Stuck in a Rut
By Bill, posted on 02/15/2004
It was a cold week here at victory farm. Single digit cold. But after awhile you get used to it. A scarf across the mouth can make a big difference, and learning how much to move to keep warm without breathing hard and sucking in too much frigid air really helps too.
I was determined to be pioneer-stoic and not heat the coop this winter. I figured people raised chickens for centuries without heaters. But when we hit 12 degrees I broke down and put a heat lamp in the coop. I figure if the pioneers had heat lamps they would most surely have used them.
Spent some time working on the chicken run this week. The pasture was nearly free of snow for the first time in weeks.
We've been keeping the birds inside since we lost a bird to a predator. At first we thought it was a hawk. They'll take a quick meal and then move on so we figured keeping the birds in for a few days would be enough. The hens were not happy about it and complained mightily over the arrangement.
If you've ever spent any time around chickens you'll know what I'm talking about. No animal can complain as vocally as a chicken. If you let them, they spend a good half hour just telling you about all their woes with little clucks and grumbles that vary from indignant to woe-begotten. After having been locked up for a few days they had volumes of discontent to communicate. I try to get out of the coop as fast as possible during these times to avoid being overwhelmed.
Three days after the attack we let them out again. Within 2 hours another bird was down. This time I saw the culprit. Not a hawk, but a falcon. A peregrine falcon. They are endangered because farmers kept shooting them. Now I know why.
I've been building a run for about 6 weeks now. We've been hit with heavy snows the have buried the pasture. So whenever the snow melted down enough I've been working on it.
Today I had to give up. I've gotten used to the cold but there's a thing I've heard tell of called a "thin-wind". Today I experienced it. A light but persistent wind that travels low to the ground picking up pure cold from ours as well neighboring pastures. I hopped from foot to foot, rubbed my hands and tried to pay it no mind. But still it came as a relentless, perhaps malignant, presence that began to freeze my joints making it hard to walk.
The saner part of my brain put down it's metaphorical foot and called it a day. My less sane puritan/stoic part tried to put up a fight for show but quickly gave in.
I grabbed my tools and admitted defeat. On the way back I noticed that the ruts that the sheep had worn in the pasture were still there even though there have been no sheep there for 8 months. Once sheep pick a path they stick to it, so there is a network of trails all leading to a central trail worn several inches deep into the dirt. What dull-witted beasts, I thought to myself, following the same paths every day.
On the way back to the house I noticed more distinct trails beat into the ground. One each going to the woodpile, the barn and the coop, all converging on a central worn area leading to the back door of the house and I knew what dull witted beast had made those.
Having been roundly put in my place once again I went inside and had some coffee by the woodstove.
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