Coming out of it's shell

Here is one of those strange, shelless eggs that occasionally get laid by the hens. It's a perfect egg - just without a shell.

Mum's garden.

I've got some catching up to do if I ever want my garden to look as nice as Mum's.

Something to aspire to.

Poppy stays up late.

 Whilst all the other chicks had gone to bed - or to their perch to be precise - Poppy decided to have a last race around the garden.

What came first. ?

 I can tell you what came first as I heard it last week on a radio programme. The egg came first - dinosaur eggs , that is.  So, of course the chickens came later. Now that conundrum is sorted I've had it backed up with two eggs in the nesting box before Mrs Bun laid her egg - here is a photo of her on top of the run, looking through the window and in at the nesting box where Lunar was busy laying her egg. 

Talking of which came first  - the onions have shot up whilst the potatoes are just poking through. I've dug over another strip to put in the potatoes that we've bought in the supermarket and that have chitted.

A little egg-xtra than we hoped for.

I know, I hate those corny eggy word changes but  it had to be done.
We've got an abundance of eggs because suddenly four of our six little ladies have come into lay. We've never had it so good. They were just in time for pancake day too, bless them.

Chicken football.

Don't ever think a chicken doesn't have fun. The two babies, Betty the barcode and Sylvie enjoyed a little kick around with a tomato before Betty realised how delicious it was and promptly tucked in!

Meanwhile, Lunar the Lavender hen gave me a full on view of her lovely feathering.

Charming!

Luna silences the critics (me)

Lunar, the lavender bantam who isn't a true bantam (the colour lavender is still experimental in this breed and not yet a recognised standard) has proved her worth - eventually!
Despite being older than Mrs Bun and Poppy, she had not laid an egg in all the time we've had her. Lavender was the one colour we really wanted though and she'd earned her place in our little flock just by being beautiful. It's always disappointing though to have a non laying chicken (we had 'The Colonel' once who was an hermaphrodite chicken and upset the other chickens when despite being more cock than hen, tried to lay eggs in the nesting box - it was like watching a bloke walk into the Ladies room and witnessing the fuss that would cause). Still, we loved Luna for being soft and cloud like with a lovely gentle nature. Not for her the treading of other chickens a la Shakira. Nor scaring away the little chicks as Mrs Bun is prone to do. Luna is very much the hippy of the chicken world - "Love and peace, man" would probably be her motto if she had one.
So imagine my surprise when I received a text message from Luke yesterday. Whilst I was at work so was Luna. Busy laying her first egg and doing a fine old job at it too.
The lovely thing about hens in lay is that they will squat down if you pass them and it makes them much easier to scoop up. The others (all out of lay at the moment) scarper the minute we get near them. However Luna now lets us pick her up which is such a delight as she really is just a cloud of down and the silkiest of the girls to hold.
I decided to type this message in the conservatory, just before heading out to get some digging done when, Bang! A sparrowhawk, young, small and inexperienced bashed into a blue tit before heading over the conservatory roof and away. Mrs Bun, the closest to the action, stood - head down, stock still for ten seconds till the danger was past then all six hens rushed off tot he safety of the greenhouse. Minutes later the sparrowhawk returned for another try at lunch but having once again hunted without success it flew to the great heights of the old oak tree only to be chased off noisily by a disgruntled crow.
Indoors the cat is playing with Luke's laces on his shoes and prancing about the place in her make believe cat and mouse scenario and my leg is going to sleep where I'm balancing the lap top awkwardly so I think it's time to stop typing and start digging = how many poor spring bulbs am I going to disturb? 

Egg hunt

Now that we've had frosts and enough time for last year's perennials to die back fully, the eggs that we believed had been laid by Mrs Bun around the garden have now come to light. She must have tucked herself under the foliage to have a bit of privacy whilst she popped them out. Who knows how long they have been there, little peachy marbles that look from a distance like polished stones. They  must have been frozen and thawed out several times and as no mice have broken the shells to eat the contents I'm wondering if the contents have congealed like those awful 'I'm a celebrity' food challenge ones. I may just test it out later.
Today we have sunshine!!!!!
The ladies are out and about in the garden and instead of huddling up in the greenhouse they are in the borders and chasing away the magpies. Right now there are four of them having a little sunbathe in one of their favourite spots - the raspberry patch. Bless them.

A feast for crows.

We've been shopping and have brought treats home for the birds. They are currently feasting on tomatoes, sweetcorn (still on the cob) and the last of the Christmas pudding (not such a good idea as it has been dowsed in alcohol). What with the wild birds and the fat grey squirrel that have both been feasting on the seeds in the bird feeders it's been a busy scene this morning. Later on today we are going to move the smaller hen house and run as the ground is waterlogged.
We are trying to give the girls some interest in these dark, dismal days of winter so hidden treats and perches around the place give them some extra things to do. They are going to be in for a shock when we are both back at work and they can't roam around both ours and Jack's garden as they have been for several weeks now. Still, such is life.

Chicken run.

I do feel for our little girls. True, they do have a much richer life than many hens in those tiny runs but how they adore to scratch around in the dirt or leg it over to Jack's garden where the grass is longer and they sometimes find cat food or cake thrown out for them. So when we can we free them from their chicken runs and let them loose. Today was my early finish so I got home about 4.15. First job was to open the doors of the pens and watch them go, the second was to scrape the droppings board clean and then it was indoors to make a cup of tea. Sadly with the winter days getting shorter they only came out for thirty minutes before trundling off to bed. There was still a little time for the new chicks to scratch about in the veg patch.

A joy to visit.

For three solid hours this morning I boiled and peeled chestnuts in order to make soup and stuffing. One kilo gram of chestnuts took from 10am till 1.00pm to peel and I ended up with prune fingers as they had been handling hot wet chestnuts for so long. Then of course, I had to make the soup and the stuffing. I'm sure that come Christmas I will be pleased to have the stuffing already made (if it lasts that long without me succumbing to cooking it as chestnut stuffing is a particular favourite of mine). We had some of the soup for lunch and then, joy of joys, we visited the garden centre for a quick wander around and I bought some new gardening gloves after Luke wore my last pair when he was putting a new roof on the shed and ended up with a hole in the finger. I also spent five pounds on a pretty orchid for the house. The one I really wanted was three times the price and I didn't want to pay any more so opted for the cheaper one. Sometimes these things are false economies but I love having flowers and plants around so I shan't regret that one and may even succumb to buying one I really wanted too.
The hens were allowed out as we were home most of the day and it was hilarious watching them all fly out of the runs. They have been cooped up since Wednesday afternoon so couldn't wait to fly the nest, so to speak. Each chicken came out with a ludicrous flight path and little Mrs. Bun ended up flying straight into the raspberry patch - no wonder Luke chopped them all down afterwards. It's time for their annual cut and it's been months since we had the last raspberry although I think the hens may have enjoyed a few more than we did.
The two new hens now have names that we agree on. I think we've turned into proper chicken owners now because I've stopped thinking about naming them. However, the old rule that if something has a name we don't eat it still stands for any animal we own. Once you find out their personalities (and believe me when I tell you that each chicken has it's own individual personality - yes, really), well, you just can't dispatch them.
So Buckster, Lunar, Poppy, Mrs Bun and.., Betty and Silvie are all safe.
Last night Luke had to retrieve an egg by hooking it with the garden rake. Silly Mrs Bun isn't like normal chickens and doesn't hide away in a dark and comfy nest to lay her eggs. Nope, she just seems to lay them where she is standing and then looks surprised to see the egg when she turns around. So her latest lay was just left in the run and out of reach, hence the rake. But that chicken can do no wrong in Luke's eyes and he just rolled it along the ground till we could pick it up and wash it off. Scrambled egg in the shell., no doubt.

Revisiting Lola.

We visited our adopted hen, Lola today and could hear her before we even saw her. We armed ourselves with a banana and a small pot of yogurt that she always loved and as you can see by the photograph below with her white tipped beak,. she soon tucked in. It seems she is head of the pecking order. How nice it was to check her out for ourselves.

Mrs. Bun

How can a little chicken get in so much trouble? I heard some squeaky sound a week ago and realised it was Mrs Bun munching on the polystyrene tray that my violas came in!

Next up, she decides to fly to the top of the steamer chair only she hasn't quite got her balance and has to flap around for a while before she is settled. Silly chick.

Nuthatch, frozen bird baths and the last of the tomatoes

It's six am on a Sunday morning and still very dark outside. A thought has just occurred to me, the clocks may have gone back an hour and if so I am totally unaware of this. We are always forewarned of this twice yearly but as I don't tend to read the newspapers or watch TV I have no idea if British summer time has now ended. The outside conditions tell me it is no longer BST though. The leaves on the oak are rapidly drying out and their varying shades of amber and brown are the last colours they will be turning before they sail away on a brisk, nipping wind and tumble gracefully to the ground. Soon the mornings will be frosted with white and the trudge up to the hen houses will be noisy with ice snapping underfoot.
As for the chickens, they will be loath to venture out, preferring to stay cwtched up (Welsh for cuddled) on their warm bed of wood shavings. The bigger girls will stay huddled on the perch and will only appear when they are hungry. Winter is definitely on it's way.

I was working all day yesterday and missed out on the glorious sunshine that was inviting me to go and play in the garden but I have enjoyed seeing a lovely torpedo shaped female Nuthatch darting about close by the conservatory window earlier this week. I'm always delghted to spy the common but shy Jenny Wren or the camera-inviting Robin Redbreast and already I've seen one handsome Goldfinch that so delighted Luke the first time he ever saw one in our garden.
Whilst I mourn the passing of a frankly non existent summer there is still such a lot to be got from the seasons in Britain. I won't yearn for the slippery mornings or the biting cold that seems to pervade every part of my body, turning my fingertips numb and making my feet feel like ice blocks, Likewise I shan't be welcoming the icy road conditions or scraping the windscreen and then waiting for the condensation to clear before I can set off on a journey anywhere but whilst the roses lie dormant (a great time now to plant new rose stocks whilst they are not disturbed by the upheaval) the bulbs will soon be reawakening and, hidden from view, will begin to build up their stores and push upwards and eventually out into the light for next year's colour.

Today we are visiting family so there will be no gardening but I am longing to get my fingers dirty and my back aching again. A hard day's digging is pretty therapeutic even if it's tough going and standing back to admire the crumbly soil after it's been dug over is one of my secret (not so secret now) joys. The winter sky, bright blue with mere wisps of cloud, is always a delight to stare up at whilst I am stretching my back out when it locks up. A steaming hot cup of tea to wrap your hands around and feel the warmth seeping back in is another simple pleasure. Having the 'ladies' around my feet, looking for any fat worms I may have unearthed with my digging always makes me chuckle too. They are so industrious and when we both spot a wriggling body in the clod of soil I have just dug it's a race to see who can get to it first. Me, to hide it back safely underground or the hens to make a tasty meal of it.
Last night Luke picked me up from work and had difficulty getting the two littlest back into their run so ended up shutting them into the safety of the greenhouse. When we arrived home at dusk they had already perched, high up on the metal framework, in amongst the tomato plants. We quickly hooked up a chicken each, much to their obvious and noisy displeasure, and popped them deftly back into their hen house. Much happier to be back in their dark and comfortable sanctuary they immediately stopped their protestations and, peeking through the window of their house, we could see them snuggled up together ready for a good night's sleep.
Oh to be a chicken in our little flock.



Talking of the tomatoes. it's now obvious that we won't be getting any more ripening and the ones that have started ripening have now split their skins and have an edging of mould running along the split. They look like they have fur lined bomber jackets on. We will have to consign the plants to the compost bin but at least I saved a few last ones to freeze for stews later in the year. Luke is thrilled that finally we had success with our greenhouse tomatoes and I hope this means that next year we will have rows of dark green bushes with fat red globes hanging off them. Yum.

Mr Frosty comes to visit.

A mere 36 hours ago I was remarking to my Mum that it seemed unbelievable, whilst sitting in the light, bright conservatory and being warmed by the late afternoon sun's rays, that winter was on it's way. We've all got used this year to rain one moment and sun (well, not much sun) the next but it always seems hard to fathom that we can have such a wide variety of weather in such a short space of time. Yesterday we had a warm and sunny morning which continued some way into the afternoon before the temperature dropped suddenly and we had hailstones and rain. The older chickens huddled inside the greenhouse and spent their time waiting for the skies to brighten up by  indulging in dust baths but the newest additions to our brood haven't discovered the joys of the greenhouse yet so they took shelter under the canopy of the raspberries.
I had to race up the garden to rescue the washing I had hoped would dry, especially as I had another load to go out on the line. Socks, the cat from next door, came bounding into the house to shelter and within moments the scene had changed from a busy garden with blue skies and puffy clouds to not a soul to be seen and a mass of threatening grey along with fat globules of rain and hail.
This morning I woke early (always annoying when it's a Sunday and we don't have to get up) and after an hour lazing in bed I pulled on a dressing gown so I could open up the hens. We normally open their pop hole and let them out between 7.00 and 7.20 so they were already chirping in their house when I trudged up the garden. It's been such a long time that I had forgotten how hard it is to slide open the bolts when they've been stuck fast by a frost. So, here we are; summer (such as it was) is over and Autumn is not the balmy swansong of a lovely year as it has been before. Now we have to treasure our sunshiney days as we head into the season where swirling leaves herald the coming of winter and the squirrel continues it's storage of food for the barren months ahead.
A lone buzzard flew over the rooftop yesterday and the crows perched noisily on the chimney pots. I searched for a tiny egg that Mrs Bun almost certainly laid somewhere in the garden but only turned up smooth oval pebbles. We may find it in weeks to come.
Yesterday I had a joyous time weeding the vegetable patch. All the corn was pulled up; the chickens saw to it that we never had a meal from it. The beans have been very sparse but I picked a few that hung limply from the swirling stems and we will eat these with our Sunday lamb dinner today. I did find three little overlooked potatoes in the ground and also dug up the small heads of garlic that I planted for harvest this year. I've kept a few but will plant up the individual cloves for next year as they have strong roots on each one. Hen keepers advise placing garlic in the water for healthy hens but I've never done it. Apart from our old hen, Buckster, who is currently moulting and looks particularly scraggy the others seems to be in the best of health. Oh, to be be young and fit once more.

Happy to be ankle deep in mud.

What a marvellous day; sunshine (till the inevitable rain showers and hailstones arrived), blue skies and white fluffy marshmallows for clouds. This meant only one thing. I had to escape the housework and get out into my garden. What a joy.
Because it has been so wet this year I've decide to move the little chickens' run and house so it is easier to access. With it being in the middle of the vegetable patch it means I have trodden down the soil I spent an hour or so turning over about a month ago. This has resulted in little craters and man made pools where heavy footsteps have created impressions in the soil that have filled up with rain water. Luke found a toad in one last night, right in the bed where the peas should have been. So today the 'babies' had a change of scenery and now live at the front of the veg patch, with easy access and a deep carpet of hipped bark.
Actually it all tied in well with my happy hour of weeding and digging up the forlorn sweet corn that the hens decimated.

We are not going to get fat on this egg.

It is not a lot bigger than our plum tomatoes but we are grateful for all small mercies.

Creepy crawlies.

Whilst I'm still on the subject of hens...., we had a little visitor this week. A big, fat, juicy caterpillar, bumbling it's awkward way across the garden and attracting the attentions of Mrs. Bun whose inquisitiveness meant she ended up poking her beak into my photo too. You may see that the caterpillar is still in the second shot and you'll be pleased to know that Mrs Bun left well alone. I don't think she likes the hairs on what she may think is a hirsute large worm.

And introducing....,

wait for it.....,

two brand new chickens!

Now, I know I am a bore when it comes to a few mangy hens but please believe me, they all have very different personalities and are pretty entertaining

We hadn't planned on getting any extra hens just yet but suddenly I received an email, telling me that the barred Wyandotte I had longed for was now available. We were visiting my brother and his family in Yorkshire so decided that we would drive past the farm on the way home and collect them.
I've talked before about not being able to integrate new and much younger chickens easily with the existing ones because they will be picked on (as well as the babies needing to stay on grower's pellets for another eight weeks until they are what's called P.O.L.- point of lay).
Anyway, we arrived at the farm by lunchtime and were introduced to a run full of ten week old colourful characters. We had a choice of Lavender, Blue Laced, Colombian, Silver Laced and of course, the Barred. We already have a buff laced, a silver laced, a lavender and a gold laced. We wanted a Barred of course but needed to chose a little mate for her so having looked at the options we chose one for her exquisite feathering; another Silver Laced (yes, how we live, that we should be excited with the pattern on a chicken's wing). With the aid of a net they were scooped up and popped in a cardboard box and we drove two little black and white feather balls to their new home.

Home delivery - Chicken in a box!

 You can just make out the Barred's little beak as she catches sight of me and my camera.

And here they are, fresh from their journey.

 Meep is a handful - but only in size, not in temperment.

Settling in.

 

We haven't decided on names yet (I mean, they are only chickens, after all) but a few options are:
Meep and Toot (I don't think I'll get those past Luke), Violet and Amber or Betty and Penny  - or Dotty.... Let's wait and see what sort of personalities the little cheepers develop first.

Red hot!

So I'm obviously not talking about our temperatures this summer, having been the wettest one in one hundred years, but there have still been splashes of racy red in the garden. Not so many on the raspberry canes as the new chickens have developed their jumping skills to attain the giddy heights of the juiciest berries. I'll get a video clip of them jumping later this week for you.