March 2nd: and all of a sudden there is the promise of spring lingering in the air. A week ago, there was still a significant portion of our land covered in snow. Two weeks ago, ice cycles hung in lengths of two and three feet from our gutters. But, today, the snow is only present in remnants, packed hard into ice by tires and feet. Winter’s hold – begrudgingly – is beginning to loosen. I’m sure somewhere a witch has been eliminated and gone too is her ghastly spell.
Accordingly, Anna and I are emerging from the winter doldrums. I was sitting on the couch this past Saturday, consumed with the coming Sunday, when Anna came to me with the calendar in her hand. “Look at this,” she said exuberantly, pointing at one and two word messages written in tangerine. “Monday is March 1st, and you know what that means.” I smiled; if I didn’t know I couldn’t help but see the words “plant peppers” scribbled in that first box of the month.
The entry to our house, which serves as mud room and art room and nursery, now has over two dozen old yogurt cups full of deep dark soil, and in each cup of dirt a seed is planted. They are collected upon a changing table that once used for changing the soiled diapers of Wyatt and Elise, and they sit underneath the warming glow of a heat lamp. Much to the dismay of our neighbors that lamp’s bulb is red, which makes the northeast corner of our home radiate like an Amsterdam brothel. Indeed, there is the promise of sex, but only the botanical kind. Soon – we hope – we will be overrun with the prosperity of life.
Meanwhile, I am afraid that Anna has forgotten her first love. She thumbs through the pages of a magazine that royally displays every different breed and species of laying hens and broilers. She has marked the pages with multi-colored stars, noting special birds like a scout exploring hidden talent. I finally divulged her growing passion the other evening, taking a seat next to her on the couch while she ogled over the poultry. “See, I’m thinking this one will be good for laying eggs, but what’s great about it is that they also can be butchered.” I felt, for the first time, the warm body of a chicken in my left hand, my right holding a knife firm against its ruby throat – trying to steady myself to spill its blood. And I thought digging into the wet muck of a spring garden was going to teach me about the carnality of life!
The chicks are set to arrive on March 28th, which means we have less than a month before we reach the point of no return. The same room that now houses the yogurt-cup planters will eventually house twenty some odd pulsing, squeaking, pillows of fluff. Anna – of course – could give you their names (all derived from our deceased relatives) and their descriptions.
From the day they arrive, we will have essentially two months before we will have to provide them both shelter and forage. The second necessity will not be much of a problem given the open acreage. We also have hopes of using them around our garden – feeding their growing appetites and scratching talons with the bugs and pests that could lay waste to the crops.
Shelter, hopefully, will also be fairly easy to provide. Anna – when she is not looking through the chicken magazine like I use to look at the JC Penny catalogue before Christmas – has been investigating the most efficient, most economical and most resilient forms of movable chicken coops. She has been greatly aided by the experience and tutelage of Joel Salatin, about whom many of you already know and the rest of you would be wise to discover. Anna’s modified design of his transportable coops measures around 10 ft. by 5 ft., and is complete with a back half for the birds to roost and lay in individual houses.
We talked a fair amount about what materials to use the other evening – keeping our mind attentive to both weight and durability. Any of you with experience are welcome to add your thoughts. Actually, that last sentence may as well be applied to the whole of our adventure as we move forward into spring. We are fresh with optimism as the days grow longer and warmer … and very much in need of ongoing guidance, encouragement and wisdom. It won’t be long before those pretty little birds, which have already flown off the pages into Anna’s heart and mind, will land in our laps.
~Wes
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