Smart Move, Cat

I've got to admit, when my cat dreams, she dreams BIG. That blob to the right of the picture is Whisk. Crouching under the trees that hold my bird feeders is a favorite hang out for her. She hasn't quite figured out if she stays there the birds will not come. But no matter, she lies there, patiently in wait of some unsuspecting little birdie that never shows up. I think now she just goes there out of force of habit more than anything else.

So there she was, reposing under the tree, half asleep wondering where all the birds were when the two wild geese returned! They wandered unconcerned around the bird feeders, gobbling up any errant seed left behind by the squabbling birds. Well, as far as Whisk was concerned, this was a gift from the gods! So she stalked and crouched and whipped her tail back an forth as she waited for the perfect opportunity to spring on her unsuspecting prey. She waited for close to an hour. Then she changed her mind and walked away, offhandedly as if it really didn't matter. She must of thought better of trying to pouncing on something that was at least twice as big as her. Though I'm pretty sure she'd never admit it.

Visitors of a Feathered Variety

A while back, I glimpsed out the window just in time to see two unfamiliar birds land just outside the chicken pen. I had no idea what kind of bird they were. Going out to investigate and taking my trusty camera with me, I heard both of them calling to my chickens and turkeys, "Arp, arp, arp." Now that's a familiar sound! That's just like the sound my turkey hens make. OK, so now I know they are turkeys of some sort. They didn't like me getting too close, but I did manage to get a good look at their heads and necks. Yup, definitely female turkeys. After a little research, I think these two girls are Eastern Wild Turkeys. I have no idea if they are wild in the true sense or if someone is missing a couple of them from their farm. I called around but nobody knew of anyone who raises turkeys, except for me. That fact was pointed out to me by everyone I talked to about this. Well, yes; I know I grow turkeys.

The next day the two hens managed to figure out how to get into the chicken pen. I didn't know if that was a good idea or not. I have no clue if they, being wild, could have diseases they could pass on to my birds. These two certainly looked healthy enough and my birds didn't seem to mind them hanging around.

So I figured I'd just let them hang out and may-be they'd stay and become part of my flock. The next day they were gone and I haven't seen them since. I think I'm a little disappointed.

Curious Skunk

If they didn't smell like something leftover from the Apocalypse, I'd probably not mind skunks at all. Generally speaking, I'm pretty neutral about them. Both dogs, on separate occasions have been skunk-bombed. Both times happened, of course, at last bathroom break before going to bed and so extending my day by a couple of hours as I hunt around for the peroxide, baking soda and soap all the while reminding myself to look into getting a gas mask. When that happens, I am not neutral at all, not towards skunks, not towards dogs, not towards the world in general.

After building the chicken coop, a skunk or two moved in underneath. We had put chicken wire around the coop to prevent such a thing but we ran out before we got around the whole coop. It was just a couple feet and it was by the door so the chickens wouldn't be able to get under the coop and it didn't seem worthwhile to get another whole roll of wire for just a couple of feet and the skunks wouldn't likely find that little, tiny hole anyway so we figured we'd wait until we needed more fencing to complete the job. You know how they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions? Well the shoulders and all the road signs are there via the excuses one uses not to do something.

That summer, on occasion, I get a faint whiff of skunk but nothing overwhelming and it only happened in the early morning. They never bothered the chickens. So I figured live and let live. Besides several people told me with a skunk underneath the coop, I wouldn't have any issues with rats. Seemed like a good trade off to me. The skunk never tried to get into the coop to eat the eggs so, again, live and let live. On occasion, I'd see the skunk in the early evening, bouncing unconcerned through the chicken pen, ignoring the chickens and the chickens returning the favour.

I hadn't seen any skunks this year and hadn't smelled them either so I figured they had moved on. They hadn't. A couple of weeks ago, I was out closing up the coop for the night. I was a little later than usual, having some minor crisis in the house or something (the something being another cup of tea with that great cake and conversation). Anyhow while I was in the chick pen, I heard scratching and rustling. "Oh great, a chick got out," think I. Nope. About two feet away from the chicken coop door, the door incidentally I had to go through in a couple of minutes to get to the hose to change the water, was a skunk happily digging through some weeds. I went into the coop and started talking softly, gently and very kindly. The words were anything but, however. They were something like, " I need to go out there, ****** skunk, so don't get ******* startled. Don't ******* spray me or I shall ******* kill you in a ******* long, ****** drawn out manner and visit all ****** kinds of ****** wreck and ***** ruin on your ******** decedents for generations to come." Still speaking gently of mass murder and atrocities and throwing in the occasional ******, I gingerly went outside where the skunk was. He looked up, gave me a casual look and went back to grubbing around for bugs. I passed him and continued on to the hose. Since I had five waterers, I had to make three trips. On the second trip, the skunk decided to follow un-nerved me to see what I was doing. It was sort of like a little kid pestering an adult, "Whatcha doing, huh, huh? What's that, eh? Can I help, huh? Huh? Huh? Can I, can I?" While he was way too close for my comfort, he did stay a respectful distance away from me. On the third trip, he was waiting for me and followed me to the hose once again. When I left the coop he had either wandered off or went under the coop again. I guess I bored him after a while.

I haven't seen him since but I do talk softly if I'm out there early evening now. I think if I don't startle him, I'll be OK. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure I'm going to get very ****** un-neutral about skunks again.

Something's Missing

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To Ten Million Fireflies

I'm Weird 'Cause I Hate Goodbyes

I Got Misty Eyes As They Said Farewell

"Fireflies" by Owl City, 2009

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At my Grandparents farm (Hilda and Bernard) or going camping, I marvelled at the firefly. As a little kid chasing the magical pale green flash there was an excitement. As an adult sitting on my porch watching the fireflies green beacon float intermittently over my lawn there's a sense of calm the accompanies childhood memories. As a grandma I pointed out fireflies to my grandkids and watched them light up with amazement as the fireflies put on their early evening show.

`

In the last two years, I haven't seen one firefly. Not one. And I've been looking. Apparently fireflies are disappearing worldwide. There's even a Firefly Watch program. The usual culprit is to blame - Man. I have learned that loss of habitat and light pollution is likely to blame for the declining numbers. I miss the fireflies and I'm going to try to see if there's anything I can do to help them make a comeback in my little part of the world. I hope that sweet, peppy innocent song I quoted at the top isn't sadly prophetic.

A Rare Sight

It's been a rainy summer, for the most part. Certainly there's been enough sunshine for my gardens to flourish but I need to keep a weather eye out for the dreaded blight that can hit tomatoes and potatoes in damp weather. While there has been reports of blight outbreaks on the island, especially with potatoes, everything here at the DaM farm is doing OK.

Because of all the extra rain, the dam has been flowing constantly. Usually it has dried up by this time and will only offer a trickle after a rain. But this year the waters constantly splash merrily over the dull grey embankment and the dour dam wears diamonds in the sun. The river is higher than usual and more inviting to geese that usually shun my part of the woods except to honk overhead announcing their arrival or departure, depending on the season.

Last week, I discovered a Mama Goose and her five youngsters enjoying an early morning paddle-about on the river from my computer room window. I went out to get a couple of pictures. My camera is not very good and the geese were shy. No matter, it was a rare event and while the pictures are fuzzy and out of focus, the memory of standing in the rain watching the birds is not.

Early Morning Heron

The summer always brings an old friend back. I noticed him within weeks of moving to the DaM Farm. He's an early, early visitor and I hear him above me before I see him. The first time I heard him, I wondered what was making that horrible squawk. Turned out to be a heron on his way to the little dam. He fishes there every morning. And every morning he will greet me with his hoarse call as he flies overhead.

I enjoy watching him in the early morning before everything gets busy and noisy. There's nothing to break the silence except for the occasional splash in the water. Sometimes the splash is made by a fish jumping, blissfully unaware that a hunter is just inches away. Sometimes the splash is an announcement of a pair of loons who will fish with the heron. I love watching them in the stillness of a day about to be.

It's a nice way to start the day. On my porch with a cup of coffee before the heat and the mosquitoes make their presence felt. The sun is just touching the water, bejeweling the tiny crests with diamonds that disappear in a wave only to return in seconds. The living jewels are the most precious. You can't buy this kind of peace.

Humming Bird

I was out re-filling the wild bird feeders today when I saw a humming bird. It was less than three feet away between the branches of the crab apple tree. I don't know if the bird feeders or the butterfly garden attracted it but I'm sure glad did. It was very tiny and very dark looking. It didn't 'flutter' or 'flit', it hovered and darted on occasion. It was a pretty cheeky little thing, didn't seem at all frightened of me. I have an old humming bird feeder hanging around somewhere, I'm going to root it out and see if I can find out how to make sugar water for humming birds. Can't be that difficult, can it?

A New Visitor

The latest storm blew in and brought a new friend along with the new year. I believe this little bird is a mourning dove. The picture is taken from inside the house. She is sitting on the cable that runs to the chicken coop. She's actually on our deck where it's somewhat protected from the wind and cold. And windy and cold it is. The blizzard brought winds over 100 klicks an hour and the wind chill was in the -20s somewhere. I'm not sure of the exact number; anything under -15 just becomes 'freaking cold' and numbers no longer matter, -23 or -35, it's all just freaking cold to me.

This delightful guest is charming us all. She sits on the wire waiting for all the other birds to finish eating at the bird feeders then she flies over and daintily moves around the trampled snow, royality showing in her every step. She delicately picks over the leftovers pretending it is the human equivalent to caviar on toast points. After she has her fill, she sometimes flies away or, more likely, comes back to the deck. She'll land between our dining room doors and the styrofoam insulation I left on the deck from building the coop. The little six inch space between the doors and the styrofoam is a very cozy, sheltered nook made just for a 'lonesome dove'. Finding a place for the styrofoam and storing it was one of those things that belong to the "Almost Season". Sometimes not being the most efficient and energetic person has it's rewards. Everytime I pass through the dining room, I take a peek at her, she looks back curiously but doesn't seem fearful.

I always thought perhaps procrastination has an upside, I just didn't think it would be soft-eyed and fluttery.

Mourning Doves

I found a pair of Mourning Doves under the wild canary feeder today! They are such delightful birds. Soft grey-y brown color and very shy. I had heard them, it's not hard to notice their soft cooing sound, but had never seen them in my yard before. Some people mistake their sound for owls. But there is a difference, the dove's call is much softer and musical than the owl's sharp hoot.

I like doves, they seem so calm, unlike the wild canaries who flutter and scramble around the feeder. From all the twitching birds clinging to it,you'd think the feeder was electrified. The doves, unperturbed, quietly walk under the feeder and mosey around the butterfly garden. They talk gently to each other and explore by pecking. I am hoping to get a picture of them but right now, they do not trust me at all and fly away as soon as I make an appearance.

I would have never thought that doves would come because I put up a wild canary feeder. I hope they hang around and tell all their dove friends about us. I love these little surprises.

The American Goldfinch or Hello Again!

Sometimes you don't know you're missing something until you see it again.

Before we moved out to BC, we lived in a house that had a large, southern living room window. I planted cosmos in front of it. That summer I delighted in sitting in the living room watching these tiny little yellow and black birds eat the cosmo seeds. I had no idea what they were, I just called them wild canaries.

I never saw this little yellow bird when I lived out west, probably because I was in a highly developed area and the only wildlife seemed to be teenagers.

I was just delighted one morning after moving into our old farmhouse to see one flit by. I planted cosmos in hopes it would attract them but it didn't work. I contented myself with the occassional sudden flash of yellow on a summer's day. Well, at least I knew they were here.

At the feed store this spring, I noticed these long mesh bags declaring that they were American Goldfinch feeders and for fun I bought one, filled it with seed and hung it off a crabapple tree by my butterfly garden. For a couple of weeks, it didn't attract anything. Occassionally the wind would push it back and forth, making it sway. Great - I now have a swing for the wind's amusement. Then one morning, there was a little yellow and black bird clinging to the side of the feed bag having breakfast! Soon word got out in the bird community and more little yellow and black birds showed up. Now I can watch five or six of them scramble for position on the bag while a few wait in the branches of the crabapple tree. It is an absolutely delightful way to spend 15 minutes while having my morning coffee.

Toads or Where are the Characters from "The Wind in the Willows" When You Need Them?

One thing that truly amazes me about growing my own food is how dramatically my interests have changed. Four years ago, bugs certainly weren't an interest now they are because bugs play a vital part in gardening. Same goes for worms, weeds, compost, compost tea, etc., the list goes on and on and on. I am evolving, much like the very plants I try to grow. Like roots sinking deeper in the fertile soil, I soak up information and facts trying to establish a firm hold in the earth of knowledge. Like branches stretching up towards the sun for nutrients and growth, I reach for experience and new understanding. Thank goodness this is all figurative, not literal otherwise I'd probably start looking like a stumpy tree.

Hence my interest in toads (shudder). Turns out toads (shudder) are great things to have in gardens for pest control. Toads eat bugs, lots and lots of bugs. You'll notice I'm not shuddering anymore, anything that eats destructive bugs is OK in my books. Growing up, I have read my share of cute little critter books, so the thought of toads hopping happily throughout my garden, munching bugs on their way through did hold its charm once I got over the shuddering reflex anytime the word 'toad' was mentioned.

I made two toad houses, one at either end of the garden. They are made out of strategically piled rocks in shady parts. I lined small stones on the ground for a floor. I do try to keep the area damp. Problem is the toad houses remain toadless (another thing evolving is my use of the English language). I know the DaM Farm has toads, I have seen them. They like to live under my front porch. The question now is how do I get those toads out to the garden? "Build it and They will Come" is not working here at all. I have played with the idea with catching a couple of them and putting them in the garden. But I don't know, if they wanted to be in the garden, I'd think they'd be there. I don't want to put them in there only to have them die or be hunted down. I was hoping the scarecrow I put up will encourage the toads to come since there are no crows around. I don't know if crows eat toads, I'm just guessing. So far, it hasn't worked. The toads seem to prefer wood shelters, the front porch, for example. I am planning to replace the flat rock roofs with leftover wooden boards from the chicken coop project. May-be that will help. How my interests have changed. I wonder if putting "toads" as an interest on my resume would be a good thing ...probably not, it would just "croak" my chances.

Foxes or Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

I was outside just finishing off another round of garden work, sweaty, bug-bit and satisfied. As I put away my gardening tools, a bunch of crows started a ruckus. Glancing to the field, I saw what was bothering them. A red fox was loping through the long grass. This is the third time in as many weeks that I’ve seen a fox and it’s not always the same one. I’ve seen two different colored foxes, one red and one cream colored. The cream colored one was spotted by my son when we were driving home.

“Hey Mom, there’s a fox in our yard,” says he.
“What’s it carrying in its mouth? It’s not the cat, is it?” asks just a slightly panicky me.
“Nope, too small. I think it’s a rat. Yeah, it’s a rat, it’s got that long ropey tail thing going.” says he.
“Good, it can have all the rats it wants,” says a much relieved me.

So we have foxes in the neighbourhood. We’ve lived here for four years and while I have seen foxes on occasion, I haven’t seen them in our area much less on our property. Figures, I decide to get chickens and then foxes from all around start trotting unconcerned across my front yard. They can’t possibly know I have chickens, they’re still in the brooder in our basement. May-be the rats attracted them. Come to think of it, now that the rats are gone, I’ve only seen one fox since. Well, if the rats attracted them, the noisy chickens are going to draw them, I’m sure.

While I want to protect my chickens, I certainly don’t want to be banishing foxes. They’re extraordinary creatures. They’re part of the canine family yet there's something of the cat in the way they move; spry and light with their bendable backs and incredible balance. When I see one make her way across a field, supple and flowing, I am reminded of wheat in the wind. They are beautiful to watch. I’d much rather learn to live with them than without them. We are planning to make the coop and runs predator proof as much as possible, we’re burying 1 /1/2 inch fence two feet into the ground, that should stop them from digging in. I have no intention of loosing all my chickens to foxes but if I loose one or two, I’ll find out how the foxes got to them and fix the problem chalk it up to experience and get on with my life. And hopefully, the foxes will get on with theirs.

RATS!!!

Last Sunday was just a beautiful day, warm and sunny. Everybody here went outside to help in the veggie garden. Don was in the great hay bunny poop pile separating the composted part from the mostly hay part and shovelling the composted stuff into the wheelbarrow. P, teen-age son, was dumping it in the garden and T, teen-age daughter, and I were spreading it around. I'm just about glowing with happiness, I'm back in my beloved gardens with the-whole-family-pitching-in-and-having-a-good-time-anyways thing going on. People are passing in their cars, beeping and waving. We're waving back when we know them and even when we have absolutely NO clue on who they are.

So there we, having a good time when everything went sideways with the stroke of a shovel. Seems a mama rat thought the hay pile would be an excellent place to raise some youn'uns. Don's shovel hit smack in the middle of the nest. Mama runs away, three of the babies run away but the last baby must have been hit by Don's shovel. It is crippled and screaming blue murder. Don is white, P is looking like he might toss his lovely breakfast all over his shoes. T's face is frozen in sheer horror, her hands over her ears to block out the little rat's screaming. I grab a shovel to smack the rat and end it's pain. I hesitate, I'm not thinking this is an image I want my family to have of me. Besides, even though it's an ugly rat, it still should be dispatched as humanely as possible. I don't want to have to whack it more than once which might happen if I use the shovel. I run inside grab my trusty pellet gun and do away with the baby rat. Ew. Did I mention the little critter tried to bite me when I picked it up? Ew. Good thing I was wearing gloves. Ew. Wonder where the other ones went. Have I said "Ew" yet? Let me reiterate - EW, EW, EW! Where's the stupid cat when you need her? Oh year, right - she's having a nap on my bed.

Anyhow, we are going to have to do something about our waste hay management because I don't think I want to start a haven for rats. It's not too bad in the summer because it turns to compost really fast. It's the winter that's the problem, it just sits there and beacons the wildlife.