Back to School (Blog 201)

Tomorrow, Monday, I go back to teaching English and Creative Writing at Lord Botetourt High School, and I am really looking forward to beginning the school year.  I began my teaching career 40 years ago, but I still really enjoy the classroom.

It is so much less stressful to teach school than to be a freelance writer.  This summer I have had many book signings and fishing trips for articles and it has been exhausting.  Being away from home and Elaine is no fun.  I enjoy meeting folks at the book signings, but the long, lonely trips home are not something I enjoy.

Every day in the classroom there is an opportunity for me to teach my students something new, and for them to teach me something about life that I didn't know before.  What could be better.

Summer's Bounty (Blog 200)

Today for lunch, Elaine and I sat down for a meal that came almost entirely from what I had killed or we had grown.  On the menu were the following: deer burgers with tomato slices from the garden, new potatoes and chives from the garden, and yellow squash seasoned with onions.

Interestingly, I am working on an article right now of how to be a locavore, so our mid-day repast fit in well with that story.  It is always a great pleasure to eat something I have pursued or grown, and I feel it is a healthy way to live, too.

Elaine is a marvelous cook, and her talents in the kitchen are why we have cooking columns with Whitetail Times and the Quality Deer Management Association. I am sure she will create something equally tasty for lunch on Sunday.  I am also thinking that blackberry waffles might be a good dinnertime repast on Sunday.

Brooding Chicks (Blog 199)

Elaine and I have tried twice this summer to raise chicks inside a brooder and have failed spectacularly both times.  The first time in June we placed 13 eggs in a brooder and not one of the hatched and only one developed to a certain degree but did not even pip.  Two others apparently developed for a few days then stopped inside the shell.

We waited a week or so and collected eight eggs.  Seven of the eggs did not develop at all. One egg did develop, and we are waiting to see if the chick that was inside will survive.  We don't expect it to survive the night.

We followed the advice on the brooder and turned the eggs when they were supposed to be turned.  We would appreciate advice from readers of our blog.

Book Signings and Fishing Trips (Blog 198)

I have just finished what I have long known would be the busiest of the summer.  Monday, I gave a talk and book signing for the Warren County Chapter of the Izaak Walton League (picture below); Tuesday  I went fishing on the South Fork of the Shenandoah with Shenandoah River Outfitters and interviewed artist Bruce Dellinger for an article for TURKEY COUNTRY.

Wednesday, Elaine and I drove to the South Branch of the Potomac, visiting every library along the way to see if they wanted to purchase my new book on the Potomac River.  Thursday, I went fishing on the South Branch of the Potomac with Eagle's Nest Outfitters, and Friday I wrote almost all day it seemed.  Saturday I went fishing with Rock on Charters on the New River.

I am absolutely exhausted and have more writing to do today, plus mow the lawn, pick berries, and try to spend some time with Elaine.  Plus, I have to go to class online for the class I am taking for recertification.  I am swamped.

Wild Trout Fishing in the Virginia Mountains with my Wife Elaine (Blog 197)

Elaine and I decided to go off into the mountains to fish for wild trout for the July 4 Holiday.  Even though Elaine has recovered extremely well from her breast cancer and chemotherapy from five years ago, she still becomes tired easily.  So we decided just to drive to the end of a forest road and wade fish for maybe 75 yards up a Virginia mountain.

I was gathering anecdotes for a magazine article, so I won't go into details on fish caught, flies used, and that sort of thing.  We only fished for about 90 minutes when I decided that Elaine was growing tired, so I announced that we were going home.

When we arrived home, Elaine started to apologize about her being the reason we stayed such a short time.  That is typical of how sweet she is, always thinking of me and my passion for fishing.  But I told her, and I meant this very sincerely, that the short little excursion with her was by far my best and most enjoyable fishing trip of the year. That I was just so happy to be with her and doing anything.

We have been married for 36 years now, and she is still the most fascinating person I know to talk to. I love her so much.  The picture below shows Elaine gearing up for out outing.

Time to Start Bowhunting Practice (Blog 196)

The past few days I have been practicing with my Matthews compound and Parker crossbow.  Usually, I don't start until July 4, but I wanted to begin earlier this summer.

It has been two weeks since I have been out of school and I have been doing writing work of some kind for over 12 hours a day every day.  I have written five magazine articles and planned book signings, which means I've been on the phone a great deal, for my new Upper Potomac book and the revised edition of the Shenandoah one.

Frankly, it has been a relief to go shoot the bows for 20 minutes or so.  Shooting a bow, especially a compound, takes so much concentration that there is no room in my head to think about article deadlines or book signings.

The other day I placed a bunch of my bow-related gear on the bed in my writing room.  There is so much to organize and decisions to make, do I need to buy new arrows and bolts, do I need to buy more blades, and, of course, both the compound and crossbow need to be sighted in.  How do bows that have not been shot in months become out of whack so easily?

Anyway, as always, I look forward to bow season.

Hen Eggs Fail to Hatch (Blog 195)

Elaine and I had hoped that some of the 13 chicken eggs we had been incubating would hatch earlier this week.  But, unfortunately, none of them did.  When we opened up the eggs to see if any of them had developed, we found that only two had partially begun to form a baby chick.

This was most disconcerting as recently we have lost our alpha rooster Boss, had a bear attack the run, and had Sweetie Pie run away (only to be captured hours later) as a result of the bruin trying to break down one of the walls of the run.

We believe that the reason the eggs did not hatch is because they became too cold when we stored them in the downstairs refrigerator.  We turned the refrigerator's dial as warm as it would go - 50 degrees - but that apparently was not warm enough.

Tomorrow, we will begin another incubation period, hoping that we have learned from our past mistakes.

Spending Father's Day with My Son (Blog 194)

Sunday, Father's Day, I spent much of the day with my son Mark.  In the morning, we went float fishing on the Roanoke River.  Although the fishing was poor (we only caught one small smallmouth between the two of us), I don't think either one of us minded too much.  It was just good to talk about fishing, sports, school (both of us are school teachers) and life in general.

That evening, we watched the NBA finals game between Miami and San Antonio.  Neither one of us is a fan of either of the teams, but that didn't matter.  We analyzed coaching strategy, play selection, and fantastic - and poor - plays.

The poor fishing and indifference to who won the game are not what I will remember about this day.  What I will remember is experiencing one of my best Father's Days ever.  I have been extremely fortunate in my life to have a wonderful wife Elaine and two wonderful children in Sarah and Mark and now even a fine son-in-law David and grandchildren, Sam and Eli.

Fly Strike Fells Rooster (Blog 193)

Last week, we sadly lost our alpha rooster, Boss.  Boss was the biggest Rhode Island Red I have ever seen and gentle as he was huge.  We had just finished gathering eggs fertilized by Boss for incubation when he apparently developed the flu or a bad cold; we are not sure which.  He was lethargic on a Tuesday and very sick on Wednesday.

I removed him from the rest of the flock on Wednesday and gave him water, which he periodically threw up.  I noticed that flies were buzzing about him, but I figured that was because of his droppings which were quite moist.  On Thursday morning, there were several hundred maggots around him and an hour later he was dead.  When I removed him from the chicken tractor, hordes of maggots were writhing in his vent area.

After talking to some other folks and doing research, Boss appears to be a victim of the original ailment that struck him, as well as the flies finishing him off by breeding on him -called Fly Strike.  Elaine and I would appreciate any insight on this.

Bear Attacks Chicken Run (Blog 192)

Last week, I wrote about Sweetie Pie's panicked escape and our three-hour search for her.  A few days later, Elaine and I learned why the hen and the rest of the flock were acting so stressed last Tuesday.

We found bear paw prints on the compost bin that borders the chicken run, and we also saw where a bruin had bent down the top of one side of the fence, torn off the netting that covers that side, and left claw prints on the wood support.  The only thing, we believe, that kept the bear from entering the compound was the fact that it must have been repeatedly shocked by the solar powered fence (two wires about eight inches apart run around the perimeter) as it tried to break in.

The day after the attack, the chickens refused to leave the henhouse and neither Boss nor Johnny crowed.  It was as if every bird was trying to hunker down and stay inside for safety.  The quartet only came out after much encouragement from me.

We have taken a number of precautions to keep our birds safe in terms of fortifying the run, but nothing we have done has been as important as constructing the solar powered electric fence.

The Return of the Prodigal Chicken Hen (Blog 191)

Sunday when our son Mark was visiting, he and I were outside working in the backyard.  It was time to put our four heritage Rhode Island Reds back in the run, so I called out "Let's go home" to the quartet, and the chickens immediately walked back inside the enclosure on their own.

Mark expressed amazement at how well trained our chickens were and asked "Do they always behave that well?"

Turns out, the answer is no.

Tuesday, Elaine and I observed the opposite of good behavior in our birds.  We let our flock out at 4:00 P.M. and at 5:00, I called out "Let's go home."

Boss, Johnny, and Baby headed back toward the run with Sweetie Pie lagging behind.  As the first three reached the doorway, one of the trio gave the alarm cluck which sent Sweetie Pie into full-blown panic.  As I shut the door on the lead three chickens, Sweetie Pie ran into the woods to the right of the driveway.

I quickly followed her into the woods, meanwhile calling to her and calling out to Elaine to come help.  But this woods was clear cut four years ago and has grown back extremely thick.  Soon I lost sight of the hen.

For the next hour we called to Sweetie Pie but she never responded. Our son-in-law David came over and he, Elaine, and I searched in vain.   I then had the idea of playing a tape of a rooster crowing, the hope being that Sweetie Pie would come to that sound - a forlorn hope as things evolved.

Then we asked our neighbor Kim and her daughter Sarah to come over with two of their dogs for tracking purposes.  That scheme failed as well. I did glimpse Sweetie Pie one time in the thicket, but when I called to her she went the opposite way.

Knowing that Sweetie Pie was unlikely to survive a night in the woods (given all the predators about) and with just about 15 minutes of daylight left, I had one last gambit to play.  That is, Elaine and I would continuously circle the clearcut with the hope that Sweetie Pie would panic and begin alarm clucking when she realized that she was all by herself in a darkening woods.

Sure enough, Sweetie Pie did begin alarm clucking, and I ran to the sound.  I spotted her through the undergrowth, and deciding that calling would be futile, I scudded toward her.  She bolted and I chased her for about 40 yards until I made a leap over a deadfall and ran her down.  Tucking her tight to my stomach, I held her firmly as Elaine and I walked back to the chicken run.

We opened the top of the henhouse and deposited Sweetie Pie inside, where Sweetie Pie once again emitted the alarm cluck.  Johnny walked over to her and pecked her three times hard on the head.

"Serves her right for misbehaving so much," said Elaine.

Elaine at Quilt Camp (Blog 190)

My students at Lord Botetourt High School often, as the weekend approaches, ask what my wife Elaine and I will be doing.  When Elaine goes away to quilt camp as she is doing this week, and I give the students that information, they almost always laugh at the thought of quilters going on  a getaway.

As much I miss Elaine when she is away at quilt camp (and she usually goes on four or so of these outings per year), I am thrilled that she can do so.  Elaine enjoys so much the camaraderie of the other ladies, plus she is able to work - and receive advice - on her many projects.

Elaine will return around noon on Sunday, and I will be overjoyed to see her.  And she will have so much to tell me about the events of the long weekend, how much she learned and accomplished.  It is great that she enjoys this hobby.

A Strutting Turkey Hen (Blog 189)

This past Monday, I witnessed something while turkey hunting that I had never seen before - a strutting hen.  I had placed a decoy out in a Botetourt County field and was yelping and clucking.  When out of the corner of my right eye, I glimpsed a turkey marching - and marching is the right word - directly to the decoy.

The turkey was all "puffed out" in full strut.  I eased up my 12 gauge, clicked off the safety, and leveled the gun on the bird, which I thought was a gobbler.

Fortunately, I waited to have a better view of the bird because when the turkey reached the decoy, it was very clear that the bird was a female.  No beard and a dark colored head, plus a fairly small body clearly indicated that the turkey was a hen.

The hen then proceeded to circle the decoy, angrily clucking at it.  Soon the hen was finished displaying that she was the alpha female in this part of the world, and she left in triumph.

Scarlet Tanagers and American Redstarts (Blog 188)

My Virginia spring gobbler season has been very unsatisfactory so far, as I have not punched a tag.  But the spring woods have been as glorious as ever.

Today, the closest I came to a gobbler was around 11:00 A.M. when two toms wandered by some 80 yards distant.  But for much of the day, I experienced the joy of watching some beautifully colored scarlet tanagers and American redstarts on a hunt in Craig County.

Last week, I heard my first scarlet tanagers of the year, but did not actually see one until today.  Most of the time this tanager is a creature of the tree tops, but today I observed several of these birds, which sport a scarlet body with black wings, feeding on the ground.  What's more, they were quite close and I watched them flitting among the leaf litter.

Several times, American restarts came by as well.  This bird, which has a song like a squeaky wheel, was busily going about eating insects from small trees.  The species' combination of orange and coal black is a rather unique color scheme - for sure there is nothing in the Virginia mountains that looks like it.

I also heard my first worm eating warbler of the year.  On a sad note, though, I have not yet heard a whip-poor-will or a chucks-will-widow.  Their population declines are very alarming.

Spring's Transition Time (Blog 187)

As I was sitting in Virginia's spring gobbler woods this week, I saw once again the evidence of how this season is a transitional one.  Within the past 10 days, I heard for the first time this year the following birds: wood thrush, yellow-throated vireo, black-and-white warbler, American redstart, scarlet tanager, and hooded warbler among others.

But also as part of this transition time, Elaine and I ate the last of the frozen blackberries and wineberries, both ending up in two cobblers.  And we ate the last of the venison from deer number four, meaning the meat from six whitetails is left in the freezer.

As I look around our back yard, the North Star cherry is replete with blooms.  The tree is still small but we hope that it can produce several pies and cobblers this year.  And the Dolgo crabapple also shows potential as does the Rome apple tree.

Today, I think I will gather some onions and maybe in a week or two, the asparagus will be ready to pick.

Coyote Attacks Hen Decoy (Bog 186)

Yesterday while hunting spring gobblers in Franklin County, I witnessed something I have heard about but never seen...a coyote attacking a hen decoy.  I had heard two gobblers before dawn and set up near the closer one.

Putting out a decoy, I had made a series of hen yelps and jake kee kees with no response from either of the toms.  Suddenly out of the corner of my left eye, I espied a coyote take a flying leap onto the decoy.  The attack knocked over the stake and the bogus hen collapsed under the weight of the coyote.

Immediately upon landing, however, the coyote realized that the prey was not real and departed in the same direction he had come.  I once observed a red-tailed hawk attack the same Flambeau decoy while on a hunt in Tennessee, but the violence of that attack paled in comparison to this one.

I am undecided on whether or not to use a decoy again this spring.  This is the second time a coyote has come in to the fake bird.

Virginia's Opening Day of Spring Gobbler Season (Blog 185)

Several weeks ago, I told Elaine that I had a feeling that I would kill a gobbler on opening day of the Virginia season.  Well, that feeling turned out to be pathetically wrong as not only did I not tag one on Saturday, I also never even saw one.  Heck, I never even had one answer my hen calls.

Over the years when I have had a feeling that I would do well while hunting or fishing, those feelings have been overwhelmingly correct.  Conversely, many times I  have lacked confidence when going afield, either because of weather conditions or the belief that I did not understand what my quarry was doing. And, overwhelmingly when I had those negative feelings, my day afield has not been successful.

I don't believe that having strong feelings of future success is indicative of cockiness nor do I feel that having negative feelings is indicative of undue pessimism.  In both cases, I believe that it was logical to believe the way I did. I wonder whether I will feel confident or pessimistic when I hunt gobblers before school on Monday morning.

Boss versus Johnny - the rivalry continues (Blog 184)

Today, Saturday, Elaine and I had time to clean the henhouse, so Elaine supervised our four Rhode Island Red chickens (Boss, Johnny, Sweetie Pie, and Baby) as they roamed about the yard while I removed the old straw from the house and replaced it with fresh bedding.

While I was still working on the task, Elaine had to go do some household chore, so I put Johnny, Sweetie Pie, and Baby in the chicken tractor and because Boss refused to go inside, I gathered him up and took him inside the chicken run.

Boss did not care for this turn of events and began pacing back and forth inside the run - which caused him to become increasingly frustrated that he could not see his hens.  Finally, he began what I call angry crowing.  Meanwhile, Johnny was alone with the hens for the first time in his one year of living and seemed to be quite content with this propitious change in his status.

When Boss continued to crow, Johnny began to answer.  I have only heard Johnny crow four times since he first crowed in September and on three of those occasions, Boss pecked him quite hard. But with Boss nowhere in sight, Johnny began to belt out crow after crow.

Finally, the henhouse was cleaned, all chickens were placed inside the run, and the natural order of things was restored.  Johnny's one bright shining moment was over.

Virginia's Spring Gobblers...Fascinating Creatures (Blog 183)

As I anxiously await the start of Virginia's spring gobbler season on April 12, I am spending many pleasurable mornings listening to the toms and hens behind our house.  This week several events took place that simply amazed me.

Tuesday morning was bitter cold with wind chill temperatures in the single digits and with snow falling.  Yet an hour before sunrise, I heard a hen yelping in a tree while I was doing my morning three-mile walk.  When I returned from my ramble, a hen (apparently the same one) was still yacking it up in a tree behind the house, and a gobbler had joined her in greeting the dawn.

The old boy was so close to our back yard that I could feel his "rumblings." Later two more mature males began to sound off, as did our rooster Boss who seemed irritated that other birds were as wound up about sunrise as he was.

Wednesday morning was another cold, blustery day but that did not stem the ardor of our turkeys as more gobbling and yelping was heard.  Thursday morning, though, was clear, calm, and much warmer, yet not a single gobble or yelp was heard.

How does one explain that?

First Gobble of the Spring (Blog 182)

Wednesday morning of this week, the weather was cold, gray, a little breezy, and a chilly rain was softly falling.  It was not the type of morning when I would expect to hear the first gobble of the spring here in the Catawba Creek Valley in Southwest Virginia, but the toms had something else in mind.

I had just let our Rhode Island Reds out of their hen house, and as usual, our alpha male Boss came bursting out the door.  He emitted a crow, a hen some 100 yards behind the house yelped, and a tom gobbled.  Did Boss or the hen set off the gobbler?

It really doesn't matter for a few seconds later, a second tom gobbled and then hens began yelping in response. Thursday morning, the turkeys were once again roosted behind our house, but just hen talk took place.  Then on Friday morning, the woods were silent once more.

The gobbling is not predictable, but this week is the one when the monarchs began to sound off.  I can hardly wait for the Virginia season to begin.

Virginia Muskie Fishing on the James River (Blog 181)

Guide Britt Stoudenmire, who operates New River Outdoors and Southern Muskie Guide Service

(http://www.icanoethenew.com/) held his annual fishing event for his guides and friends this weekend on the James.  I fished with guide Richard Furman ( http://canoevirginia.net/) of Twin River Outfitters in Buchanan.

Throughout the day, Richard and I and struggled to catch smallmouths, never really figuring out where the smallies were holding or what they were feeding on with the bluebird sky conditions prevailing.  But the most interesting aspect of the day was the presence of muskies.

Richard landed a 36-incher (shown below), and I managed to catch a 26-inch fish.

The conventional wisdom states that "muskies are a fish of a thousand casts," but more and more on the James that is not true.  I have fished the James since 1969, have written a book on the waterway (The James River Guide) and live on a tributary of the river.  I have never seen the muskies so abundant in all that time.

I am very curious how the muskie fishing will be this summer.  Meanwhile, anglers can't go wrong by hiring Richard or Britt to take them fishing. 

Spring on the Brink (Blog 180)

This morning during a break from Elaine and I watching Mad Men, which is part of our Sunday morning quiet time, I went out to the henhouse to let down the gangplank. Our alpha rooster Boss sprinted out to the plank and began a paroxysm of non-stop crowing to greet the dawn.

Boss senses, I believe, as do all creatures that spring is on the brink.  We had two snowfalls this past week here in Southwest Virginia, but they weren't "serious snows." After the precipitation stopped, the snow quickly melted and the temporary inclement conditions couldn't stop the wildlife and their spring restiveness. 

Early to mid-March is a transition month for wildlife, as the green up has not quite begun and

winter is not quite over.  I have noticed that the songbirds have commenced singing, not just the usual early singers such as cardinals, Carolina wrens, and mourning doves, but also field sparrows, tufted titmice, and white-breasted nuthatches.

I have yet to hear my first gobble from a wild turkey, but it is just a matter of time.

A Visit to Vintage Virginia Apples (Blog 179)

Elaine and I just spent Friday evening and part of Saturday at Vintage Virginia Apples and Albemarle Cider Works in North Garden, Virginia.  While there on an assignment from Back Home magazine, we were fortunate to discuss heritage apples with Tom Burford, author of the new book Apples of North America, Charlotte Shelton, who along with her family operates Vintage Virginia Apples, and Richard Marini, department head for the department of horticulture at Penn State. 

We have been fans of heritage apples, those varieties that our forefathers grew in the 1600s, 1700s, 1800s, and up until World War II around the country.  Sadly, many of those varieties are no longer present in most of the country.

But those varieties live again in Tom's book and at places like the Shelton's.  We purchased a Black Twig while at the Shelton's and planted it in our backyard as soon as we arrived home Saturday afternoon.  The Black Twig is my favorite apple, it is the best I have ever had for pies and eating out of hand.  In four or five years, we hope to harvest our first apples from the tree.

For more information on Vintage Virginia Apples, www.albemarleciderworks.com.

A Lonely Hermit Thrush (Blog 178)

After some 20 inches of snow, terribly cold weather, and a lack of food in the surrounding forest on our Botetourt County, Virginia land, one would think that our wintering hermit thrush would have enough challenges in his quest to survive the winter.  Elaine and I have watched the hermit thrush flitting about our backyard for much of the winter - seemingly doing as well as could be expected.

But this avian's existence took a nasty turn on Wednesday just as the snow was beginning to melt.  The thrush, inexplicably, became caught in the chicken wire surrounding our coop, and I came across him when I was preparing to let the chickens forage in the backyard after I came home from school.

Not wanting to hurt our yard bird in any way, I gently extricated him from the chicken wire, took a few pictures of him, and then loosened my grip.  The thrush immediately and heartily flew away, seemingly none the worse for the experience.

Our (if I can be so bold to claim him) hermit thrush still has several months left of his sojourn before he heads north to breed.  I hope this was the last of his misadventures.

An Open Letter to my Wife Elaine on a Snowy Thursday (Blog 177)

Hi, sweetheart, I am glad you are away at Quilt Camp because things are a mess here in Botetourt County.  When I awoke and measured the snowfall, we have 15 1/2 inches and the white stuff is still falling.  Fortunately, the netting over the chicken run held and the solar powered fence is intact.

I am putting the feeder inside the henhouse as I don't think Boss, Johnny, Sweetie Pie and Baby will want to venture outside much today.  I cleared out a place around the gang plank and put the waterer there and our quartet seemed quite grateful to take some sips.

I took some photos from around the yard and chicken run to give you an idea of how things are.  Next, I am going to try to remove the snow from the sidewalk and sundeck and also need to stoke the fire.  Thank goodness we had plenty of wood in the garage and I cut and split more after school yesterday.

Stay warm...I love you...Bruce

Snow in the Forecast (Blog 176)

When I came home from school today, Elaine and I checked the forecast and decided to prepare for snow on Saturday.  I cleaned the henhouse while Elaine supervised our five Rhode Island Reds as they browsed their way through the yard.  Our birds don't like snow and we decided they needed some "greens" in their diet to tide them over.

After the henhouse received fresh straw and our birds had their evening out, we then spread lime on our garden, our fruit trees, and the food plot back in the woods.  We figured the snowfall would facilitate the soil's absorption of the lime.  I also brought some more wood into the garage.

We then planned our Saturday activities since we would likely be shut in most of the day.  Tomorrow, Elaine is going to sew, cook up some homemade applesauce and bake a wineberry cobbler.  I am going to start up the wood stove Saturday morning and spend the morning writing.  Saturday afternoon, I will watch my beloved North Carolina Tarheels.  Then Saturday evening, we will play Scrabble and listen to Prairie Home Companion.

Let it snow, we don't care.

Chicken Power (Blog 175)

Elaine and I never cease to marvel at the benefits our five Rhode Island Red chickens provide.  Our three pullets have been producing eggs for about six weeks now, but that is not all that they, Boss, and Johnny provide.

Ever since the garden was put to bed last October, we have turned the chickens out into our vegetable patch to till the ground, consume egg cases and insects, and drop their manure.  I also have put their litter in the garden to further enrich the soil.

But with the arrival of February, it is now time to let them work in our backyard.  Today, for example, we let the chickens graze about in the yard looking for little beasties and consuming various forms of vegetation.  Also, when I cleaned out the henhouse this morning, I spread the litter around our Dolgo crabapple tree, in effect, both mulching and fertilizing it.  Several more fruit trees will receive the same treatment this month.

Tonight we are having scrambled eggs and whole wheat bread for dinner -not a bad way to end a Saturday.

In a Robert Frost State of Mind (Blog 174)

Because of the snow and cold, I have been off from school this entire week and have taken several walks along the seeded logging road that winds across our 38 acres in Botetourt County, Virginia.  Elaine, our daughter Sarah, and grandson Sam have accompanied me on some of these half-hour treks.

But in spirit the American poet Robert Frost has also accompanied me.  When walking along the snow covered lane, I think about the poem "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," especially the verse "the woods are lovely dark and deep."  Indeed, they are.

Yesterday, Sarah and I strolled the pathway as the sun was beginning to set and the night creatures were preparing to stir.  We came across a trio of whitetail deer that were about ready to enter a neighbor's pasture.  We saw signs of where a fox had rambled through the woods as well as where songbirds had fed, deer had pawed the ground to reach some vegetation, and much, much more.

The sign left by wildlife is always "writ large" upon the landscape if one knows how and where to look.  I enjoy trying to decipher the message that the creatures have left behind.

Wild Turkeys and Tame Chickens (Blog 173)

Every morning after I let our Rhode Island Reds out of their hen house, I pause for several minutes at dawn to listen for turkeys talking to each other on the roost.  Some mornings I hear turkeys and some I don't.

On Friday, I didn't hear any turkeys so I did a few chores, but right before I was to go inside I heard what I thought was a turkey near the chicken run.  Walking to the run, I heard Johnny, our beta cockerel who has had a head cold for several weeks, clucking just like a wild turkey.

To my surprise, turkeys began answering Johnny about 100 yards behind the run. Johnny replied back and a conversation ensued.  Johnny and his voice have not been right since his head cold and the poor boy has had trouble ridding himself of his malady.  I wonder if other folks have heard chickens and turkeys communicating?

Set for the Winter (Blog 172)

Today Elaine and I spent most of the day inside as an icy rain fell for much of this January day.  But sometimes it is good to spend all day inside, warm by the wood stove, and secure in the knowledge that life is good here with someone I love so much, who even on a cold winter day can make me laugh so much throughout the morning and afternoon.

The day before Elaine had cooked wild turkey breast in our Camp Chef cast iron skillet, and the leftovers were just the thing for two lunchtime sandwiches.  Then for dinner, we had omelets, courtesy of our Rhode Island Red hens.  Tomorrow, we might have the remaining turkey in a vegetable soup - a pleasant thing to contemplate.

Tonight, a scrabble game is the horizon, and Elaine has already playfully boasted that she will beat me by more than the 125 points she did on Wednesday evening.  Again, not much happening but it has been a quite satisfying day nevertheless.

My Grandson Sam, Chickens, Coyotes, and Graham Crackers (Blog 171)

Yesterday, I babysat my grandson Sam while Elaine and our daughter Sarah went into Roanoke for the day.  Sam is now nearly 19 months old and I can see the changes in him.  For example, when we were walking down the sidewalk next to our house, I pointed out the chicken run to him, and Sam immediately took off for the henhouse. He would not have been so independent a few months ago.

Back in the summer, I gave Sam some bread to feed the chickens, instead he ate the bread himself.  This time, when I told him to feed the chickens (while I was picking clover to give our birds), Sam gathered up dead leaves and stuffed them through the chicken wire.  Our Rhode Island Reds were eagerly eating the clover I offered and, of course, rejected Sam's dead leaves.  Nevertheless,  a delighted Sam continued to stuff leaves through the wire.

Later, local trapper Gary Guilliams stopped by with three dead coyotes he had caught that morning.  Gary is one of the sources for a coyote story I am writing for Virginia Wildlife, and I had asked him to bring by any song dogs that he caught so that I could take pictures of them for the story.

Sam was thrilled to see the coyotes and wanted to touch them, which I discouraged of course.

But the most interesting thing Sam did all day was tell me that he wanted "crack-ers" as he says.  I gave him some saltines, but he rejected them by more insistently repeating "crack-ers" and going to the pantry door and pointing upward.  It was only after I called Elaine and asked what was it specifically that Sam wanted did my wife tell me that our grandson had developed a fondness for graham crackers. "Why," Elaine said, " would he want saltines when he knows graham crackers are in the house."

Why indeed.

Rhode Island Reds Laying Eggs (Blog 170)

We are thrilled that our heritage Rhode Island Red hens have started laying eggs in the past week.  When we purchased Sweetie Pie, Baby, and Tootsie from Brice Yokum of Sunbird Farms (http://sunbirdfarms.com) last May, he told us that since our hens were heritage birds, they would begin producing eggs later in their young lives than production hens would.  The upside of that, Brice said, is that our hens would produce more consistently and for a longer period of time than industrial hens would.

So during several cold December days of late, we have checked the nesting boxes in the hen house and have been overjoyed that eggs were within.  Already, the eggs have been part of some tasty omelets and other dishes.

Our alpha rooster Boss has also begun mating with our trio of pullets, and we are hoping that this spring, when the girls have become officially hens by the calendar, that at least one of them will become broody. 

But for now, we are quite content with gathering eggs for the table.

Snow Means No Go for Our Rhode Island Reds (Blog 169)

As eight-week-old chickens, our Rhode Island Reds came from Sunbird Farms in California last May, so it is understandable that they seemed a little, well, scared, when they experienced their first snow recently.  Although Rhode Island Reds have a reputation for being cold hardy, our quintet seemed genuinely fearful and perplexed when they awoke to find a dusting of snow covering the chicken run.

Our beta rooster Johnny is usually the most curious of our two rooster and three hen flock, but Johnny took one quick look outside and retreated back into the hen house.  This left matters up to the alpha male Boss ( a solid three inches taller than Johnny and quite a few ounces heavier, too).  All the courage Boss could summon up enabled him to extend his neck outside the doorway (picture below), cluck fretfully, and retreat back inside.

 

After such a display from the males, Sweetie Pie, Baby, and Tootsie did not even peek out of the opening.  All our chickens stayed inside until the weather warmed and the dusting evaporated. 

I Should Have Gone Deer Hunting (Blog 168)

As an avid deer hunter, I pride myself on being prepared, but here it is opening day of Virginia's late muzzleloader season and I am not on my way to the woods as I write this during the pre-dawn hours.
The forecast was for freezing rain/sleet/snow so I decided not to contact any of the Roanoke or Franklin County landowners where I have permission to hunt.

But upon awakening this morning, I found that the forecast has been changed and the precipitation will not begin until 11:00 A.M. Of course, I could go hunting here in Botetourt County (even on my own land behind the house) but it is the bucks only part of the season here.  The odds of my seeing a mature buck this morning behind my house are astronomical, especially since I have not observed a "shooter" here in probably close to eight years or maybe longer.

So here I sit frustrated.  I am sure the deer movement will be intense this morning as the storm front continues to approach.  I am silently promising myself not to be in this position again.

Walking with Elaine across Our Land (Blog 167)

This afternoon, Elaine and I took a walk around the perimeter of our 38 wooded acres on the seeded logging road that I designed three years ago when our dying Virginia pines were cut.  The trail loops from one end of our land to the other and perhaps covers a little less than half a mile.

Those folks who don't live in the country may not understand how pleasurable it is to just walk through your own woods.  We stopped often to look at individual trees and their progress, noted some oak trees that we had planted and how they were coming along, stopped one time when we heard a flock of turkeys about a hundred yards away, and checked on a crabapple tree that we had planted in a food plot.

I was especially pleased with the food plot and its progress since I replanted and revitalized it back in late summer.  Now, the plot supports lush growth - a good thing for wildlife as precious little hard and soft mast exists on our land and the surrounding mountainside.

After we finished walking the loop, we stopped by our chicken run and gave our Rhode Island Reds pieces of bread when they rushed out to greet us.  Nothing extraordinary happened on our way - some would say - but the richness of the experience - to us - brought

great joy.

A Freezer Full of Venison, A Long, Tall Woodpile (Blog 166)

Virginia's general firearms season ended yesterday with only the late bow and muzzleloader seasons to come in December and early January.  I have hunted a great deal and am exhausted from the season, which started on September 7 with the Urban Archery one.  I have killed 10 deer in Virginia and West Virginia, plus two Old Dominion fall turkeys so Elaine and I should have enough meat for 2014. We don't buy meat from supermarkets except for the occasional organic chicken.

I have long believed that the secret to killing deer is no secret, that just going and going afield is the way to be successful.  I went deer hunting 41 times to kill those 10 whitetails - a terrible success percentage in any kind of sport, game, or pastime.  I never saw a buck worth shooting, as the biggest one I espied all fall was a 2 1/2-year-old 6 pointer that I actually encountered when I was turkey hunting.  Yet, I don't mind my lack of success in locating a trophy buck.  Despite the constant drumbeat of big buck stories in the outdoor magazines I write for, I believe that most deer hunters are like me - that is, being thrilled when they kill a doe.

Our woodpile is also "long and tall," so Elaine and I are in good shape in that department, too.  My plans for December are to take other folks deer and turkey hunting and for me to try to kill a doe during the late muzzleloader season.  I also need to start work on some habitat improvement projects behind the house.  All in all, I look forward to being outside in December, especially during the holidays.

The Amazing Sense of Smell of a Whitetail Deer (Blog 165)

Saturday afternoon, fellow school teacher Doak Harbison and I went deer hunting in Botetourt County.  We were afield in a blind that features an expansive field to the south and another field to the north of the blind.  To the west lies a bedding area and to the east a hedgerow.

The wind was coming out of the east and about 5:00 P.M., we saw a mature doe leaving the bedding area and heading toward us.  But at a distance of about 125 yards, the doe began acting extremely nervously and then began staring at our blind.

The doe's agitation continued for well over a minute when she seemed to settle down and resumed her course toward us.  She did so, we believed, because the wind temporarily died down at that moment.

But soon the wind increased to what it had been - about 15 mph -, the doe immediately stopped, resumed staring at the blind, then suddenly turned and fled.

I have observed the keen sense of smell of a whitetail many times before - and will no likely witness it again.  We hunters can cover ourselves with various scent prevention concoctions, but when the wind is not in our favor, I would speculate that most of the time our chances for success are doomed.

Opening Day of Virginia's Firearms Deer Season (Blog 164)

Saturday was opening day of Virginia's firearms deer season, so I took my son Mark deer hunting on one of our properties in Craig County.  While discussing where to place my son so he would be safe and have a good chance to kill a deer, I positioned him high on a ridge. 

But walking away from him, I suddenly decided to move him further down the ridge, which I did.  Then I went to my ladder stand where I had planned to hunt from.  But I decided to hunt from the ground about 15 yards in front of the stand.

Both decisions turned out to cost us both deer.  For at 8:15, two deer walked under the stand and would have presented an extremely easy shot.  Instead, the whitetails spotted me, snorted, and fled.

Meanwhile around 9:30.  a deer walked in front of Mark, but he was too low on the ridge to see the deer clearly, which was also behind brush.  Before we went hunting, I told Mark that we had a 60% chance of killing one deer between us and a 25% of us both tagging one.

Instead because of my indecisiveness, we both went home empty handed.

A Lone Hermit Thrush and Deer Hunting in Virginia's Mountains (Blog 163)

The other day while I was high in a tree stand and bow hunting for deer in Virginia's mountains, a hermit thrush flew by, perched near me, and broke into song.  Hermit thrushes, close relatives to robins and bluebirds which live in Southwest Virginia year round, are fall and winter visitors to this part of the state.

I have uncommonly heard them sing in November and this lone bird's (is this why they have the appellation hermit in their name) willingness to warble his whistling, flute-like melody was most welcome on a day when I did not espy any whitetails.

For this blog, I have written a number of times about how much I enjoy combining bird watching with fishing and hunting.  Not long after the hermit thrush sang his melody, a lone white-throated sparrow likewise felt the need to do so.  For a moment, it was not mid November but a pleasant spring day. 

Most of the time in the fall and winter, I only hear two birds commonly sing: cardinals and Carolina wrens, the latter which, I am convinced, would belt out his "tea kettle" song during a blizzard if he so felt the need.  This is just one of many reasons why this wren is my favorite songbird and my second favorite bird overall behind only the wild turkey.

Boss and Johnny: Cockerels in Conflict? (Blog 162)

Elaine's and my decision to keep both of our seven-month-old cockerels in our chicken run is proving fascinating to watch.  When Boss crowed for the first time on September 11, we were very curious when Johnny would start.  Johnny first crowed on October 2 and when he did so, Boss immediately chased after him and pecked him hard on the back of the neck.

Johnny did not crow again for several days and this time when he did so, Boss once more chased after him.  Johnny quickly ran away to avoid a pecking, but he has not crowed since nor has he shown any interest in doing so.

Boss is a solid three inches taller than Johnny and is also much more "filled out" in appearance.  Boss crows every morning, but he has yet to master the full "cock-a-doodle-do." The crow is more of a "cock-a-doo" then there is sort of an "after shock" and almost a grumbling sound is emitted.

Boss also has to flap a great deal to send forth his gobbles.  In short, he has not mastered the art of crowing yet.  But two things are definitely certain:  Boss does not take kindly to Johnny asserting his masculinity, and the former definitely rules the chicken run.

Opening Day of Virginia's Fall Turkey Season (Blog 161)

Today was opening day of Virginia's fall turkey season and is my custom I headed for a Franklin County farm where I often go to pursue these big game birds.  As I have written many times, I enjoy bird watching while hunting, and today was no exception.

One of the neatest birds I observed today was a golden-crowned kinglet that flitted by my position.  Soon afterwards, two more kinglets arrived and I was entertained by their "tinkling" chatter.  Another high point was three crows flying into my position as I was emitting turkey sounds.  No doubt, the crows were lured in by the turkey yelps I had emitted, as the trio probably flew in to harass the turkey they were sure was there.  When the crows saw my camouflaged form shift slightly, they flew away, rancorously protesting.

Later, I saw a phoebe fly by and then perch on a limb.  Phoebes now sometimes spend the winter in my area, something that used not to happen, at least from my experience.

Oh, a little while later, I did call in and kill a turkey -one of many highpoints of a day in the autumn woods

Fawn with Spots Observed (Blog 160)

One of the most interesting things I have seen this week while deer hunting after school was a fawn with spots.  Also of note was the fact that the deer still had its reddish summer coat.

Very little hard mast in the form of acorns exists in the Virginia and West Virginia woods where I have been afield and such staples as wild grapes and persimmons also seem to be lacking in the places where I have been as well.

Given the lack of food, I really wonder if this fawn has much of a chance of survival.  I observed it twice this week, once when it was alone and the second time when it was with a matriarchal doe unit.  Being part of such a group should certainly help the whitetail's chances of living through the winter.

On the other hand, Mother Nature is a notoriously cruel mistress, and a cold winter alone could spell doom for the fawn, let alone predators and a scarcity of food.

A Morning on Deer Stand (Blog 159)

Tuesday, I killed a doe while bowhunting after school, but, by far, the most interesting day afield was Wednesday morning when I was able  to hunt until 10:00 A.M (school didn't start until 12:30 because of a conference day). That's because of the interesting things I was able to see.

For example, on that day I spent the morning on one of our properties in Craig County, Virginia.  I had never seen any grouse on this land but one flew by my stand around 8:00 A.M.  The ruff's appearance was likely made more likely by the clearcuts I have had done in 2009 and earlier this year.

Later, I observed three young red-tailed hawks in the clearcut below my stand.  They spent the morning chasing each other - for all the world it looked like they were playing some form of aerial tag.  The trio also periodically attacked gray squirrels, but they did not seem to have any luck in their hunting.  The gray squirrels were extremely agitated about the non-stop bombardments and chattered angrily all morning.

I was hoping to see or hear some early migratory birds such as kinglets or juncos, but none appeared.  I did note that the grackles flocked together in massive numbers and apparently have left the area.  Fall mornings on deer stand are often fascinating.

Opening Day of Virginia's Bow Season (Blog 158)

Although I had been bowhunting for four weeks during Virginia's urban archery season, there was still great anticipation in going hunting in Craig County this morning for the start of the regular archery season.

At 8:20, I saw my first deer, but the doe was 60 yards away and heading away from me.  But a few minutes later, I spotted four does and they were all heading toward me.  I began to breathe harder, positioned myself for the shot, and waited for them to arrive.  However, when they quartet moved to within 50 yards, they stopped coming and even bedded down.

And there they remained until 6:20 when one doe arose and headed away from me.  Where the other three went, I have no idea.  I had meant to go back to my XTerra for lunch, but I decided that doing so would spook the bedded whitetails.

So, counting the time I spent on stand in the dark, I ended up being in a tree stand today for 13 hours and 15 minutes and never came close to shooting at a deer.  Such is bowhunting sometimes.

Picking Paw Paws on a Sunday Afternoon in the Virginia Mountains (Blog 157)

 

Last Sunday, I spent part of the day roaming through the woods with my daughter Sarah and son Mark.  We first looked for a place to me to hang a tree stand after locating acorns on a mountain flat, but the main event was still to come.

Our main reason for taking to the mountains together was to pick paw paws, a native fruit that ripens in mid to late September.  Paw paws taste a little like bananas, some folks even call them mountain bananas.  But it is at this time of year that paw paws begin to turn brown from green meaning they are starting to reach their peak of flavor.

Paw paws are so prized by wildlife, such as deer, bear, turkeys, squirrels, and many songbirds, that if we wait until they are fully ripe and have fallen to the ground, they simply won’t be around to gather.  That’s why I like to go paw pawing when the fruits are just starting to turn.

Sarah, Mark, and I managed to pick a half bucket or so of paw paws, not a big haul certainly.  But once they fully ripen, and we can gather some walnuts, we will have the makings for a real taste sensation: Paw Paw and Walnut Bread.

Sitting in a Tree Stand, Listening to Night Sounds (Blog 156)

With the goal of not spooking any deer, I arrived at my Roanoke County, Virginia tree stand during the state's urban archery season extra early this morning.  A heavy fog caused me to drive slowly to the property, but I still managed to arrive about an hour before sunrise.  Not long after arriving, I sat through a performance of a variety of creatures.

Just minutes after I had settled into the stand, I heard a rustling of leaves and feared that a whitetail had already shown up.  But the source was a squirrel that had decided to begin its nut cracking extra early.  Next was a barred owl which began to belt out "who cooks for you, waaaaah" for my pleasure.

I then expected to hear a great-horned owl or perhaps a screech owl to lend their voices, but that did not happen.  Instead a killdeer made its trademark sound, giving this avian the title of the second species to greet the morn.

As daybreak grew closer, more birds began to join in: pileated woodpeckers, blue jays, white-breasted nuthatches, and, of course, crows and ravens.  Later, Carolina chickadees, Carolina wrens, red-bellied woodpeckers, and downy woodpeckers announced that they too were awake.

Interestingly, I did hear a screech owl but it was not until 9:00 A.M. And I did not see but one deer all morning and that one at 9:18 and some 100 yards away.  The deer hunting was poor, but the birding, as it is most days, was interesting.

The Boss Crows (Blog 155)

Bruce Springsteen may be called "The Boss," but in our backyard, he who goes by that name is our  5 1/2-month-old cockerel, Boss.  And at no time since our five heritage Rhode Island Reds (Boss, Johnny, Sweetie Pie, Baby, and Tootsie) arrived last May was this so apparent as it was Wednesday morning when Boss crowed for the first time.

As is his wont, Boss was the first one out of the henhouse, and as I was watching, I noted that he seemed more virile, I guess is the word.  He shook himself, stretched his neck, then emitted a screechy, quarter formed crow with no ending whatsoever.

"Elaine, Elaine," I yelled, and she quickly came running from the house.
"Boss just crowed for the first time, did you hear?"
"No," said Elaine.
But as if on cue, Boss sent forth three more crows, all as weak, poorly formed, and truncated as the first one.
But crows they were as our young cockerel is on his way to being a rooster.  I am so proud of my boy.

First Deer of the Season (Blog 154)

Today is the first day of Virginia's Urban Archery Season, so I went hunting in Roanoke County on a parcel where I have permission.  I have hunted this property a number of times before, and the landowner has asked me to park in one of two places, either by a fence line or next to the barn.

So with high hopes of bringing home a doe, I arrived at the property well before sunrise.  I drove up the lane, unhooked the gate, drove through re-hooked it, and headed toward the barn where I prefer to park.  The barn is only 200 hundred yards from the gate and a "straight shoot." 

Yet somehow I became confused in the dark, bumbled off the track, and couldn't find the barn.  Finally, I re-found the lane, located the barn, and scrambled out of my vehicle with the landscape beginning to lighten.

I then scooted toward the woodlot, some 300 yards distant, found my tree stand, climbed the steps, secured my safety harness, and hand-lined up my bow.  Breathing hard, I noted that dawn had arrived.

Five minutes later at the early stages of shooting light, a doe appeared, and I arrowed her at 6:48.  And after arriving home, Elaine and I spent much of the next three hours, with help from our son-in-law David, butchering the first deer of the season.  I was angry with myself for my nocturnal confusion, but as the proverb states..."sometimes it is better to be lucky than good." I did not do a good job as a deer hunter today, but I was very fortunate to tag a doe.

Scouting for Deer (Blog 153)

Today, I spent much of the mid-afternoon period rambling over two Roanoke County farms as part of my preparation for the county's urban archery season.  Visits to both farms, as well as my earlier pre-season jaunts around Elaine's and my Botetourt County parcel, indicate that acorns are going to be scarce this autumn.

I only found about a half dozen white oak and scarlet oak acorns and they were not overly big for the species.  Although of course, conditions can change, my pre-season hunch is that Southwest Virginia's whitetails will need to be visiting fields and agricultural areas if the animals want nourishment.

Again, though, autumn has not even officially arrived and much can change between now and early October. But I would still doubt that hard mast will be abundant come autumn.

What about soft mast?  Friday, I did locate some persimmons on a tree in our yard and have made note of some grapes.  I would be interested in hearing from other bowhunters.

Elaine and the Corn Snake (Blog 152)

Thursday morning before school, I was working on a magazine article upstairs in my office.  Suddenly, I heard a scream then "Come down here right now!"

Elaine was babysitting our grandson Sam, and I was afraid that something had happened to him.  Bounding down the stairs, I was greeted with another shriek.

"There's a snake under the table!" Elaine yelled.

She then picked Sam up off the floor and plopped him into his crib, which caused the youngster to start crying.  Sam knows when his naptime is and this for sure was not it, and his cries were a protest against this injustice.

"Get that thing out of here, right now," demanded Elaine.

"First, let me see if it is poisonous before I start messing with it," I replied.  "Get me the flashlight so I can see it better under the table."

Elaine retrieved the flashlight and shining the light under the table, I saw a six-inch snake with round eyes, meaning it was not venomous.  Upon further examining its markings, I identified the reptile as a corn snake - a harmless little creature that mostly eats insects at this stage of life.

While I was going into a detailed explanation to my wife on the virtues of corn snakes, she interrupted me.

"Get him out of here, right now."

Using a dust pan, I flipped the snake into the device then released him outside.

Order restored, Sam was removed from his crib, Elaine looked relieved, and I headed for school.

Deer Season Fast Approaching (Blog 151)

Mid August may not be considered "deer season" but for those of us who pursue whitetails, the season is truly fast approaching, and there is much to do.  I have been practicing with my compound bow for well over a month now, and today I want to sight in my Parker Thunderhawk crossbow.  I have ordered a muzzleloader and that as well as my 30.06 rifle will have to be sighted in, too.

Habitat improvement projects have long since started.  Today, my son Mark and I plan to finish mowing the seeded logging road that crisscrosses our Botetourt, Virginia 38-acre spread.  Earlier this week, I limed and reseeded the food plot behind the house.

This week I also obtained a new ladder stand, and that needs to be put up in that same food plot.

Also earlier this week, the deer stripped all the apples from the Rome apple tree in our backyard, which reminded me that I had put off too long the necessity of putting a wire enclosure around the tree.  That, too, will be accomplished today.

The Dolgo crabapple tree is bearing heavily, and it too will have a new enclosure constructed around its perimeter.  Elaine is studying recipes for crabapple tree.  I don't mind the deer eating some of the crabapples, but I do want some of them.

And when the chores are finished, it will be time for me to visit some farmers in Botetourt and Roanoke counties.  I have plenty of farms to hunt in the area, but it never hurts to have a few more.

Highlights of the Summer (Blog 150)

Soon it will be time for me to return to teaching high school English and my summer will be over.  I really cannot complain about my summer, because it has been wonderful.  There have been many highlights. Earlier this week, my son Mark and I floated the James, as he too is about to return to teaching school. 

In June, guide Britt Stoudenmire of the New River Outdoor Company and I fished the New River at night for a magazine article and had a stupendous fishing trip - certainly my favorite one of the summer and also the one where I learned the most.  I also made trips to the Greenbrier River and Second Creek in West Virginia for stories.

Elaine and I picked 10 gallons of wild wineberries and blackberries and she made jam from both (see below) as well as we froze a number of  quart bags for wintertime pies and cobblers.

Our heritage Rhode Island Red chicks that we ordered are now much larger, and we hope to have roosters crowing and hens laying sometime in September.  I worked on the food plot behind the house and hope to have the plot reseeded by the end of August.

All in all, life is good.

Of Grandsons and Chickens (Blog 149)

One of the joys of my life has been Elaine and I spending time with our nearly 14-month-old grandson Sam.  Recently, I decided to teach Sam how to feed bread to our three mature hens: Ruby, Spotty, and Tallulah.

So Sam and I sat down on the front stoop of our house and gave the "lookie, lookie," call which is the cue for the hens to come running.  I gave Sam a piece of bread and announced.

"Sam, feed the chickens!"

Sam's response was to eat the bread.

"No, Sam, feed the chickens," I said as I handed him another piece of bread.

Sam again ate the bread.

Meanwhile, the chicken trio, beside themselves with bread lust, were crowded around Sam.

"Feed the chickens, Sam," I instructed again.

This time, Sam dropped the bread on the stoop and he and Tallulah both tried to grab a piece...which both of them accomplished.  This seemed to make Ruby and Spotty more agitated as they had consumed nothing.

"Sam, feed the chickens!" I tried one last time.

This time, Ruby grabbed the bread from Sam's hand, and she and Spotty took off  with the latter trying to steal the bread from Ruby while Tallulah was off eating her chunk.

I don't think Sam has mastered the whole feeding the chickens thing.

Virginia River Smallmouth Bass Fishing: Rain and More Rain (Blog 148)

For over 10 years year, fellow school teachers Doak Harbison, Tim Wimer, and I have gone on an annual summertime river smallmouth float on a waterway in Virginia or West Virginia.  This year we tried to go on the Rappahannock River, but high water and rain constantly thwarted our plans for the Rap.

Finally, we decided to go close to home on the James in Botetourt County.  The weather looked perfect: only a 20% chance of rain on Friday afternoon and a rainless Saturday morning, but an afternoon replete with thunderstorms.  That forecast was acceptable because we planned to complete our trip before noon. Friday's fishing was fine (and the weather was beautiful as the picture below of Doak and Tim shows).

And we even experienced a pleasant evening around a campfire.

But such was not the case on Saturday morning.  As a light sleeper, I was awoken early by the patter of rain.  And soon afterwards the rain began to fall heavier and we had to end our outing.  There is nothing like breaking camp and becoming miserably wet - the mosquitoes seem to flourish around wet humans.  But such is life sometimes, it has been a summer of tomatoes afflicted with fungus and river fishing trips that never were or ended prematurely.

Making Wild Berry Jam (Blog 147)

Bruce has been picking berries every day….. starting with raspberries, a rare and precious fruit, then wineberries, and now on to blackberries.  I rarely pick, leaving the plowing through brush and brambles to him, but once the berries come inside the house I am on deck.

This week I made a batch of blackberry jam.  Boiling the jars to sterilize them, boiling the mashed berries with sugar and pectin to make the jam, boiling the water in the canner to process the jars……at times I was boiling as well. 

Canning brings to mind the memory of my mother working in the relative cool of the basement over an old gas stove, the best spot to do a hot job in the days before air conditioning.  Like she did, I wear an apron to protect my clothes and keep a tea towel to wipe the sweat from my face .

 But the final result is worth the effort.  Little jars of summer, jewel-colored, giving a happy “pop” as they cool from the water bath.  Little jars of joy

Of an Imperfect Daisy, Rabbits, and Coyotes (Blog 146)

I have been working on a magazine article on coyotes, which will be out sometime next year.  As part of the assignment, I have been trying to take pictures of some of the creatures that coyotes consume, which includes rabbits.  After all, what prey animal that exists doesn't eat Eastern cottontails.

Every morning I walk three miles after breakfast and often see bunnies along the rural road near our Botetourt County, Virginia home.  Finally, the thought dawned on me that I ought to take  my camera with a telephoto lens along on my morning jaunts.  Many, many mornings, the rabbits allow me to come quite close to them.

Predictably on the first morning that I toted my Nikon camera, all rabbits seen were at least 20 yards away and all bolted when I tried to move closer.  It was as if the D5100 pointed at them were some kind of doomsday weapon.

After several failed stalks, I gave up on the idea of capturing a cottontail on film - at least for that morning - and decided to see what else was about.  At last, I came across a common daisy, growing out of a thin layer of dirt intermixed with roadside gravel.

The daisy was rather shriveled in appearance, maybe because of its hardscrabble circumstances and its form was not typical as its petals were droopy.  But in this common plant's ability to eke out a precarious existence there on the roadside made it a noble photo opportunity.  There is often beauty in the smallest things.

A Memorable July 4th at Home (Blog 145)

Yesterday, Elaine and I awoke to find that our basement had flooded and that our chicken run was on the verge of collapse - the torrential rains from the past few days playing a part.  Elaine spent much of the day vacuuming water from the downstairs while I had a friend come over to study about what to do with the run.

After I worked on two magazine articles, I went gathering wineberries for two hours and ended up picking a quart, which we froze for the winter.  If I can average gathering a quart of wineberries a day for the next fortnight, then do the same with blackberries for the following two weeks, we should have enough in the freezer for future pies and cobblers.  Of course, some of the berries will be made into jam.

The highlight of the day was going to our daughter Sarah's and her husband David's house for dinner. Our one-year-old grandson Sam is now walking.  It is fascinating to watch him follow our conversations now and to see him laugh when we laugh.  It is all part of learning how to be a social human.

Our chickens, despite their coup problems, even enjoyed the Independence Day celebration, as they were rewarded with a slab of watermelon.

Virginia's Wild Berry Season Begins (Blog 144)

For the past few days, I have been wandering our 38 acres in Botetourt County in search of the first wild berries of the season.  Elaine and I try to gather about 10 to 12 gallons of berries every year, and we are anxious to start our picking.

So far, only about three cups of raspberries have trickled in, but today I espied the first two ripe wineberries of the summer.  And I noted that the blackberries have started turning red from green.  Even a few dewberries have changed to red.

Picking wild berries is part of our quest to be as self-sufficient as possible.  Coupled with the deer and turkeys that I kill, what we grow in our garden, and the eggs our chickens produce, we do all right in this regard.

Right now, it is impossible to tell if we will be able to gather enough berries to supply all our jams, pies, and cobblers for the next year.  I also noted this morning that competition exists for our fruits. At one of my favorite wineberry patches, which lies adjacent to our food plot, a rather large creature had cut a huge swathe through the vines.  No doubt a black bear has found our patch.

Leader of the Flock...Boss or Johnny? (Blog 143)

Our heritage Rhode Island Reds are now 11 weeks old, and in not too many more weeks, our two cockerels, Boss and Johnny, will be crowing.  Elaine has made it abundantly clear that she does not care for Boss, who stands beak and head taller than Johnny and much more than that over the three hens.

Elaine calls Boss a "bully" for his constant badgering of Johnny and, frankly to a lesser extent, every other member of our flock of five.  I don't imagine that Boss will ever stop bullying Johnny, but I do believe he will become more solicitous of the hen trio, as they and he mature.

I am not sure at which age a cockerel will start sharing his food with the hens, as our late industrial R.I.R rooster Little Jerry was very attentive to the hens and as soon as he would come across any morsel would sound the food call.  But I can't remember at what age he began to do that.

The picture below shows Boss on the far left.  Johnny is completely out of the picture (the birds are in our chicken tractor) as he spends a great deal of his time avoiding Boss.  In any event, I want to keep both Boss and Johnny, but the time may come when Johnny is kept in a separate enclosure.