The odor in the shop was beginning to be fowl - 6 guineas were growing and needed outside air i figured. Prematurely and with no thought to the weather, 2 nights ago I let the six loose in the chicken coop. They immediately went to the highest roost and nestled in behind the hens. In the morning they were on top of the laying boxes. They seemed happy to stay in the house after I let the chickens out; but I did leave the small door open. In the afternoon I found 4 guineas in the yard and two (as seen in the picture) still in the coop. I asked Baldwin to close the chickens up that night as I was going to be late getting home from Qigong. I sensed something was amiss when i arrived home noting the light on in the coop. Baldwin had been unable to even find the guineas and had left the light on and chicken door open in case they came back. I closed the small door and went to bed with worry for the loose guineas. What a stormy night with high high wind and an 1" of rain which woke me up several times. A guinea hell of a night. In the morning I could hear the "buck - wheat...buck - wheat" of the guineas. Three were by the garden fence; but before I could corral them towards the chicken yard, Mr. Lee chased them off. Since i had to go into town, I hazarded that the three would be ok until I returned. In the afternoon when I returned, I found a dead guinea - and heard no familiar guinea talk. I feared that others had meet the same fate as the dead one. I walked to the river. John Weeks came to cut the lawn. By almost 7 when I sent to see the weather upstairs on TV, I heard a peep - a guinea "buck-wheat." And at the front steps was a lone guinea. I threw out some corn and kept Mr. Lee inside. I figured that as evening came I might be able to catch him. By 8, I walked to the chicken house, and unbelievably there was a guinea - no two guineas. No, as I got nearer, 5 guineas were at the door of the chicken house! I had some sport catching all 5, but all 5 are in the chicken coop for the night! I'll make an outside smaller yard for them in the morning - they are definitely too young to be out loose.
Easter, red bud blossoms on the deck. Easter
, late this year, temperature due to rise into 80's. Easter, six guineas growing eager to secure the fields. Easter, my three colors of red geraniums free of the green house. The white (off-white leaning to dirty white) dot behind the glass storm door is Mr. Lee! Planning on a long walk today after we water the garden and after we feed the guineas and chickens. Crocheted a white scarf for Heavy Boots, looking for key today. Out here in the hollow, distant from the work of the world it would seem, what does it mean just lying down in an open field with no thought at all?
And I remember the day unlike any other Easter after or before; mercifully it was a Sunday, as any other day of the week without a car, I might have given birth at home - unprepared. Baldwin's father worked almost an hour away; my labor was merely an hour - we would not have made the hospital. I can't even imagine how my mother, who was visiting in anticipation of the birth, would have played the surprise role of midwife. Better left unimagined. And here I am with a handsome 35 year old son and his beautiful family within walking distance! Perhaps the best parts of a life are the unanticipated sections, like grand-mother hood. And before that proud motherhood of grown children.
And for my birthday 6 guinea hens and the best chef paring knife and best wishes enough to inflate my chest and a rainy gray lusciously green April day! Baldwin and Mindy and I made a nice home for the guineas in the shop - so i won't have to monitor Mr. Lee who has decided the birds are his new play things and possible dinner. It is difficult to distract Mr. Lee from their cardboard home while they were in the house - now I can rest, they too! And I'm ready to turn in after a wonderful Qigong class! Here's to 66!
Who would have thought to describe last night's storm as "dog in pond" storm? Jolted awake by clack of vivid light, crack of rumble and lonesome dog bark, I managed to fall back into sleep again and again until 6 AM. Peering off the upstairs porch at the fog trussed horizon, I scanned for the barker, noticing ripples in my no more that 6 foot wide pond - ripples more than a frog would make. I immediately hoped the heron hadn't stolen my gold fish. Downstairs with Mr. Lee barking at the door, I walked out
onto the deck to see a mournful dog head with opalescent eyes stirring sluggishly in the pond. Mr. Lee made the greetings and I saw a collar. I grabbed a long board and dragged it to the pond hopeful that the beast would extricate himself with a plank. But no. I called my son who ironically has recently made a video of dog/god! Baldwin was able to haul the poor part lab to firmer ground and read the phone number to me. Radar (dog's name) has hardly use of rear legs. I called his keeper and before long, Radar was gone (although it took two trips as his owner couldn't lift him into the truck he'd first brought).
Thunder and lightning waking the night after one; an inch of rain in heavy bursts. The willows have cast a score plus of extremities...the red bud still not open. So delightful yesterday, Baldwin jumped into the river! Susan and Chris and i raked in Diane's yard, almost sweating, enjoying 80 degrees and our beautiful monk friend looking on...now it is hardly 40 with icy wind.
Busy in the house, just as glad it is too cold to work outside as I'm cleaning today in preparation of a limp sore left arm that I am hoping won't be useless for long. I guess it will be more the stitches that bother and I'll no doubt have a puckered spot where the melanoma was. But I've filled the chicken feeder and I'm hauling about the vacuum cleaner just in case i become a lounge lizard for a week! I realize that would surprise everyone I know including me.
If only the sun would stay out and not stray under clouds which might and did on my quick walk to the river with mr. lee, rain thin icy drops. Mr. Lee enjoyed a bit of my chicken soup on his kibbles and now he's tucked into his fuzzy white ball of a self.
