Chicken Trails: Welcome, Little Peeps...

Had someone told me years ago that I would entertain the fascination I do for little critters of the feathered flavor, it would have been my best joke of the day.  But Yesterday when our little balls of fluff arrived, it truly brightened my spirit, my day, my month! as it always does. DH and I fussed and doted for about 2 hours till completely convinced that the heat lamps were perfectly placed; that the water had just a touch of sugar for the first few hours; that they seemed settled in and happy; that they were all cuddled several times; that every detail of their amazing little bodies was discussed and absorbed! 

My order stated 8 Easter Egger pullets and 2 Cockerels.  For warmth reasons (to my surprise) the hatchery added 15 Cockerels of unknown type.  I'm guessing they are some sort of sex-linked or possibly Maran variety judging from the spotted heads and dark greyish black feathering. They will make many meals ahead.  If they are Marans, I'll keep 1 or 2; it is my understanding so far in my research that adding the dark chocolate variety to the Easter Egger gene pool will produce olive eggs - a nice addition to the color palette in the egg cartons!

Easter Egg birds (who come from Ameraucana crossings) have beautiful, varied colored feathering, never quite the same with each new addition.  Laying mostly egg color variations of blue, greenish or pink, these adorable creatures are an interesting endeavor.

This group came from Ideal Poultry in Texas; these are by far, the calmest yet liveliest birds we've owned; easily handled, not jumpy.   Did I mention they are almost as cute as newborn kitties?!

Meyer Hatchery is sending 15 more next week. Visit here for updates as the flock grows.

“We can see a thousand miracles around us every day. What is more supernatural than an egg yolk turning into a chicken?”  S. Parkes Cadman

As always...Nature prevails, in my chicken coop tonight.

Trails of Kindness: A Special Glass of Milk

I received an e-mail today, one of those that circle around with embellished tales of Love and kindness that put a tear to the eye and tip our daily spiritual bank accounts a little toward the ‘full’ side.  Today, I followed this e-mail through Snopes.com and found its basis to be even more ‘filling’ than the embellished tale, itself.

The e-mail reads:

Glass of Milk

One day, a poor boy who was selling goods from door to door to pay his way through school, found he had only one thin dime left, and he was hungry.

He decided he would ask for a meal at the next house. However, he lost his nerve when a lovely young woman opened the door.

Instead of a meal he asked for a drink of water! . She thought he looked hungry so brought him a large glass of milk.

He drank it so slowly, and then asked, How much do I owe you?"

You don't owe me anything," she replied. "Mother has taught us never to accept pay for a kindness."

He said ... "Then I thank you from my heart."

As Howard Kelly left that house, he not only felt stronger physically, but his faith in God and man was strong also. He had been ready to give up and quit.

Many years later that same young woman became critically ill. The local doctors were baffled. They finally sent her to the big city, where they called in specialists to study her rare disease.

Dr. Howard Kelly was called in for the consultation. When he heard the name of the town she came from, a strange light filled his eyes.

Immediately he rose and went down the hall of the hospital to her room.

Dressed in his doctor's gown he went in to see her. He recognized her at once.

He went back to the consultation room determined to do his best to save her life. From that day he gave special attention to her case.

After a long struggle, the battle was won.

Dr. Kelly requested the business office to pass the final bill to him for approval. He looked at it, then wrote something on the edge, and the bill was sent to her room. She feared to open it, for she was sure it would take the rest of her life to pay for it all. Finally she looked, and something caught her attention on the side of the bill. She read these words ...

"Paid in full with one glass of milk"

(Signed) Dr. Howard Kelly.

Snopes.com has a touching and true short biography review on Dr.  Howard Kelly which you can read through the above link.  According to Snopes:

• Though Dr. Kelly was never destitute, he did give over half of his services, free, to those who were.
• Thought Dr. Kelly did not save the sick woman from a rare disease, his charity to her and all of the above-mentioned non-paying clients seems rare in today’s world of me, me, and more me.
• Though, coming from a wealthy family, Dr. Kelly was not selling items door to door to pay for schooling, he was on a Nature walk when he received his pivotal glass of milk.

Sometimes we are annoyed and irritated by the plethora of ‘pass it on’ e-mails that clog our in-boxes through the days.  And I wonder sometimes if many of them are even worth the time it takes to read them. 

Yet, once in awhile, they give us a peek into the special parts of other lives, that indeed become – at least for a few minutes in our hectic worlds…’the wind beneath our wings’.

As always...Nature prevails.

Critiquing Trails: Torture Tactics

Louis L'Amour once said: "There will come a time when you are finished.  That will be the beginning." As a prolific writer himself, Mr. L'Amour must have had a writer's first critiquing session in mind.

Jan Verhoeff recalls, "Gasping for air, I looked around the table at the faces looking back at me...as I watched them hatchet my work with X’s, lines, scrolls, and deletions they believed I should make." They call this particular type of torture, critiquing.

Sometimes the writers across the table from you, who seem to have taken your new creation right up to death's doorstep, are truly opening that proverbial door to new beginnings, new heights of perfection that will lead you down a quicker path to publication.

Verhoeff's article pokes some fun at her first critiquing experience at a writer's group.  But most new writers face their first critique session with trepidation; and with good reason.  They've poured hours of hard work into their article/story/book, pushed Spell Check 212 times, double-checked their quotation marks, cut some sentences, capitalized a few words and generally put in hours of editing.  It is truly perfect now, they boast with pride. Every editor this side of the Atlantic is writing them a check.

Maybe.

Ms. Verhoeff and a gazillion other new writers survived this torture, so will you.  Be prepared, all good writers have to pass under this troll bridge to reach the other side, the side where acceptance letters outweigh pink rejection slips. In fact, seek out this necessary skill of critiquing, learn the ropes so you can return this life-breathing favor to your peers.
Here are a few tips for wading through the shark-infested waters of your first critique.

1.Distance your emotions; remember that the papers that your so-called writer friends are using for red-pen torture tactics are simply cold, unfeeling words on hard, dry paper.

2.Trust your fellow writers; they have your best interests at heart; they've walked this road before and survived; so will you.

3.Calmly ride out the wave of adrenaline; it only lasts about 20 minutes; you will bless them all when your editor sends you your first check.

4.Respect the life-long learning curve; five heads really are better than one.

5.The secret here is this; the first critique is the worst, each one thereafter is easier.

As you approach your next writer meeting, group or workshop, park your itty-bitty feelers at the door; they'll be patiently waiting for you when you leave. They do have their place, they are paramount to the rest of your writing; love scenes, arguments, plots and all your characters ahead must be driven by good emotions as well as intellect, talent and hard work.

Treasure your critiquing peers. Truth is, the time will come in the not too distant future when you will seek out these chicken killers with any number of valuable bribes. Critiquing is truly the biggest key to your writing success.

Besides...revenge is sweet, they have papers too!

As always, Nature prevails.

Fireside Trails: A Pink Event

Pink is not necessarily prevelent in Oris George's life, since he does not like the color! But today, Mr. George inadvertently created a 'pink event' in his life.

Sometimes, Mr. and Mrs. Oris enjoy an evening near their wood stove, reminiscing by the fire, sharing donkey memories and re-reading one of Oris' special stories, A Man by the Side of the Road (one of my favorites). And sometimes, Oris' camera gives him even more memories...

It was on one of these chilly evenings that Oris took these photos.  His talent is awesome, and helps us prepare for the cold, winter months ahead.

                                      Photo by Oris George

Mr. George tells me these shots were taken with the glass front of the stove - closed!  I am continually stunned and in admiration of this writer and his photography talents.

"Stove is a Hearth Stone Heritage model Non-Catalytic Wood Stove with glass door.The camera is a Nikon coolpix p100 nikor 26x wide optical zoom ed vr , 4.6 120mm 1:2,8-5.0."

"I was sitting looking at the stove from an angle. I watched the blue flame dancing across the top of the logs as the gas from the logs was burning. I noticed when the flame flared...As I looked at it from the angle, it flashed a column of light that seemed to come out from the stove."

                                      Photo by Oris George



As always...Nature prevails, even in the flames of life.

Tiger Trails: The Tiger Book

Pictures of the two versions of John Vaillant's book, The Tiger, from Amazon.com

 

 The Siberian Tiger. Fast facts from National Geographic: 

• Mammal, Carnivore
• Size = 10.75 feet
• Weight = 660 pounds
• Protection status = endangered.

A new book by John Vaillant, The Tiger, gives deep insight into the mind and soul of a Siberian Tiger in Russia. A true story that will shock and sadden you and change the way you think about tigers.

This video by Vaillant explains this true thriller.

As always, Nature prevails.

The Last Hurrah: Trails of the Little Red Boat

Once upon a time, in a little town on the prairie, two young-hearted oldsters took their little red boat out on the reservoir for a last hurrah.  After all, 80 plus degrees can't last too much longer; it's October 15th!

Life is good.

The husband of this young couple, whom hereinafter shall be referred to as DH, is always so particular about packing life jackets, oars, etc., for a boat trip; he's quite the responsible knight-in-boating armor.

The doting wife of this couple, whom hereinafter shall be referred to as DW, also embraces a responsible approach to life; she's been spotted wearing her life vest while cleaning the boat in the driveway.

But, I digress. Back to the big pond.

DW gets into the little red ship.  As they happily begin their putt-putting away from the dock, DH mentions...’Aahhhh, DW, 'I think the oars...are missing.' 

Hmmm, said DW, we do live so close, only two miles to the garage...as she basked in the warm glow of the fall afternoon sun from a puff-filled sky.  Her cheeks were dusted by an ever-so-soft breeze off the surrounding, calm, cool water.  She glanced over at DH, his glazed-over eyes resembling those of a hunter lost in the bowels of a Bass-Pro Shop...the week before antelope season.

Life is good.

They shared deep, abiding thoughts...

'The motor always purrs like a kitten, why would today be any different, right?'

"RIGHT!"

'We only have about an hour before sunset, right?' 

"RIGHT!" 

'We checked Weather Bug so we're assured there will be no wind or storms for the rest of the day, right?'

"RIGHT!"

By now, the responsible oldsters had putt-putted to the middle of the big pond on the prairie and DW was deep into a photo shoot, logging picture after picture as she daydreamed of National Geographic awards for her surely priceless, back side shots of the one-and-only John Martin Dam.

Life is very good.

Grebes were popping in and out of the pond, Pelicans scattered here, there and yon; the paradise effect of the last hurrah was reaching toxic proportions. So DH headed the putt-putt west, leaned heavily on the throttle and the oldsters were off, flying down the full length of the pond...

Life was more gooder!

DW has a lovely friend from up north whose psychic abilities are renowned state-wide.  She had sent DW a touching message earlier in the day, but DW...had forgotten; it was the farthest thought from her mind:

"Sometimes we have to live through the valleys and experience the mist beneath the falls, to remember the magnificent views from the top."

Just in case your story-reading skills are a tad rusty, try to keep in mind that this quote is the pivotal point of this little tale of the oldster's last hurrah...

Back to the pond.

DW says to DH; "Oh Love of my long life, could we pretty please stop in front of the Point Campground so I can have one more stunning shot of the gorgeous cliffs below for my upcoming sale to National Geographic?"

DH - deep in his boater-in-shining-armor mode, quickly obliged and the putt-putt stopped.   

Silence grew gentle and warm around the oldsters.  A moment of all moments. In the distance, flowing across the water…bird sounds reverberated from the cliffs, ducks flew gracefully about overhead, and the sun rays hugged and warmed their firm, shiny skin.  The water was still, the camera worked. 

DW finished, looked at DH; there was no word to describe the magic between them.

Life is great!

After a few moments of heavenly bliss, seared into their psyches forever, DH starts the putt-putt.  Putt…nothing.  Putt...nothing, again and again and again.  Putt-putt is tired.  Putt-putt is stubborn.  Putt-putt is dead!

Life is no longer good.  In fact, life sucks!

DW looks over at DH.  No glazed-over eyes there! There was no word to describe this look.  DH looks back at DW who quickly looks back at the cliffs, and obsessively takes 97 thousand more shots! Blood pressure pills...are good...

Moments...or maybe hours pass.

"Are you sure about the oars?"

"Yes, dear Love of my life, this little ship is pretty small, I doubt they are hiding…"

"Shut up!"

DW - who is famous for tons of big ideas and no follow-through, gets the bright idea of wrapping her hand through straps of the firm, spare seat flotation device to fashion an oar, and begins to paddle. 

"Faster, faster," goads DH, "the sun is almost down and it'll be dark soon!"

"Shut up!"

Before long, magic being magic, things began to change.

"It is so quiet and gorgeous right here, right now," whispers DW.

"Indeed it is," agrees DH.  The oldsters relaxed and Nature surrounded them.  Their hearts and souls soaked up the beauty of the big pond, on a luscious fall day, in southeast Colorado.

After some time had passed, DH began to murmur sweet nothings to his little buddy putt-putt and before long, putt-putt came alive again! The oldsters hugged and all was lovely, as they quickly putt-putted absolutely-straight-back to the dock.

Life is always more gooder...living near the big pond on the prairie. It’s the occasional valleys and mists… that can be a bit bothersome.

Nature prevails.

Egg Trails: A Baker’s Dozen

By George, they almost did it! We collected a baker's dozen of eggs today, leaving only two pretties not producing as yet. We're singing egg-praises to our productive flock today at Hasty Acres.

The usual egg singing that goes on most of the morning was a bit louder today; now the cause is clear. At one point in this morning’s loud rock concert (a bit off key), we peeked into the coop and chuckled at the line of singing hens that ran from the chicken door to the ladder below the nest boxes. We need more nests...was the general consensus. So we added 3 extra milk crates to the nest area to hopefully assist them in expediting their morning chores.

We sat watching our flock through several cups of coffee today. We couldn’t be more pleased with the final flock members, following our final culling last month. We had a couple of White Rock roosters who thought they owned the place! They made the girls scream and kept the flock in an uproar for hours. They brought $3.25 a piece at the monthly auction!

3 roosters remain, an Americauna and 2 Cornish. You’d never know they were on the job if you weren’t watching closely. The girls cooperate quietly for the most part due to the gentle care they get from their mates. The dominant guy is a gorgeous Americauna whom we have dubbed Mr. B.D. (big daddy!). He’s mostly wheaten-colored with a stunning rust saddle across his upper back. His prominent tail sports lovely, rust-laced wide feathers with a nice complement of saddle feathers laying down both sides of his lower back. There will be a photo shoot soon; he just needs to get a little more camera-ready.

The remaining flock consists of 2 Light Brahmas, 2 White Leghorns, 4 Americauna pretties, 1 darker reddish hen that may be a Rhode Island Red cross, 1 reddish and white hen who resembles a Golden Comet, 2 Shiny black hens with some reddish lacing on their chests – possibly Black Star crosses, 2 Black hens with slight Columbian-type white collars resembling a Birchen Maran and of course - our new Buff Orpinton.

Our flock is growing strong and productive and we are enjoying the 6 to 13 eggs a day.

As always – particularly in our backyard chicken flock these days…Nature prevails.