Chickens

I finished building the chicken pen Tuesday morning. What a task!  It's not much of a pen, but then, I'm not much of a carpenter. I finally got it pretty straight, and the wire all on.  In the end, it doesn't look too bad.

About a month ago, I bought two little Bantam hens from a friend. They came in a small coop about 2' by 3', so I decided to build a yard for them.

I bought a dozen eight foot 2X4s, some one inch mesh chicken wire, and some nails. I kept splitting out the 2X4s, so I bought some self tapping screws. They work much better, and my Makita power driver spins them in nicely. 

Then I ran out of 2X4s, so I bought two dozen more. Then ran out of screws, so had to buy more. I did think that time to get some small ones as well, to attach the roof.  Of course all these purchases involved separate trips to town, about 20 miles away, and mostly in the pickup, which drinks three dollar plus per gallon gasoline at an amazing rate.

I haven't done a lick of work since I quit driving truck, and my hands were sore, but I finished the 8' by 8' pen. It has two 4'X8' sheets of plywood for the roof.  The plywood came from the last election campaign of  a former US Senator from Montana. So now every airplane passing over can see that my chickens are "Friends of Conrad Burns."  While I may not be, my chickens are good Republicans..

I created a place for the little coop to attach to the yard, and pulled the chicken wire off of it, creating a door for them to go in and out. There is a crossbar about halfway up the now open doorway, that now serves as a perch.

The birds were pretty leery about leaving the confines of their pen. They had never been out of it in their lives. I removed their waterer the night before, and that morning, after everything was ready, at about 8:30, I put it in the yard. I scattered some wheat in the yard, and called them, as I always do when I feed them. They were a little hesitant, but stuck their heads out and looked around.

I went back to the house, which is about 20 - 25 feet away, sat on the porch, and watched them. Pretty soon they ventured timidly out into the yard, necks stretched straight up, looking in all directions. They stretched their wings out fully, and headed for the waterer.

After a good drink, and pecking at the food, they discovered that they were not in their little enclosure, and fled back.

After a few minutes, one went out into the yard and began to peck at the seeds. The other hopped up on the crossbar in the doorway, and launched herself out. She spread her wings, flapped mightily, and flew!

It was a beautiful sight. First, the birds who had never had enough room to do so, spread their wings out fully. Then, for the first time in her life, that little Banty hen flew!  It almost brought tears to my eyes.

"Free at last
Free at last
Thank God almighty
I'm free at last."

I like chickens. I like to watch them. They are sentient beings you know.  They have a language, and carry on conversations.  They also sing.  When I was little, our mother raised chickens. Thousands of them. I discovered then that they sing. They sing different songs, and often repeat them. Not only that, they sing in harmony. The songs are often very complex, and sometimes take many minutes to complete. As a musician, I recognized the music they create.

So now,  I feed the chickens and watch and listen to them. It's very pleasant, and the sense of accomplishment in finishing the chicken yard is very satisfying as well.

Agape.
Lee

The View Off My Porch

I ate breakfast on the porch this morning, as I nearly always do when the weather permits.  The Kinsey area of the Yellowstone Valley is covered with tall corn, and green Alfalfa, Pinto Beans, Sugar Beets, and Potatoes all nearing harvest.  It is a beautiful sight.  Down the road, one of the neighbors is getting his second cutting of Alfalfa started, and a little farther down there is a stand of grain ready to be harvested.  My few chickens cluck happily in their soon to be enlarged pen. We are truly blessed to live in a place where we can witness the bounty of  a fruitful nation.

I have always loved the great national hymn "America The Beautiful."

Oh beautiful far spacious skies
Oer amber waves of grain
Oer purple mountains majesty

Above the fruited plain
 America, America,
God shed his grace on thee

And crowned thy good
With brotherhood
From sea to shining sea.

Of course we still have to work on that "brotherhood" part, but we're working on it. That is something I'll reserve for another blog.

I am proud of my agricultural roots. I'm happy to be a witness to, and a part of, the system that feeds our nation, and an otherwise starving world. I work in the harvest hauling cut corn to a silo for silage to feed cattle through the winter, so that you can have a delicious steak for dinner. I also haul Sugar Beets from the field to a marshaling station called a "piler," so you can have sugar in your coffee or to pour on your American grown cereal.

All of this costs money. The farmer has to plow, buy seed, plant, cultivate, water, and harvest his crop. He has to pay me, and others like me to help in the harvest. He has to buy and maintain terribly expensive machinery, and buy terribly expensive fuel for those machines.

Then he is dependent upon a bunch of gamblers in the commodities market to tell him how much he will get for his crop. In the end, he barely has enough to cover the loans (with big interest) to pay for all of the above, and feed his family.  Farmer's daughters and sons like pretty clothes, and cell phones just like the offspring of "townies." whose parents work for wages, and pretty well know how much they will be getting at the end of the year.

But you know what? the vast majority of us wouldn't have it any other way. I was reared on a cattle ranch. Dad had to work an outside job just to keep the three of us fed and clothed. He hated that, but knew that it was necessary to the operation of the ranch. Besides, girls object to wearing flour sack dresses to the junior prom. And have you seen the price of shoes?

My Dad, and my Mother at his side, would have no more left the ranch than cut off their arm. That land is a part of them as much as they are a part of that land.

Dad's gone on now, but Mama is still on the ranch, and when it's time for her to leave, her body will be buried alongside his on the land they loved. The land they nurtured, preserved, and from which they fed our nation, and an otherwise starving world.

So I just want to ask you to join me, as I sit and enjoy the view off my porch, to pray a prayer of thanksgiving and protection for those engaged in agriculture. From sea to shining sea.

God bless our farmers and ranchers.

Agape
Lee