Okay, this day had some odd events.
When I went to feed the chickens, the feeder was knocked over, but heavy. Unusual because the chickens only knock it over when it’s empty, thus it should not be heavy. Lifted the lid and yikes! a dead blonde chicken curled up inside covered with ants. Now we’ve been using this feeder for some time now, it’s basically a metal pail with a lid that locks on one side. I’m pretty sure I didn’t lock the chicken in the feeder last time I fed them (Wednesday). John fed them yesterday, but decided for some unknown reason NOT to use the feeder.
So sometime between Wednesday and today a chicken for reasons unknown crammed itself into the feeder and got stuck and died. It must have been freakin’ hot in that metal bucket in the middle of the sun (it’s been in the 90s) so it probably died from some sort of heat exhaustion. Poor thing. I have to admit that when I found the chicken, it kind of freaked me out and I wondered if someone wasn’t trying to tell us something ala The Godfather (maybe a neighbor unhappy with the height of our grass in the front yard), but I’ve decided to go with the “dumb things chickens do” theory.
If it was a neighbor unhappy with our grass (kidding, really, I know it’s not…really) they could have at least waited until tonight because we FINALLY got our riding mower back. I’m not even going to go into that whole ordeal, but suffice it to say, do not buy a Toro…especially in John Deere country. Please, do yourself a favor and spend the extra money. We have been sweating it (literally and figuratively) the past few months because our riding mower was out of commission.
People out here are obsessed with mowing. You’ll see old women, children, all types out at all times of day on their riding mower. They keep the grass low for several reasons: weeds and snakes, but mostly there’s some sort of weird pride thing going on. And it’s not like it’s nice manicured grass like in the suburbs. I just can’t figure it out, although I must admit it’s somehow addictive.
When we moved here last summer, not yet owning a riding mower and not yet understanding the rate of speed which the grass/weeds would grow nor the rural fascination with having a well-cut lawn, our yard was about a foot and a half high. Now we weren’t proud of the fact, but we had a lot going on with moving and the previous owners who promised to maintained the property, didn’t, and everything got a bit out of hand. However, that doesn’t give the phone man (see, we didn’t even have a phone yet, let alone a mower) the right to say “Young lady, you know what you need? You need to mow your grass”. Yeah, thanks buddy, I hadn’t noticed. Why don’t you do it for me?
We have about 1.5 acres to mow around the house. And the balance in pasture. When we moved in last year, forget the lawn, the pasture was crazy high. You couldn’t even see the goats. It was like an African savannah (thankfully without the lions). And poor John was out there on our little “garden tractor” for hours on end hacking away and basically beating the crap out of the riding mower. Apparently it’s not meant for 2-3 foot high grass. Locals must have been laughing their butts off at us attempting to get the pasture under control with a riding mower…but we did it. A small farm tractor is on the very long “things we need to purchase” list.
Anyway, our mower is back in commission and John is out there riding away. I’m sure our neighbors are ecstatic as they have been warily eyeing the flowering and blooming weeds in our lawn and pasture. We are thinking of ways to rid ourselves of much of our grass, not only to avoid the whole maintenance issue, but to address the much larger water use issue. That is for another discussion.
Another other weird thing that happened was ants in the laundry. And I’m not talking little sugar ants looking for a place to hang. We don’t have those here. We have big honking fire ants that will bite you. Three months later, I still have blisters from fire ant bites that haven’t healed. The entire basket of balled up, dirty sheets and towels was covered. I couldn’t find anything that would seem attractive to an ant (to me, at least), but apparently they are digging the laundry. I’m not happy about that. I’m hoping this is just a one time odd event. I don’t want to be picking little washed and fluff dried ant bodies out of my bed sheets.
Along with fire ants, this is apparently snake country. Last summer we saw two big rattlers. Haven’t seen any yet, but we’re constantly on the lookout. I did however look out the french doors in our bedroom to see 3 black blobs lounging on the grass. One I recognized as Veda the cat. The other 2 looked like black hose. On closer inspection, by Veda, they turned out to be 2 very long southern black racer snakes. Not poisonous, but apparently mating and therefore very aggressive when approached by Veda (who fought back), then John (who jumped WAY back) and Buster who didn’t have a clue what to do, so he chased them into the woodpile. Johns says they probably live in the big ivy-covered pecan tree that hangs over our house. Something tells me we haven’t seen the last of them.
So while John mows, the ants scurry out of our laundry, a chicken waits to be buried in our ever-growing pet cemetery, the snakes slither — and I sit here eating spicy tuna salad and drinking a Sam Adams Cherry Wheat beer. Aaaah. Can’t wait to see what Saturday brings.