As we wring out the old year, let me say that I've been around a few years now and I notice things.
For instance: Whereever I go, half the people seem to be below average intelligence. Except for Wal-mart.
At Walmart today, black-eyed peas, a traditional good-luck item in southern New Years' Day dinner, were sold out on the packaged beans aisle, the canned beans aisle, and the frozen beans aisle. We encountered several other shoppers looking for them in vain. We chanced upon them as we were leaving. Black-eyed peas were still stacked high on a special display over by the seafood, however, where they'd be easy to find.
Also at Walmart today, I had parked the cart in a corner where I'd be out of the way. A woman came by from behind me, saying in a loud voice "Stay there, Richard. Stay there. Wait right there, I said." Behind her came her poor 25 year-old Down's Syndrome son, pushing a cart and looking confused as hell. Then came Richard's father, taking up the rear with the 15 year old Down's son riding in a cart. The father was yelling, "Move it, Richard, move it." That poor kid!
In addition, we saw two girls wearing snow boots with scanty, off-the-shoulder outfits and one wearing sandals and a heavy jacket. At least they weren't in the same group. And there was the lady who loved purple so much, she was wearing almost every shade of it of purple and lavender. She had dressed her granddaughter in the other shades.
At the all-you-can-eat oriental buffet, we saw a woman who was morbidly obese. I mean Jabba the Hut FAT. She was waddling around, filling a plate with desserts. I guess you're not too fat until your arms won't reach the food when your belly is up against the bar. Or maybe, at that point, she'd just absorb the buffet like a giant amoeba. Hey, hold it, this isn't an all-you-can-absorb buffet, Jabba.
The hawk's been coming back and the telescope is set up. He's a large, red-tailed hawk in dark winter plumage. I got to about 50 yards by angling back and forth across the pasture so I never seemed to be walking straight at him. As soon as I reached the fence line and couldn't angle any more, he flew off.
Attention WalMart shoppers. Have a happy new year.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Hawk repellent
For all you other chicken ranchers out there, I've discovered a great way to keep hawks and eagles away. Just set up a large telescope inside a glass porch, aimed at their favorite perch. I set it up Sunday after seeing the eagle and two hawks. They must think it's a cannon, because I haven't seen a hawk since my first post. But, then again, it might have something to do with the foot of snow still on the ground.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
A bit of Dismal Swamp history
With the week off, I'm working hard to get my history novel formatted for publication. It took me 3 years to write and 6 years of off and on research. It's about Moses Grandy, a slave who lived in this area in the early 1800's. In 1843, The Life of Moses Grandy was published - a narrative of his life in his "own" words. Since he narrated it to an abolitionist, it's hearsay evidence, I suppose. I've found plenty of evidence that his story is true, but even the truth can be "biased." I came across his story while researching the swamp for another novel and was surprised to learn none of my teacher friends, including those who are very much into black history month, had ever heard of him. Anyway the man's story is so fascinating I wanted the world to take notice of him. As it is, he's a very minor footnote in African American history.
Moses was born ca. 1888 in Camden County, N.C. His original master, William Grandy, died and left this slave to his son James, who was the same age as Moses (The two had been playmates.) Since James was a minor, and considered unfit to manage slaves, the state stepped in and put Moses out for hire by the year until James came of age. Moses had several "hired" masters, some cruel, some kind. When he went back to his master, an agreement was made for Moses to buy his freedom by hiring himself out. The price was $600.
To make a long story (135,000 words in my book) short, Moses was twice swindled out of his money and nearly lost it a third time. His wife was sold into slavery and he never saw her again. Finally, Moses obtained his freedom and went north, where he worked to make enough money to buy his family out of freedom.
I decided to use his story by fictionalizing it and using it to chronicle the history of the area. This was right after the constitution was signed and "every man was created equal," supposedly. So how did the practice of slavery continue? It's called social pressure. Culture, politics, religion, economics and other forces came into play. That's what the book is really about. I could have fictionalized his story without any research, if I just wanted to have a story to write.
I entered the novel "...and Remember that I Am a Man." in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel contest. At first it got rave reviews. But in the semi-finals, it got slammed. It was called appropriative and borderline plagiaristic and I was basically accused of writing the novel without any right to do so. Even though every source I used was named and all of it was in the public domain. Nothing was said about whether the novel or the writing was good or bad, just that I should not have "appropriated" Moses' story. The reviewer must have not read the final page, where I explained my goals pertaining to the novel.
I guess I'd better get used to it. My novel "The Prisoners of Gender," dealt with sexual issues by swapping the genders of two people who must count on each other and how they deal with their new personae. I had no idea it would happen, but the blurb for the book got posted on a transgender website. I was called a hack and someone else told me I should have written about cartesian dualism and other psychiatric buzzwords. I guess they thought I was writing about "transgender" issues.
Okay, now I'll get back to my formatting. The text is finished, time to work on the cover.
Just a note: A Chesapeake librarian is also blogging about history of the area. Betsy Fowler. I don't know her, but her blog is interesting. http://offtheshelf-betsy.blogspot.com/
Moses was born ca. 1888 in Camden County, N.C. His original master, William Grandy, died and left this slave to his son James, who was the same age as Moses (The two had been playmates.) Since James was a minor, and considered unfit to manage slaves, the state stepped in and put Moses out for hire by the year until James came of age. Moses had several "hired" masters, some cruel, some kind. When he went back to his master, an agreement was made for Moses to buy his freedom by hiring himself out. The price was $600.
To make a long story (135,000 words in my book) short, Moses was twice swindled out of his money and nearly lost it a third time. His wife was sold into slavery and he never saw her again. Finally, Moses obtained his freedom and went north, where he worked to make enough money to buy his family out of freedom.
I decided to use his story by fictionalizing it and using it to chronicle the history of the area. This was right after the constitution was signed and "every man was created equal," supposedly. So how did the practice of slavery continue? It's called social pressure. Culture, politics, religion, economics and other forces came into play. That's what the book is really about. I could have fictionalized his story without any research, if I just wanted to have a story to write.
I entered the novel "...and Remember that I Am a Man." in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel contest. At first it got rave reviews. But in the semi-finals, it got slammed. It was called appropriative and borderline plagiaristic and I was basically accused of writing the novel without any right to do so. Even though every source I used was named and all of it was in the public domain. Nothing was said about whether the novel or the writing was good or bad, just that I should not have "appropriated" Moses' story. The reviewer must have not read the final page, where I explained my goals pertaining to the novel.
I guess I'd better get used to it. My novel "The Prisoners of Gender," dealt with sexual issues by swapping the genders of two people who must count on each other and how they deal with their new personae. I had no idea it would happen, but the blurb for the book got posted on a transgender website. I was called a hack and someone else told me I should have written about cartesian dualism and other psychiatric buzzwords. I guess they thought I was writing about "transgender" issues.
Okay, now I'll get back to my formatting. The text is finished, time to work on the cover.
Just a note: A Chesapeake librarian is also blogging about history of the area. Betsy Fowler. I don't know her, but her blog is interesting. http://offtheshelf-betsy.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Alien Aberrations
If you like horror or science fiction, you might want to check out Alien Aberrations, now on sale at Amazon, Barnes and Noble and other booksellers. It contains my story GREETINGS, about a race of aliens who have sex with a handshake. It's from Grand Mal Press.
We've been snowed in since the day after Christmas. I tried to get my wife to work today in my 4 wheel drive Jeep, but we gave up after 5 miles. Even the main highway was awful, our street (which we have to travel for 4 miles) was a sheet of ice. We saw 4 cars in the ditch and plenty of tracks where other cars had been towed out.
We've been snowed in since the day after Christmas. I tried to get my wife to work today in my 4 wheel drive Jeep, but we gave up after 5 miles. Even the main highway was awful, our street (which we have to travel for 4 miles) was a sheet of ice. We saw 4 cars in the ditch and plenty of tracks where other cars had been towed out.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
The mystery of Lake Drummond
Nice Christmas yesterday, a foot of snow today. I'm a bit of a history buff and I find the Dismal Swamp to be fascinating and little known.
For instance, Lake Drummond, in the middle of the swamp, is 1 of only 2 natural lakes in Virginia (The other being mysterious Mountain Lake, where they filmed dirty dancing, but that's a story for another day and some other blogger.) It was discovered (white man style) by a man named William Drummond, who became the governor of North Carolina, who was later executed by the governor of Virginia for supporting Bacon's Rebellion. (The first insurrection against British rule occurred in the swamp, Culpepper's Rebellion, but it's not widely known)
Scientists say the swamp was created during the last continental shift, but it was underwater back then. Eventually the Atlantic receded and it's now 20 miles inland or so. As for Lake Drummond, which is roughly circular in shape, some think it was created by a meteorite impact. Some argue it was created by a bog fire. Native American legend says a "fire bird" created the lake. I argue for the meteorite theory, there are several circular lakes in nearby North Carolina and the Chesapeake Bay itself was formed by a monstrous impact. The fact that the lake is higher than any land around here also points toward a meteor strike, earth thrown up by the impact would have mounded around the center. The lake then filled from underground springs.
George Washington surveyed the swamp, realized the topography and ordered the first ditch built (Washington Ditch) to float lumber out of the swamp. 9 ditches were eventually dug. Then Washington and others decided to build a canal between the Chesapeake Bay and the North Carolina sounds. Only two locks were needed, one at each end. When the canal was built, water ceased to drain into the eastern part of the swamp, which became dry enough for agriculture. (That's where I live.)
But that's more about the swamp, I'm writing about the lake itself. As far as I can determine, no one has ever studied core samples to try to figure out how the lake was created. (Deep, deep, deep core samples were needed to prove the Chesapeake Bay Meteorite.) I'm betting (and using as a premise for a novel I'm working on) that there was only a marshy area, until a meterorite struck, shattering the crust below and releasing freshwater springs. The newly created bowl held a reservoir of water that turned the marshy area into the great swamp of the modern era. Over the years, the detritus thrown up leveled off and the lake filled in to the shallow levels of today (max 6 ft.)
Lake Drummond ditch allowed tourists to visit the lake during the 1800s on day excursions from Norfolk. People would dip out coffee-colored lake water and drink it, considering it to be a healthy tonic. In fact, sailors used to journey to the lake and fill barrels for their voyages. Tannin in the water from the Juniper roots keep it fresh for much longer than normal water. In 1803, Irish poet Thomas Moore wrote "A Ballad: The Lake of the Dismal Swamp," about "The Lady of the Lake. Edgar Allen Poe also visited and some think his poem "The Lake" refers to Drummond.
Okay, now it's clear to you that I'm one of those obnoxious people who know way too much about things, I'll continue on about other mysteries and legends of the Great Dismal Swamp on another day.
For instance, Lake Drummond, in the middle of the swamp, is 1 of only 2 natural lakes in Virginia (The other being mysterious Mountain Lake, where they filmed dirty dancing, but that's a story for another day and some other blogger.) It was discovered (white man style) by a man named William Drummond, who became the governor of North Carolina, who was later executed by the governor of Virginia for supporting Bacon's Rebellion. (The first insurrection against British rule occurred in the swamp, Culpepper's Rebellion, but it's not widely known)
Scientists say the swamp was created during the last continental shift, but it was underwater back then. Eventually the Atlantic receded and it's now 20 miles inland or so. As for Lake Drummond, which is roughly circular in shape, some think it was created by a meteorite impact. Some argue it was created by a bog fire. Native American legend says a "fire bird" created the lake. I argue for the meteorite theory, there are several circular lakes in nearby North Carolina and the Chesapeake Bay itself was formed by a monstrous impact. The fact that the lake is higher than any land around here also points toward a meteor strike, earth thrown up by the impact would have mounded around the center. The lake then filled from underground springs.
George Washington surveyed the swamp, realized the topography and ordered the first ditch built (Washington Ditch) to float lumber out of the swamp. 9 ditches were eventually dug. Then Washington and others decided to build a canal between the Chesapeake Bay and the North Carolina sounds. Only two locks were needed, one at each end. When the canal was built, water ceased to drain into the eastern part of the swamp, which became dry enough for agriculture. (That's where I live.)
But that's more about the swamp, I'm writing about the lake itself. As far as I can determine, no one has ever studied core samples to try to figure out how the lake was created. (Deep, deep, deep core samples were needed to prove the Chesapeake Bay Meteorite.) I'm betting (and using as a premise for a novel I'm working on) that there was only a marshy area, until a meterorite struck, shattering the crust below and releasing freshwater springs. The newly created bowl held a reservoir of water that turned the marshy area into the great swamp of the modern era. Over the years, the detritus thrown up leveled off and the lake filled in to the shallow levels of today (max 6 ft.)
Lake Drummond ditch allowed tourists to visit the lake during the 1800s on day excursions from Norfolk. People would dip out coffee-colored lake water and drink it, considering it to be a healthy tonic. In fact, sailors used to journey to the lake and fill barrels for their voyages. Tannin in the water from the Juniper roots keep it fresh for much longer than normal water. In 1803, Irish poet Thomas Moore wrote "A Ballad: The Lake of the Dismal Swamp," about "The Lady of the Lake. Edgar Allen Poe also visited and some think his poem "The Lake" refers to Drummond.
Okay, now it's clear to you that I'm one of those obnoxious people who know way too much about things, I'll continue on about other mysteries and legends of the Great Dismal Swamp on another day.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Hawk attack!
About a half hour after the last post, I looked out the back window and saw a large wing rise and fall on the other side of my smaller coop (you can see straight through the wire). It wasn't normal behavior and I soon realized a hawk had a chicken down. I ran out, calling to Diane. As soon as I was in the back yard, the hawk rose and settled in a tree just over the ditch on the edge of the yard.
To my surprise, this hawk had attacked a white Delaware rooster. The bird is fine, but his head is bloodied. The rest of the chickens were huddled in the corner of a stall, inside the stable. The hawk went farther away and perched in a tree, another hawk showed up minutes later and perched in another nearby tree. I fetched my telescope from the attic and managed to get a look at the bird, but its back was to me and I couldn't identify the species. I hadn't seen any predatory birds for several days and figured the chickens would be okay since I'm spending the day at home, but if I hadn't looked out by chance, that rooster would be a goner. So the book is wrong, hawks will attack full-grown chickens. Again, I'm unsure if the first attacker was hawk or eagle, but now I'm back to guessing hawk.
I'm off for the holidays, so I'm leaving the telescope focused on the "sentinel tree," the preferred vantage point of the hawks, since there's a clear view of the coop.
Reminds me of the old Foghorn Leghorn cartoons where Foghorn would always get the the little chicken hawk to attack the barnyard dawg instead of him. Anybody remember that little hawk's name?
To my surprise, this hawk had attacked a white Delaware rooster. The bird is fine, but his head is bloodied. The rest of the chickens were huddled in the corner of a stall, inside the stable. The hawk went farther away and perched in a tree, another hawk showed up minutes later and perched in another nearby tree. I fetched my telescope from the attic and managed to get a look at the bird, but its back was to me and I couldn't identify the species. I hadn't seen any predatory birds for several days and figured the chickens would be okay since I'm spending the day at home, but if I hadn't looked out by chance, that rooster would be a goner. So the book is wrong, hawks will attack full-grown chickens. Again, I'm unsure if the first attacker was hawk or eagle, but now I'm back to guessing hawk.
I'm off for the holidays, so I'm leaving the telescope focused on the "sentinel tree," the preferred vantage point of the hawks, since there's a clear view of the coop.
Reminds me of the old Foghorn Leghorn cartoons where Foghorn would always get the the little chicken hawk to attack the barnyard dawg instead of him. Anybody remember that little hawk's name?
James' birthday and kicking horses
Today, Christmas Eve, is the birthday of James, our cocker spaniel who we inherited from our son.(translation: our son dumped his dog on us.) He's 2 years old today, so we had a mid-day birthday party with his best friend Sebastian (2 year old Golden retriever) and Candy (12 year old Golden). No cats received invitations, and Dickens (3 1/2 foot green Iguana) declined the invitation although he accepted a fruit cup in celebration of the event. Wendy's double-stack cheeseburgers were served and James received a sweater, which he will show off on our afternoon walk in the woods behind Cornland Park.
I've decided to share the story of "Dude," a horse given to Jackie by the daughter of a bee-keeper friend of mine when he sold his land and stable to Wal-mart and other developers and became a multi-millionaire. Dude's dam died when he was only a couple of days old, so he was raised by humans and never learned to be a horse. We knew when we accepted him that he'd kicked a woman in the gut and severely injured her, but Jackie was only planning to train Dude, then sell him.
Dude, being a people, loved to help me when I worked in the pasture or stable. If I used a manure fork, he tried to grab it. If I used a battery-drill in the stable, he would put his nose on it and "help." Then there was the time I was working on the pipe for the horse trough. He came up behind me and shoved me into the electric fence, which really zapped me since I was touching a water pipe. Angry, I threw an elbow into his ribs, not realizing he'd been shocked also. He turned around and let loose with both rear hooves, which I managed to duck.
You might think that would be the end of it, but he snuck up behind me and grabbed the instruction sheet for re-fitting the hydrant, spilling all the small nuts, washers I'd set down to keep straight. Then he high-tailed it, paper in his mouth. I never did find all the hardware and the water hydrant has never worked properly since.
When my sister and husband (who are not country folk) came into the pasture to see the horses, I could tell Dude was getting mad he wasn't getting enough attention. I knocked my brother in law out of the way just in time to keep him from being kicked. Unfortunately, I was kicked in the elbow. My arm was sore for days. He kicked me a couple of other times, also, but I always managed to get out of the way (mostly.)
Oh, let's not forget when my wife, Diane, decided to ride Dude. Going by the compost pile, he stepped on one of the wire tomato cages I keep there and took off. I heard a scream and ran around the house to see her lying on the ground, unconscious.
"That's it," I declared. "That horse has got to go." To which Diane answered, "Oh, but he's so cute." That phrase is why we've had up to 5 horses at a time, not to mention geese and turkeys (which are even meaner than Dude.)
Finally, when Jackie tried to mount him one day, he kicked her in the gut and put her in the emergency room. The horse had suddenly ceased being "cute" to Diane. To my surprise, a farmer up the street paid a couple hundred for the rotten critter, which I would gladly have given away. He was gone two days after kicking Jackie.
God, how I miss that horse. Now if I can only figure out a way to miss the three horses we have now.
I've decided to share the story of "Dude," a horse given to Jackie by the daughter of a bee-keeper friend of mine when he sold his land and stable to Wal-mart and other developers and became a multi-millionaire. Dude's dam died when he was only a couple of days old, so he was raised by humans and never learned to be a horse. We knew when we accepted him that he'd kicked a woman in the gut and severely injured her, but Jackie was only planning to train Dude, then sell him.
Dude, being a people, loved to help me when I worked in the pasture or stable. If I used a manure fork, he tried to grab it. If I used a battery-drill in the stable, he would put his nose on it and "help." Then there was the time I was working on the pipe for the horse trough. He came up behind me and shoved me into the electric fence, which really zapped me since I was touching a water pipe. Angry, I threw an elbow into his ribs, not realizing he'd been shocked also. He turned around and let loose with both rear hooves, which I managed to duck.
You might think that would be the end of it, but he snuck up behind me and grabbed the instruction sheet for re-fitting the hydrant, spilling all the small nuts, washers I'd set down to keep straight. Then he high-tailed it, paper in his mouth. I never did find all the hardware and the water hydrant has never worked properly since.
When my sister and husband (who are not country folk) came into the pasture to see the horses, I could tell Dude was getting mad he wasn't getting enough attention. I knocked my brother in law out of the way just in time to keep him from being kicked. Unfortunately, I was kicked in the elbow. My arm was sore for days. He kicked me a couple of other times, also, but I always managed to get out of the way (mostly.)
Oh, let's not forget when my wife, Diane, decided to ride Dude. Going by the compost pile, he stepped on one of the wire tomato cages I keep there and took off. I heard a scream and ran around the house to see her lying on the ground, unconscious.
"That's it," I declared. "That horse has got to go." To which Diane answered, "Oh, but he's so cute." That phrase is why we've had up to 5 horses at a time, not to mention geese and turkeys (which are even meaner than Dude.)
Finally, when Jackie tried to mount him one day, he kicked her in the gut and put her in the emergency room. The horse had suddenly ceased being "cute" to Diane. To my surprise, a farmer up the street paid a couple hundred for the rotten critter, which I would gladly have given away. He was gone two days after kicking Jackie.
God, how I miss that horse. Now if I can only figure out a way to miss the three horses we have now.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Eagles and possums and hawks, oh my!
I'm going to be blogging about my usually adventuresome life. Just watch, probably nothing of note will ever happen again. So what? I'm a writer, I'll bring in some past experiences.
Unfortunately, I tend to do things without thinking and get too involved in life. I think it all started in Catholic grade school when I got thrown out for refusing to pray. But that's a story for another time.
The recent frigid weather has got the animals on the move. Last week, I was out at dusk filling the horse trough when a commotion broke out behind me. I turned and, at first, thought a rooster was after one of the hens, just around the corner. But the rest of the chickens were squawking like crazy and feathers started flying. A hawk! I ran the 20 feet to the coop, planning to shove the hawk into the coop and slam the door. (Like I said, I do things without thinking. I have no idea what I expected to do with a live bird of prey.) Just as I got there, the bird flew up in a flurry of wings and was winging away without me getting a good look at it. But it had a white tail and a very large wingspan. I told the guys at work I had seen a very large hawk.
Saturday morning, when I went out to feed the horses and let the chickens out, I looked up to a dead tree just behind the pasture, where hawks often keep vigil. To my surprise, an enormous bald eagle was perched. I didn't let the chickens out, but went back for binoculars, just to be sure. No doubt about it. When I checked the camera, the batteries were dead. I decided not to try using the cell phone camera since it's new and I'm not used to it.
Staying beneath the trees along the ditch line, I walked to within 20 yards of the eagle, which was about 30 feet up. When I stepped out in the open, he (she?) spread his enormous wings as though to frighten me off. For about 5 seconds, we regarded each other, then he flew off. It was the same bird (I think) that tried to take the chicken earlier.
An hour later a large hawk (red-shouldered or red-tailed, I couldn't tell.) perched for a while and another hawk took up residence later on. I guess all the birds of prey are unusually hungry.
Two nights ago, I worked a bit of overtime and Diane fed the animals. She informed me that the chickens had taken in a boarder. Inside one of the nesting boxes was a small possum, huddled against the cold. Since possums eat eggs (I know from experience), I took a pitch fork and gently lifted it out. It waddled away into the ditch, about 10 feet away. The first time we had a possum visitor in the coop, back when the kids were fairly young, I put a stick beneath it and it grabbed on. For several minutes we had fun walking around with "possum-on-a-stick."
Last night, a hawk was there at dusk. I let the chickens out anyway, since I'd checked my bird-watching book and it says hawks can't take full-grown chickens. I saw it from the tack room window and then when I went back outside, it was gone. Not trusting it, I kept an eye out. 30 seconds later, it soared directly overhead (not sure of the species) then flew off into a nearby field, landing on the ground. I stayed out until the chickens had gone to roost, then locked them in. The way I figure it, a HUNGRY hawk might not be able to carry a chicken away, but could kill and eat it on the spot.
So that's my first blog. If nothing exciting happens tonight (and I'm not talking about indoors), I'll tell you about the bear in the front yard a few years back or maybe talk about my latest novel or maybe I'll just brag on how good-looking I am. I'm not used to blogging, so bear with me.
Unfortunately, I tend to do things without thinking and get too involved in life. I think it all started in Catholic grade school when I got thrown out for refusing to pray. But that's a story for another time.
The recent frigid weather has got the animals on the move. Last week, I was out at dusk filling the horse trough when a commotion broke out behind me. I turned and, at first, thought a rooster was after one of the hens, just around the corner. But the rest of the chickens were squawking like crazy and feathers started flying. A hawk! I ran the 20 feet to the coop, planning to shove the hawk into the coop and slam the door. (Like I said, I do things without thinking. I have no idea what I expected to do with a live bird of prey.) Just as I got there, the bird flew up in a flurry of wings and was winging away without me getting a good look at it. But it had a white tail and a very large wingspan. I told the guys at work I had seen a very large hawk.
Saturday morning, when I went out to feed the horses and let the chickens out, I looked up to a dead tree just behind the pasture, where hawks often keep vigil. To my surprise, an enormous bald eagle was perched. I didn't let the chickens out, but went back for binoculars, just to be sure. No doubt about it. When I checked the camera, the batteries were dead. I decided not to try using the cell phone camera since it's new and I'm not used to it.
Staying beneath the trees along the ditch line, I walked to within 20 yards of the eagle, which was about 30 feet up. When I stepped out in the open, he (she?) spread his enormous wings as though to frighten me off. For about 5 seconds, we regarded each other, then he flew off. It was the same bird (I think) that tried to take the chicken earlier.
An hour later a large hawk (red-shouldered or red-tailed, I couldn't tell.) perched for a while and another hawk took up residence later on. I guess all the birds of prey are unusually hungry.
Two nights ago, I worked a bit of overtime and Diane fed the animals. She informed me that the chickens had taken in a boarder. Inside one of the nesting boxes was a small possum, huddled against the cold. Since possums eat eggs (I know from experience), I took a pitch fork and gently lifted it out. It waddled away into the ditch, about 10 feet away. The first time we had a possum visitor in the coop, back when the kids were fairly young, I put a stick beneath it and it grabbed on. For several minutes we had fun walking around with "possum-on-a-stick."
Last night, a hawk was there at dusk. I let the chickens out anyway, since I'd checked my bird-watching book and it says hawks can't take full-grown chickens. I saw it from the tack room window and then when I went back outside, it was gone. Not trusting it, I kept an eye out. 30 seconds later, it soared directly overhead (not sure of the species) then flew off into a nearby field, landing on the ground. I stayed out until the chickens had gone to roost, then locked them in. The way I figure it, a HUNGRY hawk might not be able to carry a chicken away, but could kill and eat it on the spot.
So that's my first blog. If nothing exciting happens tonight (and I'm not talking about indoors), I'll tell you about the bear in the front yard a few years back or maybe talk about my latest novel or maybe I'll just brag on how good-looking I am. I'm not used to blogging, so bear with me.
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