These Ducks Go Into a Bar...

It all started one blissful day last year. My dad says to me, "I'm getting some ducks. Want some?"

Mike (in foreground) and Mrs Mike

"Where art thou, oh Blissful Ignorance?" moans the Idiot.

Experience replies, "She has left town, and I know not where she has ventured."

"Bring her back! Send her an urgent letter, or better yet, a text demanding her rapid return."

"Nope. Can't do it. She left no forwarding address as to her whereabouts."

(Sob). "But all I wanted was just a couple ducks. Not a lot. Just a couple. You know, for Cute's sake."

"You leave me out of this!" retorts Cute. "You know good and well I can only last so long. Mine is a temporary assignment. When I'm gone, you're left with...well, you know how it goes."

(Sob, sob). "EXPERIENCE! I demand you do something about all these DUCKS!" cries the Idiot.

"Oh, stop your bellyaching".


Just this year: 29 hatched and counting. (Sob).

Moral of the story: Never let ducks go into a bar.

Four hens left of the first six ducklings

Two hens and brood

The maiden voyage of the latest ducklings with two hens

Brooding hen #1

Brooding hen #2

"Hey! Get back in here and hatch out these last two eggs!"

Four Reasons For a Vacation and Where is The Farm Fairy When You Need One?

Question: What is life without a vacation?

Answer: Busy

I love my life here on my little farm and operating a bed & breakfast in the middle of Michigan. What more could I ask for when it comes to a way of life. I wake up everyday to the welcoming committe of Purdy and the various critters outside who see me as a walking food bank. I see green everywhere from all the grass I mow. And when the sun shines I know the day is starting out right unless the temperature is in the 80's at 6am. From my kitchen window I see all that I've done, and unfortunately, all that still needs to be done.

So, why would I need a vacation? Let me count the ways:

1. Change of scenery - there are different shades of green elsewhere

2. To hear the distant sound of anything but Loony Tunes Farm

3. Change of weather - different degree of Michigan-like weather and a few more bugs

4. Rest from all that needs to be done - waiting for the Farm Fairy to chip in

John and I recently took a much needed fishing trip to Canada where we escaped from jobs, chores, cell phones, electricity and blacktop. And even though we were on vacation we still had a daily agenda of tasks we wanted to accomplish while we were AWOJCCPEB. Besides eating fish til we developed gills in place of our ears, we wanted to bring home our limit of Walleye, Northern Pike and Perch. 

The fishing was great (I caught the two largest fish: 36" Northern Pike and a 24" Lake Trout), we packaged our limit to bring home, and we didn't kill ourselves in the process of portaging across three counties with everything including the kitchen sink just to find that perfect fishing spot.

The secluded cabin we stayed in for a week was situated on the edge of a large lake instead of a noisy blacktop highway. The weather was mild and sunny on days we fished; cool and rainy on days we didn't. The wood-fired cook stove is always my favorite thing about retreating to the cabin in the woods and one day I will get one of my own to use in a summer kitchen.

I relish the time I'm able to escape to the wilderness with John, but there was something on my list that I have been wanting to do ever since he began taking me to the high country four years ago. And that was to mix a few colors and paint a view from the cabin. Not knowing really where to begin I'm glad I tried.

It was a wonderful vacation. Maybe next year the Farm Fairy will get things done while I'm gone. 

View from the window of Cabin 9 - Aug 2014

Feathered Warfare

Raising chickens is an important mainstay of homesteading. The eggs and meat are well worth the effort along with the pest control they provide. In addition, when it comes to entertainment value, chickens are among the best in my book. However, in among all the good of chickens there is an ugly truth: not all traits of a chicken are good.
For example, they are drawn to blood. They are merciless in their attack upon a fellow chicken if it so much as shows a speck of the red stuff. I believe the idea of gang warfare began in the Chickenhood. If one feather duster has a problem with another, and if there’s blood, then feathers are flying and all chip in on the assault.
Yesterday when I left for the grocery store there were two hens, three chicks and one peachick in front of the rabbitry where they do not belong (that is a whole ‘nuther story I may write on later). When I returned, I found all six feather dusters right where I had left them. However, to my dismay the peachick was a mess. From the top of its head down to its back and around the sides of the neck, there was nothing but blood and muscle. Moreover, it was not difficult to point a finger at the responsible parties. All three chicks had blood on their beaks.
How it started would be anyone’s guess. However, I would venture to say it was one of the hens that started the pecking. I know this because I’ve seen her peck at the peachicks before when her three beloved brats did not get the food she thought they should have gotten. Maybe she pecked a little too hard this time and drew a spot of blood. It obviously did not take much for the chicks to take over for mom. And, what gets me is the peachick’s mama hen was right there, and in my opinion, didn’t do a thing to help her adopted child.
We humans, for the most part, are a funny lot of emotional beings. But I have seen instances in the animal world where the young are protected to the best of the parents’ ability. What, then, happened here in this case? Was the peachick’s mother frightened that, if she were to intervene the pulverizing of her youngster, she would be attacked next? Come on, the gang of three was 7 week old chicks!
I could lament on the fact that times have changed, but we’re talking about chickens here. They’re able to free range, are fed non-GMO grains, aren‘t crowded, live in clean conditions and they all know their rank and serial number. I guess I’ll never know the bloody truth of yesterday. Not unless someone speaks up, and I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon.

The assaulted peachick