No Rest For The Weary

The rain finally let up yesterday afternoon. Today I prepped the tomato rows, although it will be a few more weeks before I can put them in the ground. I'm planning on Mother's Day. We've been pulling radishes out of the ground and I harvested a bowl of baby lettuce and spinach today. The rather warm weather is pushing up the asparagus before I was prepared to eat it, but I'm not complaining. If this rather warm weather continues, it will be time to plant beans, corn and squash soon.

A Little Barnyard Tragedy

There is a dark cloud over the henhouse tonight. Although they could be celebrating for all we know - who really understands the avian brain? We were all down by the henhouse this afternoon - Big Daddy was working on the Turkey Extension, I was cleaning the coop, and Monkey was picking flowers. All was sweet and country heaven-like. The chicks were outside enjoying the sunshine. The grownup birds were free-ranging. Biscuit was laying on the sprouting carrots, Chelsea was soaking up sun in the middle of the yard, Gigi was whining because I was in the henhouse and she couldn't see me...

Mooney the Rooster made a fatal mistake. He attacked the Monkey. We're not talking a slight peck. He flew at her, scratched her arm, her neck, her nose and cut her lip. There was terrified screaming. It was not a sound I (or probably any mother) want to hear. Ever.

When Big Daddy rushed to get him off of her, he flew at B.D. I took Monkey to comfort her and told B.D. to catch the rooster and I would end it right then and there. (Big Daddy can be a little sqeamish about the whole killing thing... Well, B.D. threw his hammer and hit the foul bird in the head. It was the end of Mooney. Rest In Peace. (I have to add that while Mooney frequently was aggressive to others, he hadn't attacked Monkey before and never attacked me.) Like I said, who understands the avian mind? I don't know why Mooney would attack and continue to attack one small little girl picking flowers. I felt some remorse, but nobody messes with my Monkey. Nobody.

We weren't feeling that practical nor farmerly (I know it's not a word, but I'm using it anyway). No one wanted to stop what they were doing to clean and process the dead wacko rooster, so B.D. took him into the woods to bury him. That's when he discovered these...














Morrel mushrooms. Springtime Woodland's heavenly treat. I'm so excited. I'm just upset that for two years, they've been there and we didn't know it. Lost a rooster, gained some mushrooms. I'll call it a fair trade. And I'll be spending a lot of time in the woods for the next several days.