It’s the second half of August. WHAT.
Our wedding anniversary is Friday. We’re in the last few days of Year Ten. WHAT.
I’ve spent a lot of time the past few weeks thinking about why I do what I do. I have tried to declutter some things and some thoughts and … just WHAT.
I feel like we’re on the edge of something and I have no idea what it is. I want to feel excited about life but mostly I’m battling anxiety alternating with apathy and things keep going wrong. When they go RIGHT, I cheer really loud. But the cheering feels kinda hollow, and it doesn’t echo when I stop.
I did real-camera photos of the kids last Friday. In the clothes they had been wearing to play outside. After dinner. And after painting. I wanted to take advantage of the light and the mostly-good moods. I wanted good pictures of their normal… normality, I guess.
(That first picture was from when I was verifying camera settings and I was going to delete it – since Quinn’s head is half gone – but that was technically the most cooperative they were the.whole.time. So. It stayed in.)
I think out blog posts in my head and then later I think maybe I already actually posted.
I guess it’s good brain exercise? Or not? I’m not sure. And the question marks look weird on my phone, so now I’m – this is maybe a completely new font, in my WordPress app, and I’m freaking out for the 47th time today.
Why can’t I just ramble about the chickens without having to have my mind blown by a different font in the blog app?!?
They are messy and they don’t treat me like I’m Snow White or Briar Rose so I am ready for them to be big enough to move outside, so their poop is not in my house. I do still enjoy them. But. Poop. I’ve made it through almost 9 years of diapers. Can I just please get a break soon? Please? I said please.
I can’t get great pictures lately because I’m too lazy to try harder.
And one of the “wild” game hens (from far across the road) was using my maybe-rosemary (I’ve got to investigate this plant mess) to hide herself and some eggs under TheBarn (tucked under the bottom beam, against underpinning that Jona and Appy ripped out last weekend). Jonathan thought he had found a dead crow.
I named her Henrietta, but I’ve been calling her Wild Henny. Especially after she traipsed off and I found this:
(At some point, someone found a yellow ball and put it next to the pink one. But I can’t get anyone to ‘fess up to that.)
Y’all, these photos are from, like, a week ago. Maybe next week I’ll document and report in a more timely manner. Maybe. Doubtful.
We keep the chickens in a galvanized tin tub. I line it with packing paper (like newspaper without the ink) and add a heavy layer of pine shavings. I keep their food on a paper plate that gets tossed every time I change the pine and paper, and their water in a pint jar that fits in a galvanized tin waterer. I change everything out and clean the waterer two or three times a day (sometimes the water gets done more often). While I’m working, I put the chicks in a cardboard box lined with a sheet of packing paper.
The heat lamp we’re using is GREAT light, but in the tub it kinda glares and blows out the highlights, so the pictures aren’t always great. IN THE CARDBOARD BOX, though, THE LIGHTING IS DRAMATIC.
Sooooooo, the chickens.
Bad news first: Padmé died.
Good news: Everychicken else is fine.
More good news: Brennan talked me into changing Rey’s name from Rey to Padmé, and it looks like the name is not actually unlucky.
I’ve been researching to see what these girls actually are, specifically, and have got the possible breeds list narrowed down to 2 for each chick. I’ve got to let them get big enough to match them with adult images from reputable sites. Because turns out lots of people post pictures of chickens but don’t actually know what they’re talking about… so the images that pop up for a Google search for different breeds includes, um, every chicken breed ever. I thought it was really working until I saw the same pictures for the third time.
I’m excited, though. Their feathers are coming in and they’re all so pretty right now. I guess they could change a lot more and not be pretty. But. I think we did a good job with our random picking. And our two buff chicks seem to be different breeds. Their coloring is different enough that I can easily tell them apart, and their tails are different.
Jilly is the smallest bird, but was able to establish herself as head of the flock. She’s a terror. Hazel is rowdier, but she seems to be too rowdy to be in charge. Ginger actually likes to be held. Leia and newPadmé are fairly chill.
Speaking of Jilly the Terror:
Yesterday she learned to hop onto the water dispenser.
Today she learned to hop some more.
That made me really glad we move the fireplace screen when we aren’t using the fireplace.
The chickens and Annie are NOT happy with this arrangement.