Thanksgiving 2010

This year, we spent Thanksgiving at Nanna's.  We have much to be thankful for, and a good time was had by all, but it just wasn't the same without Poppa...

Manna?

This post was originally written a little over a year ago, but in light of the recent snowfall, I thought it was worth a rerun.  I now have thirteen chickens, and some of the original members are no longer with us (RIP Garfunkel and Little Red), but those that remain still fear "manna" as much as ever!

My chickens do NOT like snow, which is understandable, because they are young chickens, and this is their first experience with the stuff. Their reaction to their first snow was quite similar to that of the children of Israel to their first manna--"What IS it?!"

"When the dew was gone, thin flakes like frost on the ground appeared on the desert floor. When the Israelites saw it, they said to each other, "What is it?" For they did not know what it was. The people of Israel called the bread manna." (Exodus 16:14-15, 31)

When I let the flock out last Friday morning, there was no snow, and they ventured out into the "great yard" to forage as usual. Eventually they congregated under the outdoor sink to preen, and the first flakes began to fall... "What is it?" they wondered, yet no one was willing to ruffle a feather to investigate. It wasn't long before the flakes began to collect on the ground... "What IS it?!" they questioned, as bored curiosity gave way to concern, and the chickens stopped their preening. In no time at all, the flakes began falling in earnest, and it was really snowing... "WHAT IS IT?!" they panicked, as curiosity gave way to mortal fear, and the chickens began to huddle together under the outdoor sink as a matter of survival.

Now mind you that just across the "great yard" was a heated chicken house, not a coop, a house complete with insulation, lights, the aforementioned heat, a linoleum floor, and a window--a 3 x 5 PICTURE WINDOW! A veritable Shangri La for chickens was beckoning them into its welcome embrace, but would they go? NO! It was far too dangerous to venture out into the "manna".

During this time, I was preparing to meet a friend for lunch about an hour's drive away, and I'm pretty sure my husband felt the same about me driving in the snow as the chickens did about venturing out into the "manna"..."WHAT?! Are you crazy? It's too dangerous! Don't you remember your accident? Don't you realize that you're a terrible driver?!" But, like the chickens, he kept his thoughts to himself and suffered in silence. He knew that my mind was made up, and there was no reasoning with me.

As the time approached for me to leave, I realized that I had a problem--the chickens were still under the outdoor sink. I asked my husband if he would help the chickens to their house, and he looked a bit startled--"ME?! Help the chickens? They don't like me!" "Fine," I said, "I'll deal with the chickens!" Now you must understand that I am perpetually late. I am the queen of "just one more thing", but the "one more thing" always makes me late. I had so looked forward to being on time for once, and I didn't have time for one more thing. I cast a forlorn look at the traitorous clock and stalked off to prepare "treats" with which to lure the flock to the comfort and safety of their home.

While preparing the treats, I gave myself a little pep talk, "Seriously, Kelley, how long will this take? Just present the treats, and they'll follow you like you're the pied piper as always." Out I went, through the snow (I love the snow--so beautiful, so fluffy, so white!) to the chicken house, shaking the treat bucket as I went. As expected, the treats caused quite a stir among the flock, but wait...the MANNA! "How can we get to the treats without crossing the great divide?!" the chickens wondered.  "And the food lady...doesn't she realize the danger?! She's either crazy...or incredibly brave!" (Incidentally, both will prove to be true in a few moments.)

It didn't take me long to realize that fear had immobilized my flock, and that there was no treat in the world for which they would cross through "manna". Time was running out, and so were my options. Now remember, I was going to meet a friend. Why? To take her out to lunch for her birthday. How was I dressed? Accordingly--no Carharts, no chore boots, no gloves. I was wearing "going out" clothes--"girl" clothes--not a strange, indestructible conglomeration of my oldest son's and husband's clothes. With only one option available to me, it became apparent that I was going to have to change. (Did I mention that I am perpetually late?)

Into the house I went to change into a chore coat and grab some gloves. (I can do all things through Christ...with gloves!) By now, if you're an astute reader, you have probably figured out what I had purposed in my mind to do. For those of you who are a bit slower, I was going to CATCH AND CARRY EACH CHICKEN TO SAFETY, fortunately, I only have six chickens. Growing up on our family farm, I was TERRIFIED of chickens, but necessity is the mother of many things, and I had gloves, so I ventured back out into the snow to do what had to be done...

The chickens seemed much less impressed with me my second time out--no treats. Good, perhaps complacency would work in my favor. I had only caught the chickens one other time in my brief chicken stewardship history. It was a bit traumatic for all involved, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and I was running out of time. I decided to start with the pullets, the youngest and smallest of the flock. In spite of their aversion to being caught, in their minds the snow seemed worse, and their attempts to evade me without leaving the safety of their sink shelter were amusingly futile.

I caught Sage first. She squawked once and then settled in for "transport" across the "great yard" to the chicken house. She seemed genuinely happy to be home and was the first to enjoy the treats. Next was Parsley. Same story--very little resistance, content to be carried, happy to be home. Then I tried to catch Little Red...a swing and a miss! Strike one. Hmmm...now what? Change target...Garfunkel? Hmmm...I don't know? He's the rooster, he's BIG, and I'm afraid, but... Okay, I can do it...I think... Home run! I got the big guy, and it wasn't too bad! He was heavy, but docile, and happy to be home. Hey, this is going pretty, well! Who's next? Big Mama, yeah...that's the one...maybe...  

Of all the chickens in the flock, Big Mama is the most skittish and is the only one who won't come to me and won't eat out my my hand. This makes me very sad, because she is my favorite. Of all the chickens I have ever caught (the one time before this that I caught chickens) she was the one who "doth protest too loudly"--screeching and flapping and generally behaving as if she had just been decapitated. Of all the of the chickens that I didn't want to alienate, she was the one, but... Okay, just remember, grab the bird and get both wings...BOTH wings, and hold her close...you can do it, you can, I know you can... And I did! I did it! I was able to catch and carry Big Mama with very little incident. Did she like it? No. Would she hold a grudge this time? I don't think so. Once safely home, she just ruffled her feathers and helped herself to a treat. Oh happy day! Big Mama doesn't hate me! 

At this point I felt like I could do anything and threw caution to the wind. I caught Ugly Betty, and missed a wing. There was much flapping (from her) and scolding (from me) and squawking (from her) but I didn't care. Ugly Betty is pretty resilient and as dumb as a post. She'd get over it. Now there was only one bird left, the pullet, Little Red. Yeah, I missed her the first time, but nothing could stop me now, or so I thought...

"Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall." (Proverbs 16:18)

I am pleased to report that there was no destruction, but there was very nearly a fall. Little Red's fear of being caught trumped her fear of "manna", and I actually had to chase her around the "great yard". It is one thing to chase a chicken in its run, but in the great yard, it's a bit more of a task, especially when it is covered with snow and one is not wearing snow boots, but some fashionable little boots with NO tread! Persistence paid off, however, and I finally caught Little Red, but I missed BOTH wings, and there was much flapping (from her) and screeching (from me) and squawking (from her)!

Was I late heading out the door? Yes. Did I miss my lunch date with my friend? No. Would I do it all again? In a heartbeat....anything to make sure that my fine, feathered friends are safe and warm!

Photo of the week...

This is Samson, our goat buckling, and he's just too cute not to share!

Red Bull?!

Today during art we discussed Marc Chagall's painting "The Birthday".  During our discussion, we talked about the fact that the man appears to be floating, and I asked the kids what they thought the man might be feeling.  Sam immediately piped up with, "I think he must have just drank a Red Bull, because every time I drink a Red Bull, I feel like I can fly!"  Uhmmm...yeah... Back to the drawing board!