Morning provided a nice surprise. All the new hens who spent the night outside were alive, only because the coons and foxes haven't figured out yet that I bought some stupid, uncooperative chickens. :( They may figure it out tonight, so I am not getting my hopes up.
Morning also provided a sad blow. My largest older hen, a gorgeous buff orphington was dead on the floor of the coop below the roosts. No blood, no wounds, no physical trauma was visible but her neck was floppy. Supposing there was a struggle and she broke it somehow?
New hens that were in the coop didn't want to come out. Caught a few of them and introduced them to the nesting boxes. Hope they figure that out because they just layed eggs all over the place last night. Even found one egg in the water bowl.
Another strange thing. Most of these hens are spending a lot of time standing on one leg. What's that all about?
I didn't realize how blessed I was with my first batch of hens. This new batch, my first attempt to increase my flock, may make me decide that store-bought eggs are just fine.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
New hens October 20, 2010
How huge is this mistake I have made? Bought 13 hens, sight unseen, from a total stranger, based on a Craigslist ad. Supposed to be young, healthy, immunized good-laying red sex-link hens "retired" from Tyson due to moulting.
Went to pick them up today. Dozens of cages, piled 4 or 5 layers high, jam- packed with 1,000 hens. Feathers everywhere. Strangely quiet.
They were supposed to have arrived yesterday.... so does that mean they spent an extra 24 hours in those cages without food and water? On top of how many other hours since they were picked up at Tyson?
But the "guy" in charge just started carrying birds to my vehicle and I didn't stop to look at them until I got them home. Big mistake.
What a pitiful sight they are. Beaks have been clipped (I hate that!), some nearly featherless from self-picking and them all picking each other, not just moulting I'm sure. Combs and wattles are very pale, not a red one in the bunch. I carefully lifted each almost-comatose bird from my carrying cage and set each one on the ground. They acted like they were in shock. Acted like they had never seen dirt, or grass, or daylight. I brought out a short bucket of water. They had to be thirsty!
None drank. So I caught one and dipped its beak in the water. Then it drank like crazy. I caught most of them, one at a time, repeating the beak dipping. The last few were too fast for me to catch, so I just hope they will learn from the others.
One hen, drank, then sat down, then fell over on her side. I set her back up, she plopped over again. "Here's one that won't make it throught the night" I thought. I brought food out to where the new hens decided to huddle together behind the chicken house. Some ate pellets, but they wouldn't even try the tomatoes, cucumbers, or bread.
When my older 7 hens went to roost, the new ones didn't follow, so one-by-one, I cornered 8 of the new hens and put them into the coop. The others were NOT going to cooperate and by now it was dark. So counting the one that was falling over on her side, I plan to find 6 new hens either dead or missing in the morning.
Went to pick them up today. Dozens of cages, piled 4 or 5 layers high, jam- packed with 1,000 hens. Feathers everywhere. Strangely quiet.
They were supposed to have arrived yesterday.... so does that mean they spent an extra 24 hours in those cages without food and water? On top of how many other hours since they were picked up at Tyson?
But the "guy" in charge just started carrying birds to my vehicle and I didn't stop to look at them until I got them home. Big mistake.
What a pitiful sight they are. Beaks have been clipped (I hate that!), some nearly featherless from self-picking and them all picking each other, not just moulting I'm sure. Combs and wattles are very pale, not a red one in the bunch. I carefully lifted each almost-comatose bird from my carrying cage and set each one on the ground. They acted like they were in shock. Acted like they had never seen dirt, or grass, or daylight. I brought out a short bucket of water. They had to be thirsty!
None drank. So I caught one and dipped its beak in the water. Then it drank like crazy. I caught most of them, one at a time, repeating the beak dipping. The last few were too fast for me to catch, so I just hope they will learn from the others.
One hen, drank, then sat down, then fell over on her side. I set her back up, she plopped over again. "Here's one that won't make it throught the night" I thought. I brought food out to where the new hens decided to huddle together behind the chicken house. Some ate pellets, but they wouldn't even try the tomatoes, cucumbers, or bread.
When my older 7 hens went to roost, the new ones didn't follow, so one-by-one, I cornered 8 of the new hens and put them into the coop. The others were NOT going to cooperate and by now it was dark. So counting the one that was falling over on her side, I plan to find 6 new hens either dead or missing in the morning.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Morning Fairies
I exaggerate just a bit when I say I saw zillions of flittering glittering fairies out my kitchen window this morning. Poured my 2nd cup of coffee and by chance glanced out the window to see the garden and chicken yard all aglow and sparkling in the morning sun. Like a fairy tale scene filled with dancing fairies moving too fast to really see, but reflecting the sun so as not to be missed.
Must be butterflies I concluded, but have butterflies ever sparkled like that?
Should I have just clicked the shutter on this incredible moment to seal it in my memory? Was it foolish to slip on my shoes and head out to the field to fellowship with the fairies?
Cautiously, so as not to scare them off, slipped thru the gate and into the pasture. Stood still and looked around in amazement. Just as my adult self said, not fairies at all. Just as my rational self said, butterflies don't sparkle like this. But just as the child inside me oooohhhed and awwwweddddd, there were a zillion (give or take) dragon flies darting about me, going nowhere it appeared, merely there for my amazement perhaps, the sun glinting and splitting on their transluscent prism wings.
Thank you God.
Must be butterflies I concluded, but have butterflies ever sparkled like that?
Should I have just clicked the shutter on this incredible moment to seal it in my memory? Was it foolish to slip on my shoes and head out to the field to fellowship with the fairies?
Cautiously, so as not to scare them off, slipped thru the gate and into the pasture. Stood still and looked around in amazement. Just as my adult self said, not fairies at all. Just as my rational self said, butterflies don't sparkle like this. But just as the child inside me oooohhhed and awwwweddddd, there were a zillion (give or take) dragon flies darting about me, going nowhere it appeared, merely there for my amazement perhaps, the sun glinting and splitting on their transluscent prism wings.
Thank you God.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
A meaningful life
How would you describe a "meaningful life"?
As a Christian, I believe that we were created to love and serve God, and that without that, a life cannot be meaningful in the most important sense. But how does the Christian spiritual walk translate into a outwardly recognizable life of meaning?
Very early on, I remember being tempted to judge a person's life by how many people showed up at his funeral. Of course some are there because they love the deceased. Many come because they love members of the grieving family. Others come out of duty, some even out of habit, or curiosity. Wouldn't it be nice if it were as easy as counting the people who passed by your casket to say farewell?
And not a much better gauge is your obituary. Some go on and on with a picture, lists of hobbies and organizations, and people preceeding and surviving, how many degrees he had, his dog's name, and his favorite kind of cookie. Others are so stark: born here on this date of these parents, worked there 45 years, service Friday.
What about the size and magnificance of one's headstone? Being a serious graver, I have seen so many huge expensive ornately decorated monuments to the deceased resting below. Were they more important than the man's whose marker was a small rectangle of concrete with name and date roughly sketched in the cement, probably with a stick, with one of the letters backward no less?
Is it about money then? Of course not, no discussion needed. I feel silly for mentioning it.
Is it about having lots of descendents to carry on your genetics into the future? Children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren that will remember to mention once in a while what great chocolate chip cookies Grandma used to make, or what a meticulous housekeeper Great-grandma always was, or what incredible fish tales grandpa used to tell? Nope, that doesn't seem to be it either.
So I'm circling back to the funeral. Not a count of the people who are present at that final event of your earthly life, for all those reasons mentioned above, but of all the people who would be there if they could, if they were still alive, if they knew, if they could get there because you made a difference in their lives. In your life, you encounter people, hopefully you touch some in a positive, meaningful way. Perhaps you were my spouse, or my best friend. Maybe you were the best boss I ever worked for. A bank teller who always acted like you were glad I was in your line. A hairdresser who cared as much about my hair as I did. A teacher who stuck by my son during his roughest year in middle school. A vet that came in the middle of the night. A UPS man who walked down my long, windy snowed-in driveway to deliver a package he knew I was waiting for (they get in big trouble if they get those brown trucks stuck!). A Sunday School teacher who delighted in the material. An acquaintance from church who brought by a sack of grocieries the day after my mother died.
It doesn't really matter what you are doing WITH your life. The most important thing about your choices of career and non-career activities is that they put you in contact with people, preferably lots of people. People who will at some time you will have the opportunity to impact with love and kindness. What matters more than where you are, or how you make your living is how you are treating the people that God sprinkles along your path. The more people you interact with, and the more you are able to help them in any special way, the more impact your life has. Some of this impact happened long long ago, and is a faint memory that died with the person you impacted. Some impacts are larger, more vivid memories, held by more people perhaps, maybe still even talked about at gatherings. Maybe you did something so good it was covered by the newspaper, but sadly, most good deeds don't make the front page. Even better, your actions inspired others to take action and in that, your impact survives beyond the grave and the memories of others. You have started your own ripple in the lake, as they say.
And if, for some reason, God doesn't lead you into a position where you can teach and/or inspire others, what a comfort to know that God is keeping track of every kindness, every act of obedience. He said we should love our neighbors. He also said we should love our enemies. How do we do that? We go out of our way to find kind and loving things we can do for them. Yes, even our enemies.
As a Christian, I believe that we were created to love and serve God, and that without that, a life cannot be meaningful in the most important sense. But how does the Christian spiritual walk translate into a outwardly recognizable life of meaning?
Very early on, I remember being tempted to judge a person's life by how many people showed up at his funeral. Of course some are there because they love the deceased. Many come because they love members of the grieving family. Others come out of duty, some even out of habit, or curiosity. Wouldn't it be nice if it were as easy as counting the people who passed by your casket to say farewell?
And not a much better gauge is your obituary. Some go on and on with a picture, lists of hobbies and organizations, and people preceeding and surviving, how many degrees he had, his dog's name, and his favorite kind of cookie. Others are so stark: born here on this date of these parents, worked there 45 years, service Friday.
What about the size and magnificance of one's headstone? Being a serious graver, I have seen so many huge expensive ornately decorated monuments to the deceased resting below. Were they more important than the man's whose marker was a small rectangle of concrete with name and date roughly sketched in the cement, probably with a stick, with one of the letters backward no less?
Is it about money then? Of course not, no discussion needed. I feel silly for mentioning it.
Is it about having lots of descendents to carry on your genetics into the future? Children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren that will remember to mention once in a while what great chocolate chip cookies Grandma used to make, or what a meticulous housekeeper Great-grandma always was, or what incredible fish tales grandpa used to tell? Nope, that doesn't seem to be it either.
So I'm circling back to the funeral. Not a count of the people who are present at that final event of your earthly life, for all those reasons mentioned above, but of all the people who would be there if they could, if they were still alive, if they knew, if they could get there because you made a difference in their lives. In your life, you encounter people, hopefully you touch some in a positive, meaningful way. Perhaps you were my spouse, or my best friend. Maybe you were the best boss I ever worked for. A bank teller who always acted like you were glad I was in your line. A hairdresser who cared as much about my hair as I did. A teacher who stuck by my son during his roughest year in middle school. A vet that came in the middle of the night. A UPS man who walked down my long, windy snowed-in driveway to deliver a package he knew I was waiting for (they get in big trouble if they get those brown trucks stuck!). A Sunday School teacher who delighted in the material. An acquaintance from church who brought by a sack of grocieries the day after my mother died.
It doesn't really matter what you are doing WITH your life. The most important thing about your choices of career and non-career activities is that they put you in contact with people, preferably lots of people. People who will at some time you will have the opportunity to impact with love and kindness. What matters more than where you are, or how you make your living is how you are treating the people that God sprinkles along your path. The more people you interact with, and the more you are able to help them in any special way, the more impact your life has. Some of this impact happened long long ago, and is a faint memory that died with the person you impacted. Some impacts are larger, more vivid memories, held by more people perhaps, maybe still even talked about at gatherings. Maybe you did something so good it was covered by the newspaper, but sadly, most good deeds don't make the front page. Even better, your actions inspired others to take action and in that, your impact survives beyond the grave and the memories of others. You have started your own ripple in the lake, as they say.
And if, for some reason, God doesn't lead you into a position where you can teach and/or inspire others, what a comfort to know that God is keeping track of every kindness, every act of obedience. He said we should love our neighbors. He also said we should love our enemies. How do we do that? We go out of our way to find kind and loving things we can do for them. Yes, even our enemies.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Aunt Sugar update
This morning, as I sat here posting about my Aunt Sugar, with my cell phone sitting right here by the keyboard, the hospital called, twice. And my Sprint cell phone didn't ring either time. When I noticed the message and returned the call, they said she had taken a turn, and probably would not live another hour. The day has been a blur since then, racing to the hospital to find her already passed away, waiting with her until the funeral home came to remove her, calling the attorney to see how I could get all this stuff done without have any papers authorizing me to do so, going thru her apartment looking for a will, a life insurance policy, any funds to help pay for a funeral, etc. To her bank to learn that she had not put me on her accounts as she had planned to do. Then to the funeral home to start making plans. One more important stop I made was Sprint, where the phone worked perfectly every time they called it. Incredible. I miss my Aunt's call for help because of this stupid phone. Then I miss the hospital's call that she is going fast because of this phone. And then it behaves perfectly when I go in to complain about it. I wonder why Sprint is losing market share?
Please visit my Aunt's memorial page on
http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GSln=crawford&GSfn=virgie&GSbyrel=all&GSdyrel=all&GSob=n&GRid=23571426
Please visit my Aunt's memorial page on
http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GSln=crawford&GSfn=virgie&GSbyrel=all&GSdyrel=all&GSob=n&GRid=23571426
My Aunt Sugar
She takes my phone calls and seems glad enough to gab for a few minutes. I pester her with questions about the past, she being the oldest living relative on my Mom's side. She has a remarkable memory, and she is brutally honest, doesn't hold back a thing.
But she never calls me. Never. Not once. Until December 23, 2007 at 12:44 pm. I had commented to hubby that I had forgotten to turn my phone off during church, and how glad I was nobody called during the service. After church, we went out for Chinese, and as I sat enjoying all my favorites at the Peking Restaurant, my Aunt Sugar tried to call me.
Unfortunately, my phone never rang, and she didn't leave a message. I always check my messages. Regularly. But I never check my missed calls. She is on the missed calls list.
Then about noon on Christmas Eve, NKC Hospital called to say that they were looking for kin of Virgie Belle Crawford, my Aunt Sug. My phone never rang, but when I returned the call, they informed me that she was there, brought in by ambulance that morning, and was full of cancer. Liver, breast, and lymph nodes. She probably had just a few days left. There was nothing they could do for her except try to control the pain.
Aunt Sug was so weak and near death when they found her in her apartment. They tried to ask her questions. Finally they understood she was trying to say "Claussen from Lawson". She repeated it several times. Finally she responded with my first name, and the paliative care nurse googled me. I am all over the internet, and was easy to find. At the same time, the social services fellow, David, called Aunt Sug's apartment manager to see if she had next of kin on her rental paperwork. No, but the assistant manager knew Julie, a good friend of Sug's, to whom Aunt Sug had given my phone number just a few months ago, as an emergency contact.
So, that's where we are now. Aunt Sug, the strongest and most independent of the 3 Crawford sisters, is at the end of her road. She is too far gone, and the pain medication has taken her too far away, for me to talk to her about Jesus. As young girls, the 3 sisters were taken to church by their grandparents. All 3 were probably baptized in the grandparents' church. As older youth, they briefly lived in a Catholic home and attended school there. Sug has heard the Good News; I just don't know if she ever accepted Jesus as her Savior.
Sug worked hard all her life. At hard jobs. She ran large presses and machines, doing jobs mostly considered mens' jobs. She only retired a few years ago, working well past the 62-65 age where most hope to retire.
The deaths are coming too fast, too close.
2006 May 5 Brother, Benny Lee Fox, age 50
2007 Jul 8 Best Friend, Joe Harrison, age 56
2007 Jul 20 Jason Logan, age 30, customer, friend, and "adopted" son
2007 Nov 28 Good Friend, Glenn Thompson, age 58
It has been a very hard 18 months.
But she never calls me. Never. Not once. Until December 23, 2007 at 12:44 pm. I had commented to hubby that I had forgotten to turn my phone off during church, and how glad I was nobody called during the service. After church, we went out for Chinese, and as I sat enjoying all my favorites at the Peking Restaurant, my Aunt Sugar tried to call me.
Unfortunately, my phone never rang, and she didn't leave a message. I always check my messages. Regularly. But I never check my missed calls. She is on the missed calls list.
Then about noon on Christmas Eve, NKC Hospital called to say that they were looking for kin of Virgie Belle Crawford, my Aunt Sug. My phone never rang, but when I returned the call, they informed me that she was there, brought in by ambulance that morning, and was full of cancer. Liver, breast, and lymph nodes. She probably had just a few days left. There was nothing they could do for her except try to control the pain.
Aunt Sug was so weak and near death when they found her in her apartment. They tried to ask her questions. Finally they understood she was trying to say "Claussen from Lawson". She repeated it several times. Finally she responded with my first name, and the paliative care nurse googled me. I am all over the internet, and was easy to find. At the same time, the social services fellow, David, called Aunt Sug's apartment manager to see if she had next of kin on her rental paperwork. No, but the assistant manager knew Julie, a good friend of Sug's, to whom Aunt Sug had given my phone number just a few months ago, as an emergency contact.
So, that's where we are now. Aunt Sug, the strongest and most independent of the 3 Crawford sisters, is at the end of her road. She is too far gone, and the pain medication has taken her too far away, for me to talk to her about Jesus. As young girls, the 3 sisters were taken to church by their grandparents. All 3 were probably baptized in the grandparents' church. As older youth, they briefly lived in a Catholic home and attended school there. Sug has heard the Good News; I just don't know if she ever accepted Jesus as her Savior.
Sug worked hard all her life. At hard jobs. She ran large presses and machines, doing jobs mostly considered mens' jobs. She only retired a few years ago, working well past the 62-65 age where most hope to retire.
The deaths are coming too fast, too close.
2006 May 5 Brother, Benny Lee Fox, age 50
2007 Jul 8 Best Friend, Joe Harrison, age 56
2007 Jul 20 Jason Logan, age 30, customer, friend, and "adopted" son
2007 Nov 28 Good Friend, Glenn Thompson, age 58
It has been a very hard 18 months.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Glenn's funeral
http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=23162464
Not a funeral really, not even a visitation really. More of a gab party. Old acquaintances reconnecting in person due to Glenn. Gayla, Camilla, Diane Goodfellow, Darlene, Louella Prettyman, Mike Tucker, Majel Ladd, Linda Grado. Disappointed that Jean Ponds, Robert Vadnais, Dennis Evans and Edna Hough couldn't make it. They all meant so much to Glenn.
Poor Janet, she is really all alone now.
Not a funeral really, not even a visitation really. More of a gab party. Old acquaintances reconnecting in person due to Glenn. Gayla, Camilla, Diane Goodfellow, Darlene, Louella Prettyman, Mike Tucker, Majel Ladd, Linda Grado. Disappointed that Jean Ponds, Robert Vadnais, Dennis Evans and Edna Hough couldn't make it. They all meant so much to Glenn.
Poor Janet, she is really all alone now.
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