I had to work this past weekend–it involved a long drive on Friday and returning on Sunday. I loaded up their feeder, filled the watering bucket half full, changed the paper in the crate and left them on their own–the dogs were kenneled–otherwise I’m sure I would have no worries about chickens in the future.
When I arrived home early Sunday afternoon, they still had food and water–but there was fuzzy fluff everywhere–and these little chickies no longer had down—anywhere—just feathers. I took them outside in the crate and let them wander around on the grass—in the crate–they don’t really come when they are called–quite yet. Changed their paper, refilled feeder and water—and then put a handful of grass and some sand in the crate–they still yell….the sky is falling but then they take one look at that grass and dive right in.
Tomorrow they are graduating to their coop====before I retrieve the dogs from their vacation at the kennel.
This is photographic evidence with no photoshopping or other alterations of a man reading directions.
It was a simple project—buy the kit at Tractor Supply–I had been looking for months, reading, consulting a friend, and trying to remember the ins and outs from my childhood–albeit a few years ago–and in a different climate. This kit was on sale–the company no longer making them–and it seemed sturdy.
I hauled it home in the bed of my F250; Glen backed my truck into the backyard, we used a rope around the end of it to pull it out–it weight 160 pounds a bit more than the neurosurgeon would advise me lifting.
We pulled out the pieces–hunting for the directions–hoping it was originally written in English, not Chinese and then translated to English.
but it was a diagram with numbers.
So now I have a chicken coop with a small enclosed pen. Toby refused to go in carefully keeping her feet outside the doors.
Maybe some chicks this week.
Oliver now weighs ten pounds; I still had my grandma touch but he was hungry.
But James was ready to play with Grandma.
First we read his new Winnie the Pooh book. He is reading some fairly hard words—like delicious! He is full of laughter and smiles and enthusiasm–just as I remember his father. We talked about his recent field trip to a farm where he got to milk a cow–by hand. …along with a lot of other children. That had to be one patient cow.
We had to open the box of shortbread cookies—chocolate Scottie dogs and he ate one and then another–quite spoiling his dinner I am sure—but isn’t that a prerogative of being grandma.
Then we inspected his Lego creations, set off the Lunar Lander–over the balcony onto the fireplace–the astronauts landed on their heads but they didn’t seem to complain. We exited the upstairs with a demonstration of allligators crawling down the stairs—James–NOT Grandma–although I could have gotten down–it would have been more interesting to see how I got up!
Two bird feeders outside the front door were school projects and it seemed the birds really like the paper cup coated with seeds as only a few remained.
It was far too short a visit–but it will have to last for a month or so.
There is just something about a cup of tea made properly from loose tea in a preheated teapot and steeped just right.
I didn’t grow up drinking tea of any sort–my mother would drink it when her stomach felt upset- but otherwise the parents drank coffee and the children drank milk–raw milk from the cows Dad milked twice daily by hand for many years and then with a milking machine.
When I married, I married into a family of tea drinkers–hot tea. The girls would sit in the formal living room drinking tea from the special cups–we each got to choose our cup for the day–and we would chat about this and that while the guys retired to the play room or garage to discuss–or fix–or admire–.
Then I spent a wonderful three months in Kenya with my brother-in-law and his wife–and quickly–after just one session became accustomed to morning and afternoon tea–there it was made with hot milk and lots of sugar. Tea was purchased at the market–with sieving s and twigs bought separately and then mixed.
We do not have a similar market here–but I discovered great loose tea at the local India food store.
There is just something about a proper cup of tea
Quilted earlier this week and awaiting binding, this flannel quilt was sewn by my dear friend Sherry from donated scraps. I used a simple loopy-do meander and then did the borders in a continuous fashion requiring rolling and re-rolling–not so hard with a simple loopy-dee-doo.
I always like to include a nice label with a wish/prayer for a better future. This quilt will go to a Boys Haven boy sometime in the near future. These are boys who are from troubled homes and who frequently have not had anyone voluntarily do something nice for them. This is an ongoing project for the local quilt guild–and I am happy to have contributed several quilts.
When we moved from Georgia to Texas we were welcomed by neighbors across the street with coffee, orange juice, and doughnuts. We learned they had four children, two of who matched two of our boys ages–and we had parties together and worked on our houses together. We all celebrated news of functioning bathrooms and repairs of roofs and new paint.
But next door lived a woman in what was once a lovely house. It had French doors leading to the front room, a carport and a wide front porch. Unfortunately she did not have the resources to maintain it and after three successive hurricanes with a large tree falling on the back area, it was deemed uninhabitable by the city. After many long months it was demolished this past week.
While it is sad to see the home gone, perhaps we will now have fewer raccoons and homeless people sleeping next door.
Snow in this part of Texas doesn’t last long—thank goodness for this Yankee who admires it greatly in photographs and for maybe a week or two—but shoveling sidewalks before going to work/school each morning, stocking up for blizzards–this was okay as long as we had electricity and heat–but not so much fun when you had to go to school on Saturday to make up the lost days–and then the mud in the spring.
Snow here means treacherous driving as people here do not understand a light foot on the gas pedal is essential. And it seems that every time we have had snow we have had a significant hurricane.
But Pink Snow—it lasts just a couple of days and presents no driving hazards–just a bit of sadness as the season of the azalea flowers is coming to an end.
This time of year always seems to surprise us–it seems much too early for our yards to be in full bloom. I have three colors of azaleas, white, salmon, and pink.
Satsuma and lemon trees promise a lot of fruit—but my poor peach tree did not survive last summer.
This week’s assignment was Scissors—a natural sequence to rock paper scissors. I thought about getting out all of my scissors and putting them in a pile–or perhaps taking a photo of a pair and then doing something weird with them in Photoshop–twist them or make them odd colors or in watercolor. Instead I opted for a closeup of my pinking shears–a birthday present from my parents when I was 17. So they are quite old–and I’ve used them a lot—back in the days when nearly all fabric was cotton and my dresses and blouses and pants were all cotton. Although I became quite adept at flat-fell seams and mock flat fell seams, these shears made my fashion wardrobe a much easier process.
Now they reside in a hand-made scissors sheath in a drawer next to the other scissors and rotary cutters.
Down the street a few blocks over is a garage. Not just any garage for parking cars or lawnmowers and bicycles or Christmas lights but a garage set up to work on CARS or MOTORCYCLES. Built to specifications as outlined in our historic district.
One lovely sunny morning in recent months we spent an hour or so there, my husband consulting and investigating various aspects of the project on hand–while I took photos of things that intrigued me. Mechanical parts, bits and pieces, work processes and their detritus—and a bit of whimsy.
Here they all are: https://sylviaweirphotos.smugmug.com/Family/A-day-in-the-garage/