On the Farm
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The Chickens: I Think Lucille is a Boy
It’s been almost fifteen weeks since we brought these four little chicks home. We really wanted one boy because the hens seem to last longer with the help of a protective rooster. The man at the feed store said they’d been sent one extra rooster chick, so we bought him and promptly named him Howard. He’s the guy with the blue mark on his head.
Mildred, Howard, Bitsy, and Lucille (on the bottom)
Years have passed since our last batch of chickens turned into a racoon fast-food feast. This time, we took additional precautions. We built these little guys a fortress. I’m really excited to show it to you, but I want to get it painted first. Truly, this thing is a masterpiece, especially when you know I had to use old items from around the farm to build it. (I lost a bet.)
Mildred and “Lucille”It’s wouldn’t be a Nelson farm adventure without something going different than planned. Recently, I noticed that Lucille’s comb seemed large, and her tail feathers pointed up, a lot like Howard’s. My research told me that Rhode Island Red roosters are shiny and have greenish feathers in their tail and neck. That perfectly describes Lucille.
Like most people, I prefer my life to follow the plans I’ve made. Two roosters were never in the farm plan. It’s not like we can eat Lucille or Howard now. They’ve become pets. But as with so many other times I’ve chosen my own way, God sends me another direction. I’m so grateful that this time it’s only about a chicken.
As I scroll through Facebook, I’m overwhelmed by the number of people who are fighting for their lives or the lives of their children. And I’m warmed by the shows of bravery as friends take on battles without reservation. I see people all around me who’ve turned serious challenges into victories. Those who find beauty in the midst of hardship are inspirations. They don’t let the roadblock define their lives. I want to write stories with those kinds of heros.
So, back to my petty little chicken problem. One of these days soon, that chicken will either crow or lay an egg. It doesn’t really matter in the long run.
I think we’ll call him Lou.
What do you think? Hen or rooster?
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Research and Real Life with Cougars
I spent time researching cougars for my last book, The Lost. Much of the story takes place in the Cascade Mountains where cougar and all sorts of other wildlife reside. I watched videos of cougar attacks, listened to their sounds, and learned about the habits of these animals.
Honestly, the critters are magnificent. From their sleek fur to the guttural growl, cougars are impressive creations, but I don’t need to see one face-to-face to have a good sense of what they’re capable of.
A couple weeks back, my husband and I were walking the dogs at the end of the farm. Here the fields turn to shady forest. Our two dogs are used to the varied scents of raccoons, deer, and squirrels. That night our black lab, Canyon, jumped along the hedge of blackberry bushes, his nose up in the air. Something new was in there. Something he hadn’t smelled before.
The chase was on. Canyon led Harper, our other dog, down a narrow deer path and out of our sight. They barked and howled while we contemplated what could possibly be hiding in the brush.
Then we heard it. The growl. The throaty, deep, unmistakable warning of a cougar.
Almost instantly, Canyon’s barks turned to cries.
At that moment, I couldn’t think of anything scarier than the growl of a cougar and the cry of a dog. But the absolute silence that followed was much worse. I mean, complete silence that seemed to stretch on for minutes. Images of badly mauled dogs flashed in my mind.
I grabbed a nearby t-post, pathetic protection, but all I had.
Finally, both dogs exited the dense brush. There was a bit of blood, but not much. Canyon had taken a swipe across the nose. We all walked home, grateful that our adventure ended without tragedy.
Canyon and Harper two years ago
The event may have been too much for our cougar. We haven’t seen or heard anything from her since, and that just fine.
Our experience was exciting, but it’s nothing compared to the run-in my characters Jenna, Ireland, and Vicky have while lost in the Cascades.
There are only a few more days until I draw the winner of the Amazon gift card. Don’t forget to sign up.
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Bounty from the Boat
My husband loved his little aluminum boat. I couldn’t stand the thing. He thought the three times we used it each year were worth the countless hours of motor-repair and the licensing struggles. For me, it was a headache.
A few years ago we had ice. It hung from the branches and froze the pipes. And it went on for many days. A couple years later we saw the long-term consequences. Trees started splitting and falling over. Let me just say, we are in no need of extra firewood.
In front of our house stands the most majestic oak tree. The thing is huge! I walked by the trunk one day and noticed a split going straight down. This is the tree that shades our home. It’s where our kids reluctantly took turns with the swing. I love this tree.
My husband did the only thing he could do to try and save it…and our cars. He cut away many of the heavy branches and moved anything that was important, aka his boat, to the safe side. The split seemed to close up, and we thought all was well.
Then one night, around ten, we heard pops and snaps followed by a crash. We rushed out of the house to find a giant limb, one we thought was fine, had broken free of the tree and landed on the boat.
Now, I could tell you that I was a good wife that night. I could say that I patted my husband on the back and told him we’d get another boat. But I’m not here to mislead you about who I am. I laughed. Not a little hidden giggle; I really busted up.
It’s not that I didn’t feel bad. I really did. It’s just that we were in one of those seasons of life where everything seemed to go wrong. You know what I’m talking about. If it could break, it did. Everywhere we turned there was more bad news. At the moment the tree hit the boat, I think my frustration broke too. Here we were, standing in the dark, shining a flashlight beam onto a smashed boat. A boat that was moved to a “safe” location, and still, this happened. It was utterly ridiculous.
That boat still makes me laugh. I didn’t let the disaster go to waste. With a few holes knocked into the bottom, a layer of rock, and a bunch of soil, the boat became a garden. For the first time in years, we are able to grow carrots without the moles eating them before we could harvest.
Now, I love the boat. My husband, he’s not a huge fan, but he loves me, so he helped with the project.When I look out my window and see the boat brimming with produce, I’m reminded how great things can be born out of trials.
And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. ~ 1Peter 5:10
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Sleepy
Sometimes I feel like this too!
