Poultrypalooza

If you read this blog, if you are my Facebook friend, if you have ever been to (or driven by) my house . . . you are aware that I am somewhat obsessed with chickens. I was never a bird person, particularly not the kind to possess creatures that fly through the house and poop freely and are capable of crushing a knuckle with one tweak of the beak.

A few Alabama summers ago, my daughter wanted to get some pet chicks and raise them. We were vacationing here and living in Florida—we agreed to keep the little buggers for a couple of months and then relocate them to a nice home.

I did not count on their ridiculous level of cuteness. It was a sad day when we loaded the adolescent chickens up with a stranger, though her chicken-craziness was reassuring at the time. (I later discovered that some of our precious poultry was not well protected with her, but that's another story. We'll stick to light, feathery topics here.)

They looked like wee cotton candy fluffballs (the pink was some sort of topical antibacterial treatment, but it was pretty). That is Rodney staring down Beau. He was the bravest little chick in the world, and would run to Savannah when called.

Yup, we were chicken-whipped.

More babies followed, many of which grew into the hens you hear about from me these days. (The roosters—not so much. Roosters spend their days in mortal danger, protecting the flock.)

A moment please, for Pretty Rooster, Doodle, Mr. Fluffybutt and other brave males we lost in the line of duty.

If forced to name a favorite, my personal chicken has to be Elizabeth. She is our most intrepid and intelligent hen and happens to be my namesake. I used to sit in the yard with this teeny chick climbing up my arms, over my legs and wherever else she ventured.

Elizabeth was this big:

Here's Peep, our eldest and most maternal banty Araucana:

She is still adorable, even after raising several adopted eggs . . . er, chicks . . . over the years. Peep lays very small celadon green eggs, usually in the grass as she's running around the back yard. (I refer to these as drive-by eggings.)

Elizabeth the Speckled Sussex, our matriarch/monarch, has aged well. Here's a bird's eye view of her—we will use it for an anatomy lesson.

That glorious red crown? It's her comb. That awful stuff hanging under her chin? That's her wattle.

As one unnamed family member recently discovered, do not try to tickle a rooster's wattle. I would not attempt it with a hen, either.

Her earlobe is visible beneath and to the left of her lovely golden eye.

Her eye, by the way, has excellent full-color vision. Her hearing is acute. She can sense a mozzarella cheese stick wrapper from a football field away.

Chickens are foragers and essentially omnivorous. Ours are so spoiled that they don't really have to forage much—they make a big show of scratching around the yard a lot, pretending that they have to look for food. I was recently told that their scratching discourages snakes. I sincerely hope that is true.

Interesting facts:

• Chickens are the most widespread of domestic animals. There are approximately 400 million in the USA, 29 million in Great Britain and 271 million in the European Union. Let's not forget the zillions in Asia that specialize in developing new strains of influenza, either.
• Chickens are hot. Typical body temperature is 102 to 103 degrees Fahrenheit.
• They are pretty excitable: their hearts beat around 300 times per minute.
• Average lifespan? Five to seven years for a pet bird, but they can survive up to twenty. (I'm looking at you, Elizabeth.) Of course, the average lifespan in commercial poultry houses . . . well, you get the idea.
• In 1979, a White Leghorn set a world record by laying 371 eggs in 365 days. (My hens are slackers, but their eggs are wonderful and much appreciated.)
• Alektorophobia is the clinical name for the fear of chickens. Do not come to my house if you have this.
• The heaviest chicken ever recorded weighed 23 pounds and 3 ounces. That is a heavy bird. (Incidentally, when it gets dark chickens kinda fall into a trance and can be easily picked up and maneuvered.)

They spend their days roaming in search of tasty things. This includes trips to the porch door if I ignore them for sufficient periods. I am flirting with the idea of a chicken doorbell. My money says that Elizabeth would happily ring for cheese.

This is our comely teenage hen Peanut, daughter of the late Mr. Fluffybutt and Mrs. Fluffybutt, raised by the mannerly and ladylike Peep, being courted by a banty rooster who lives nearby. I'm hoping they'll get together and I'll have a new rooster-in-law.

Love from Delta.

Cute Chick.

That's my momma.

Obviously, chicken love runs deep in this family. The portrait at right was recently commissioned, and depicts one of my favorite Mother Photos ever.

Each time I toss a little cracked corn to one of the girls, I think of Mom. Sometimes I remember the evil rooster that attacked me in my grandmother's yard, too. That's another story; I still have a scar on my left arm. All I was trying to do was catch one of his hens and pet her. Good grief.

We try to keep our roosters docile around here. Morgan has learned a lot of manners, and responds well when I yell at him. This happens often, as Morgan is currently in the habit of trying to court Chuck the Duck.

Chickens are entertaining. I observe the societal microcosm in our yard on a daily basis, and it's a bona fide soap opera. The Young and the Flightless. Ryan's Coop. Poultry Place.

                                                                                                                                                                          

Copyright Sue Lynn Cotton

Sue Lynn Cotton, Watercolor Artist 

Here's another family photo:

Uncle Reese and my mom

Are the two of them adorable, or what?

That hen looks mighty happy to be in Reese's clutches.

I am going to have to ask him where he got that hat, and inquire why Mother was dressed so nattily for the barnyard. That's a lot of bare leg with so many beaks around. Perhaps it is why she's standing shyly in the background—she was trying to avoid unwanted chicken advances.

The situation called for jeans. I know from experience.

Trust me, I'm a poultry farmer.

Faithful blog readers know that I Run with the Chickens for exercise. It's a daily ritual: I carry a mozzarella cheese stick and have seven hens chasing me around. They compete for the teeny strings like they're exotic worms. That must be exactly what they're thinking as they bounce from foot to foot in hot pursuit.


Some of my snarkier friends joke about Poultry Pilates, and there are requests for video of this spectacle from time to time. Trust me, it will not be appearing.

I am often asked what chickens eat. As far as ours are concerned, the answer is everything. They are velociraptors when there's a fresh field mouse from the cat. Fruits and vegetables summon them from afar. All are dairy connoisseurs in the presence of cheese, and will do things you wouldn't believe for cottage cheese in particular.

Jay and I are attending The Alabama Chicken and Egg Festival Saturday. I cannot tell you how eagerly I await the trip. I am going to soak up the kitschiness, admire the birds, listen to the music and take loads of photos for you. The only thing that puzzles me is that grilled chicken is apparently among the offered cuisine. I have excellent chicken-as-pets-and-not-food disassociation skills, but I may find them tested.

Like I said, chickens are entertaining.



I thank Sue Lynn Cotton for preserving one of my most precious images. I was fortunate to take classes with her, and she's an amazing watercolorist.





Love from Delta.

Women Who Run with Chickens

This is my beautiful cousin Julie. She visited Delta last night with her handsome son, Erik, and her equally handsome dad, my Uncle Reesie.

Julie is an Alabama Girl at heart, I think, though she lives in a very lovely part of Colorado now. We grew up running around the countryside here barefoot, and the red-clay roots run pretty deep.

While we enjoyed appetizers on the back porch, Julie tried her hand at feeding "the girls", and they were exceedingly happy to see her. Here she is with Nilla, our Aracauna hen.

She gave them an ancient chocolate cherry fudge cupcake for starters. That went over very well. After that, the velociraptor chickens and Chuck the Duck became more interested in cracked corn.

The hens will eat you alive if you let them. Chuck is a bit more placid. She does not ask for much; just a nice place to swim.

Diablo and Poseidon joined the fun.

It was terrific to spend time with family. Our daughter came home from school, and we went to explore some local scenery. Even though it was mighty foggy, it was still possible to see Turkey Heaven Mountain.

Another dear and wonderful friend joined us. Her name is Eime, and she's half-Japanese. In addition to being pretty and smart, she is very talented and artistic - I think she gets it from her mother, Takako, who sent me this exquisite bookmark.

 
Tak is seventy-six years old, and truly an inspiration to women everywhere. She can do traditional Japanese dance with grace and style, cook a catfish filet that is out of this world, and do origami like that.

Speaking of out-of-this-world food, here are a couple of ridiculously easy recipes we enjoyed last night. The first is a starter I learned from an old friend, Robin. I have served it a zillion times:


Goat Cheese and Sun Dried Tomato Appetizer

Buy a plain goat cheese log (not spiced with peppercorns, et cetera). Open a jar of sun-dried tomatoes in olive oil and tear or chop the tomatoes into small pieces. Pour this over the goat cheese log (use a fork to press the tomatoes artfully into the cheese). Sprinkle with pine nuts and dribble a bit more oil onto them. Chill and then serve at room temperature with a cheese knife and your favorite crackers.

Dump Cake

Embarrassingly simple, and great for any time of year: Buy one can of cherry pie filling and one of crushed pineapple in juice. Empty every single drop of this into a 13x9x2 pan; spread it around a bit with a wooden spoon to distribute the fruit. Sprinkle Duncan Hines Golden Butter Recipe Cake Mix evenly over that. Put small pats of butter all over the top (I prefer Unsalted Land o' Lakes). Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes to one hour (until bubbly and golden on top - you may need to add a teensy bit of melted butter to any dry spots near the end).

This smells and tastes delicious, guaranteed.


I wish I could mail Julie her very own chicken or two. They love her, and so do I.









Love from Delta.

Chicken Pools, Revisions & Silk . . .

You know it's getting warm outside when . . .

. . . this happens.

I went to town the other day and came home to find a cluster of thirsty hens gathered around their newly installed oasis in the back yard. This was our daughter's idea; we have a resident duck who thinks she's a chicken living in the coop, so she bought her a swimming pool. My husband built a wooden ramp up to the edge, and now it looks like we have five or six feathered Greg Louganises.

This is Chuck. Get it? She's a chicken-duck.

Chuck has not yet taken to the pool like a duck-to-you-know-what, but I bet she will.
It's good to be fowl at the Duke Poultry Farm. Things are going swimmingly.
My wonderful son thinks maybe we should make it an in-ground pool, and Jay seems to consider that a cool idea. In that case, I'll be sorely tempted to add goldfish. I'm not just being koi.
(sorry)
At the moment, it's functioning as a lagoon for the dogs, Pepper the cat, the chickens and Chuck.

 Ah, Spring.


Chapters one and two of Delaney's People are now fully edited and revised. The work is progressing very smoothly. I have discovered things about my writing, such as: the word "just" creeps in sometimes.

In "Jewels" (the opener), for instance, my editor allowed me only one precious "just". I just had no idea I'd typed that word so often. It's completely unjustified. I just used it about four times. Just got carried away. If there's any justice in the world, I've learned my just lesson.

I've adjusted nicely.

If your name is Justin, Justinian or Justus, you may not come to my house. Just kidding.

Chapter two was not plagued with "justs". I just had to add some dialog and change some verb tenses, and it was just peachy.

The truth is, I'm having a great deal of fun with the revisions, and grateful to have a good editor to go over my work. I just hope the next eighteen chapters go as easily as these did.


For those who are feeling artistic, or simply want to play with something fun, I present "Silk - a magical interactive artwork". It's Yuri Vishnevsky's experiment in generative art. I love this thing . . . it's like a Spirograph on steroids. Try it. Click and drag, then watch the amazing designs fill your screen.
Silk - a magical interactive artwork
Thank you, Yuri. Beautifully done.





Love from Delta.

Mr. Fluffybutt

A few days ago, our beloved Mr. Fluffybutt was eaten by a dog.

(A vicious, mean, lower-than-a-snake's-belly, prowling, good-for-nothing - well, you get the idea - dog.) Actually, the dog was just being a dog, and unfortunately chickens are just above Gravy Train on the food chain.

He was a good and gentle rooster, not the kind who would peck at the back of your leg. He seemed to sense that we humans were on his side, and welcome our help in caring for his hens.

Mr. Fluffybutt was very officious in his duties; he would run from afar and stab the ground with his wings in anger or alarm when presented with a problem in his flock. He strutted, but he wasn't overly arrogant.

I miss him a lot.

Mrs. Fluffybutt misses him, too, but has folded herself under the protective wing of Morgana-Turned-Morgan (that is another story you can find elsewhere on this blog.) Morgan is technically her nephew, I think, but that's okay.

We live in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains.

Our adorable, tiny, banty Aracauna hen, Peep, has gone broody (for the uninitiated, this means that Peep will sit on eggs - any eggs - with a sense of duty that defines maternal dedication. You could take an egg from just about anything out to her (newly created) Royal Brood Chamber and get her to sit on it right now.

We have an egg (a very precious egg) from Mrs. Fluffybutt that could hold the promise of a banty Cochin rooster or hen. This is a very exciting proposition, and we are watching closely for the next twenty-one days. (Go, Peep!)

Obviously, you will be updated on this blog, and inundated with pictures of whatever newly-hatched chicks Peep produces. Her "due date" is around April 6th.

We could even have a rooster named Fluffybutter (Fluffybutt - Fluffybutter - Fluffybuttest), but my sense of humor and name selection are not always fully appreciated around here. We'll see.

We also lost one of our terrific Rhode Island Reds in the attack.

R.I.P. Zeus and Mr. Fluffybutt.





Love from Delta.

House on Fire

 "You can write," the beautiful and charming authoress proclaimed, eyebrow arched dramatically. "You can write like a house on fire."

So, I came home from Atlanta at the end of January and started writing like a you-know-what.

Now that my book is being edited by a bona fide literary tigress, I am mostly having fun with this blog. I have learned a lot along the way, possibly featured my publicity-shy daughter too much*, and made some new friends.

*(This is intended as a joke.)

Today is Friday, and I am very much looking forward to having Number One Son come home from The University of Alabama. I have made remarkably delicious spaghetti sauce, apple-cinnamon-streusel muffins, and there are some leftover chocolate cupcakes around. I'm not sure what we'll do this weekend, but it will probably involve testosterone-fueled television. (Jace and his dad tend to focus on wrestling and movies where guys get blown up.)


These are movies my son has made me watch: Children of Men and No Country for Old Men. If you are a woman, do not watch them.
Children of Men
No Country for Old Men

Personally, I wish there were a Pawn Stars marathon. I LOVE Pawn Stars.
Pawn Stars
But it looks like maybe we could come to an agreement on this.
Ancient Aliens
Or I can hide the remote.

I think the weather is going to be gorgeous, so I'm planning some walks to the lake. Maybe I'll take some pictures to share. (It's really looking like Spring around here.) At the very least, I'll Run with the Chickens (my friend Marietta has suggested a video featuring the theme from Chariots of Fire. Not happening.)

Speaking of chickens: for those of you who don't Facebook, here is Marietta's photo album from the Rubonia Mardi Gras chicken train in Rubonia, Florida. It is not to be missed.
Rubonia Mardi Gras chicken train by Marietta Sophie Loudon

Here's an old Talking Heads song to kick off your Friday:
Aww, come on - you've already guessed the title...





Love from Delta.

Pepper and Elizabeth

She is a lioness, stalking prey in her personal savanna in the backyard.
She used to live under beds, cowering in fear when strangers approached.

Her name is Pepper, and she is mighty fierce since moving to Alabama. She's about eleven years old - give or take a little - but she's happier and healthier than she's ever been.

She crouches and pursues voles and field mice. She stares down Velociraptor-Rhode-Island-Reds and wins pieces of cheese.

About sunset, though, she is ready for a lap in a rocking chair on the back porch.

You wouldn't believe what I've rocked to sleep out there, including this chicken:

 

    

Her name is Elizabeth, and she's sort of the clan matriarch.

She is our brave, intrepid Speckled Sussex; the only one that will actually cross the road for food. (She's been spotted approaching the Delta General Store.)
Her eggs are superb. She will work for okra. She's just about my favorite chicken in the whole world.













While Pepper stalks her personal Serengeti, I'm off to get my own wild mane tamed today.

Here's a terrific, amazing choir performance of Toto's "Africa" to get your Wednesday going. I promise you, it's worth viewing.

Perpetuum Jazzile's Performance of "Africa"

Meanwhile Back at the (Chicken) Ranch...

This "Poultry in Motion" rooster is called Deviled Eggs. A combined love for puns and bright shiny things inspired me to start collecting these years ago in Florida. This guy is currently decorating the kitchen, standing next to a fancy cake stand full of bon bons. The goodies are there to welcome Precious Son and Precious Daughter and her roommate home from college this weekend.
(As I write this, Precious Son and his dad are watching wrestling on TV. Need I say more?) Savannah and Jenny will be here soon. I hope.
Look closely at yon rooster. See the top of his bright yellow comb?

That is a ladybug.
A lucky, lovely ladybug dropped into my kitchen earlier today. Sometimes, they take refuge during the cold winter months (we've had ladybug invasions that would've inspired Hitchcock) - but this little lady seemed to portend Spring. It's warm and beautiful outside. The jonquils are blooming. The birds are singing. It's really gorgeous here right now. The chickens happily explored the yard all day, dreaming of worms and whatever disgusting things they find out there (I took them crackers and carrots and strawberry bits and cheese. This is some very pampered poultry).
I worked on editing my book* and cleaning house all day.

The ladybug is an interesting hybrid we encountered when we moved to Alabama. Seems that some university I shall not name released a ladybug with PINCHERS into the environment. I did not believe this, but it is apparently true. I have suffered a ladybug attack or two. Seriously.
I still think they're lucky, though.
Tomorrow we're off to Montgomery for the Confederate Heritage Rally. It's a lovely, historic city and has an amazing riverfront district, as I recall. I'm really looking forward to it.
City of Montgomery, Alabama

Before deserting this blog, I want to mention something that really touches me. A group of alumni from The University of Alabama has joined forces to raise money for Auburn University to rehabilitate or replace the poisoned trees I mentioned yesterday. They've already had a huge outpouring of support, and I am proud of their efforts.

Tide for Toomer's

May your weekend be filled with sunshine and (innocuous) ladybugs.

Love from Delta.

*Shameless plug. Delaney's People. Soon to grace a fortunate bookshelf somewhere. The good Lord willing and the creek don't rise.