them to the barn, where Steve built them a cozy box house and they can have larger food and drink supplies.
They also are more closed in (under their heat lamp) and hidden from us– that’s my only excuse. Well, also, they are in a state of disarray as they shed their chick fluff for adult feathers, so they all look a little shaggy. We open their shelter to clean the floor and add more straw every couple days feed and water them twice a day. But Steve discovered this poor baby who was getting “cannibalized,” lowest on the pecking order. I tried putting her in with the Wyandottes, but they were overly interested in her bald spot.
So she is now quarantined in her own box with a heat lamp. She sits quietly, breathes fast when I come down with food and water and cooing in attempts to offer comfort. I’m so sad for her. I’m so sorry. But maybe this is her version of a ventilator. Which we had available. Wishing her good health. She can stay with these chickens, moving to the outdoor run instead of going back in the barn with the bullies. And we’ll keep a close eye to see they don’t pick out another victim. This girl could end up much bigger and more healthy than her layer friends, and so be safe. That is my hope, anyway.
These are mixed times. Hungry animals coming out even at times we don’t usually see them (daylight) to find food (keep putting out the food). Lots of mating birds. People noticing eagles returning (and sometimes, if they’re lucky, seeing them mating). Our sandhill cranes back and crooning. Turkeys starting to gather for mating season. Today the first little red finches landing on my balcony to visit their reflections in the patio door. These are stressful, and joyful, times for them as well.
As the Sand Hill Cranes fly by our place in Indiana where I am staying for now, I look up at the sky and I shout – SAY HELLO TO SUSAN AND STEVE! Have you heard from any of them yet?
I’ve been trying to write something for ages but keep getting stuck. You said it with ‘mixed times’. Can I write something joyful or mournful or hopeful or desperate or just forget the whole thing and eat a doughnut instead? I’d rather focus on your peeps and forget about my own problems. Thanks for writing this.
I’ll keep an eye out, Jean! Love to think you’re hearing them– and last night I read my “Return of the Sand Hill Cranes” poem at a virtual/zoom talent show and a woman in Madison said she’s hearing them, too. Aren’t we lucky to have these signs of spring, of movement, and big gawky birds around! Glad you’re in Indiana!!
Thanks, Eda. It’s impossible to stay focused when writing. I want to be working on longer pieces, editing, etc, but mostly this is a time to notice and check in with life around us. Thinking of you in Japan and wishing you a flattened curve.