Chickens in Clothes? (Blog Eighty-five)

If someone had told us one year ago that our “girls” would be wearing clothes, I would have laughed.  Today as they roam about the yard, one has on camo, one is in denim, and two are in bright pink.  They have begun wearing chicken aprons, or saddles, to protect them from the clawing of the rooster Jerry who has been the cause of their feather loss….. his repeated mountings each day have taken a toll on the girls.  We did not buy an apron yet for Little Spotty, for she alone is still in full feather – Bruce thinks it is because she runs from Jerry and spends large parts of each day inside the hen house.

In the matters of chicken health, we also have had some illnesses.  Dot began sneezing and coughing one Friday, something I would have thought chickens incapable of.  We watched her over the weekend, and aside from that she seemed fine.  Over a matter of about ten days she became “cured,” just like humans having to wait the seven to ten days for a cold to leave. 

More concerning was Violet’s 24-hour bug.  Her first symptom was the poop covering her rear feathers.  Then she spent the afternoon and evening quite listless, not walking to food as the others did, even barely pecking at the special treat of berry-covered pie crust. We had decided that if she did not put herself in the hen house that evening, there was a reason and we would leave her be.  However, at the last moment she went inside.   She seemed so lethargic that we were sure she would be a cold, dead body when we opened the hen house in the morning.

Morning?  Surprise – the same old Violet, running, frolicking, eating just as well as everyone else.   

Where Are the Whip-poor-wills? (Blog Eighty-four)

When Elaine and I first moved into our Botetourt County, Virginia home in August of 1989, we regularly heard whip-poor-wills on late spring and summer evenings.  As someone who has a passion for spring gobbler hunting, I often enjoyed hearing these birds, which along with chuck-wills-widows are members of the nightjar family, during trips as I waited for the first gobble of the morning.

This spring, I have hunted in Virginia, West Virginia, North Carolina, and Tennessee and have only heard whip-poor-wills once and chuck-wills-widows only at two places.  It's true, of course, that one rarely hears both species of nightjars in the same place, as chucks, at 12 inches in length, are two inches longer than whips - and size does matter in the wild world.

Thus chucks often out compete their smaller relatives and when chucks move in, whips move out.  For example, one of the two places that I have heard chucks is behind our house as when that species showed up in the late 1990s, it was not long until the whip-poor-wills disappeared.  Yet, we only have heard one singing chuck-wills-widow behind our house, as that species' numbers are likewise in decline.

A variety of reasons have been offered for the decline in whip-poor-wills as their numbers have dropped throughout the Eastern United States. Pesticides, habitat change, and lack of logging in many places have been a few of the reasons listed.  Whip-poor-wills require early successional habitat to thrive and a lack of timber cutting has become the norm in the East's national forests.

Whip-poor-wills winter from the Gulf States south to Honduras, so wintering habitat loss could also be an issue.  Whatever the reason for the population decline, the whips and chucks are integral parts of the East's ecosystem as they do yeoman's work at keeping down insect populations, and if we lose these species nature and humans will be much the poorer.

The Joy of Turkey Hunting (Blog Eighty-three)

Today, I called in and killed a mature gobbler while afield in Franklin County, Virginia.  For people who don't turkey hunt, they may not know how hard it is to tag a tom.  This was the eleventh time I have been out this spring in Virginia, including many times before I go to teach English, and the first time I actually had a chance to take a gobbler.

Nothing I do in the outdoors has such a low success rate, and nothing compares to that scintillating moment when a mature gobbler is within range and one knows that the hunt will end in an exhilarating fashion or in inglorious misery.

My one-shot kill resulted in a quick and merciful death to the old longbeard, and when I reached him and saw that my prize was secured, I screamed not once, twice, or three times but four.  I thought I was done screaming after the third yell, but one more had to escape.

Later, I went by the landowners and thanked them for letting me hunt.  I am now tagged out in Virginia and will head for West Virginia soon.  Also, I plan on taking several novice turkey hunters here in Virginia.  It is fun to tutor others and not to have to carry a gun.

And today's turkey will soon become grilled breast and the legs will become a delicious soup.

Elaine and Tallulah (Blog Eighty-two)

Elaine has a new best friend, Tallulah, one of our five hens.  Elaine has always enjoyed talking to our chickens since they arrived last May as day-old chicks.  Of course, in the summer we purchased Tallulah, Dot, and Violet from the local Southern States because six of our eight chicks turned out to be cockerels.

The three new girls, as Elaine called them, had a little difficulty being accepted by our resident birds.  But now, I think, Tallulah has become Elaine's favorite chicken.  About a month ago, Tallulah started visiting Elaine when the chickens were let out into our front yard every afternoon to forage.  Little by little, Tallulah became bolder and bolder as she first would feed close to Elaine, then come to her and whine for food, then finally Tallulah began hopping up the steps to stand besides Elaine as she sat on our stoop.

But Tallulah was not done yet with her overtures.  Eventually, she learned to hop up and sit on Elaine's lap and whine for food.  Now, every time Elaine sits on the stoop, Tallulah comes running to Elaine, hops up on her lap, begs for food, and allows Elaine to stroke her chest.

Our alpha hen, Ruby, one of our two original hens, is also our smartest and most athletic hen.  Once Ruby saw that Tallulah was receiving food from Elaine (and all she had to do was sit on my wife's lap), Ruby likewise began sitting on Elaine's lap.  Ruby, though, seems mostly interested in the food, not visiting.  Tallulah seems to actually like to linger awhile with Elaine.

The three other hens, Violet, Dot, and Little Spotty Hen, are below Ruby and Tallulah on the pecking order.  It will be interesting to see if they start the lap sitting gambit.

Opening Day Turkey Hunting Blues (Blog Eighty-one)

Several months ago, I told Elaine that I had a feeling that I would call in and kill a gobbler on opening day of Virginia's turkey season - today.  Whenever I have that particular feeling that I will do well fishing and hunting, it is almost always accurate.  Today, though, it was not.

Not only did I not kill a gobbler today, I was never in the "game" with one.  I heard a few longbeards on the roost, but by 6:30 A.M., the birds were done for the day - and so was I, though I did not know it.

I trekked up and down hillsides on the Franklin County farm I was on, went through a box, slate, and every mouth call I brought with me, peformed my best yelps, clucks, purrs, cutts and even did hen, jenny, and jake kee-kees.  And not one bird responded to me all day.

To strike out is one thing but to go down in the proverbial flames in something else altogether.  The only good thing is that it was only day one of the Virginia season, and I will be back at it on day two behind our Botetourt County home.

More Fun than a Barrel of Chickens (Blog Eighty)

It is not a news flash that men and women often approach things differently.  And every day in our chicken run Elaine and I are testament to that tendency.

For example, every day we give our five hens and Little Jerry a slice of bread or two, as this is one of our flock's favorite treats.  When it is Elaine's turn to feed our birds, she tears and divides the bread so that each chicken will have a chance to eat a bit or two.  She says this is the polite, civilized way to conduct matters.

I, on the other hand, delight in tossing an entire slice into the run and watching the whole flock compete for the prize.  Invariably, one hen picks up the slice and tries to run away from the other hens to a corner of the run.  Also, invariably, before that first hen reaches a corner, several of the other ladies have swiped bits and pieces from the hen's mouth. Then Little Jerry picks up some sliver of a slice, gives the food cluck, and expects the hens to come to him for their reward - which they do not do.

The result is mass chaos, hens chasing each other all over the run, Little Jerry giving off non-stop food clucks with no hen paying any attention to him.  And me? I am doubled over with laughter at the Keystone Cops hilarity of the entire affair.  Meanwhile, Elaine is reprimanding me for my actions.

The Sky is Carolina Blue (Blog Seventy-nine)

For the past 46 years, or since I was 14, I have been a University of North Carolina basketball fan.  During 42 of those years, the season ended badly, that is without the Heels winning a national championship.

The four years where Carolina captured the title are the biggest thrills I have had in sports.  Last Sunday when the season ended with UNC's loss to Kansas, I was moody and gloomy as always, though, in reality, the season likely ended for all intents and purposes the Sunday before when Kendall Marshall broke his wrist.

Nevertheless, UNC has given me much over the years, especially Coach Dean Smith.  I have read his books and the wisdom he imparted on how to treat people in general and young people specifically greatly influenced how I teach high school students.  In fact, I often tell people I have two roll models: Coach Smith and my late grandfather Willie.  Both talked about the importance of hard work, treating people with respect, and having high expectations for yourself.

Yes, the last loss is always a bitter blow, but, proverbially, there is always next year.  And without a doubt the "Carolina Way" that Coach Smith instituted is a marvelous way to approach life.

Gobbling and Crowing (Blog Seventy-eight)

This week, the intensity of the gobbling behind our house took a quantum leap forward.  Elaine and I have been hearing toms irregularly sound off since late February, but beginning Monday and continuing through Friday (which is when I write this) the booming sounds of male turkeys reached new levels.

Tuesday was the most intense morning.  While I was walking my daily three miles in the dark before school, I heard one particularly boisterous monarch gobbling a good 45 minutes before sunrise.  When I arrived home, I ascertained that he was only about a 100 yards away from our chicken coop.  Our rooster, Little Jerry, was crowing inside the coop and when I let him out into the run, the cockerel matched the gobbler in their respective species' versions of "I'm in charge here. All males beware."

Finally, Jerry and the tom subsided, but then another gobbler began, just 75 yards below our house and yet another chimed in on the creek ridge 75 yards in the other direction.  This set off Little Jerry and the first gobbler and everybody had to go through another round of who the macho male was.

I can hardly wait until Virginia's turkey season starts.

Reasons to Arise (Blog Seventy-seven)

As is usual, this morning, I  arose, ate Bob's Red Mill oatmeal with bananas and other fruit and went walking and birding in the dark.  Even an hour before sunrise, the songbirds, especially this time of year when attracting a mate and establishing territory is vital, are exceptionally active.

The first avian I heard was a mockingbird, belting out his song in a field off our rural road.  Soon two male cardinals began dueling by song, each, in effect, warning the other to stay away from his little patch of turf.

Two weeks ago, we had woodcocks doing their mating dance high in the air, but they have flown north.  But we had another transient visitor a few days ago, a hermit thrush.  He has been singing his flute-like melody - an incredibly beautiful one.

Like the woodcock, the hermit thrush will not be here for long.  Soon he will wend his way north and our breeding season wood thrushes will return.  As melodic as the hermit thrush is, I feel that the wood thrush sports the most sublime song of all our songbirds.

Of course, the song I enjoy hearing the most is not often thought of as a song, but it truly is - the booming gobble of a male turkey.  Which reminds me, I should go outside right now and see if I can hear any toms sounding off.  Turkeys have been behind the house for five straight mornings - will today be number six?

No Power, No Problem (Blog Seventy-six)

Wednesday evening our electricity went off just after Elaine finished cooking dinner.  Living in a rural area, we are used to periodically losing power, especially in the wintertime.  Our wood stove was already well-stoked so there was no problem with heat.

Nor was there any problem with light or the evening's entertainment.  While Elaine went to retrieve our Scrabble set and several candles for ambiance, I went to find our Coleman lantern and flashlights.
Elaine set up our scrabble game near the stove and placed two candles on the brick hearth.

We used our Coleman LED flashlights to make our way around the house, and my wife arranged the Coleman lantern behind the game board.  Then the match began.

Elaine and I are currently involved in a Scrabble brouhaha that has lasted about four years.  We have best of 11 matches and so far there have been over 20 of those matches.  The previous match she won 6-0, and on Wednesday evening I won the latest one, also 6-0.  Most of our matches, though, see scores of 6-5 or 6-4 and the deciding game is often settled by just a few points.

Any activity with Elaine indoors or out is always a joy.  And so when the power went off, it was no problem at all.

Transition Time (Blog Seventy-five)

In this time of not quite spring, but not still winter, Elaine and I are definitely in a transition stage.  We are still enjoying the fruits of our labor from last spring and summer, as today she ate strawberry jam (made from berries from our garden last June) on toast while I enjoyed wineberry cobbler (made from berries gathered on our land).

But we are also busily doing habitat improvement projects.  Wednesday after school and Friday before school, we planted white pine seedlings in two clearcuts behind our house and earlier in the week we planted three sawtooth oak seedlings in our food plot.  I had planned to go to our Sinking Creek land to plant eight other sawtooth oaks but the heavy rain the past few days has made that trip unlikely.

The birds are also in a transitional phase.  A woodcock showed up Monday and has remained on our land all week.  Every morning and evening we hear him emitting his diagnostic "peenk" sound and doing his aerial mating flight.  The turkeys have been talking behind the house all week and it is clear that the gobblers are ready for romance.

I also have firmed up turkey hunting trips to North Carolina and Tennessee in the past fortnight and will, as always, pursue toms in Virginia and West Virginia.  And I have trout and smallmouth bass fishing excursions planned.  This is a busy time of the year.

Chickens in the Snow (Blog Seventy-four)

We often refer to our chickens, which were hatched last spring, as teenage chickens because of their relative youth and how they react to new things.  Their newness to the world was on display last Sunday when our birds experienced their first snow.

In short, they were both terrified and befuddled of the white stuff falling.  Around 3:30 when the snowfall was at its peak, Little Jerry and his five hens stopped moving and feeding altogether.  They huddled near one corner of their run and did not move for over 2 1/2 hours.

As darkness was approaching, we began to fear that they would not have enough sense to walk the few feet to their house and the warmth to be found there.  It is also a fair question to ask that as the birds were all cold and miserable and were not drinking or eating anything, why had they huddled in abject terror for such a long period of time?  Had they not enough sense to come in out of the snow?

Finally at 6:10, one of the hens moved out from the pod and began making her way to the hen house door and the rest followed in single file.  The next morning their behavior was also puzzling - they refused to leave the hen house even though the snow had stopped and was just a few inches deep.

Around 8:00 A.M, we placed food inside the hen house and periodically added more.  Around 9:30, we placed a slice of bread on the gang plank and brave Ruby and Tallulah, our two alpha hens, ventured out to nibble.  But when the bread fell off the gang plank, neither had moxie enough to walk  the few inches to the slice that was lying in the snow.

At last around 11:00, the flock worked up enough courage to come outside.  "The Sunday it Snowed" was not our birds' finest moment.

Waiting for the First Gobble of Spring (Blog Seventy-three)

This morning after conducting my daily routine of filling the feeder and waterer for our chickens, I lingered outside in the early light hoping to hear the first gobble of spring.  The sound was not forthcoming; nevertheless, it is nearly time for an annual rite of spring to commence.

Already, a number of other birds have begun singing their mating tunes.  Last month, the great-horned owls were in full vocal outcry and the mourning doves also began pairing off.  This month, the robins, cardinals, and Carolina wrens, among others, have voiced their desires for spring to hurry up and arrive.

Yesterday another sign of the upcoming season was on display.  Two male robins were chest bumping each other on a little postage stamp of a neighbor's front yard, determined that each would become master of this piece of turf.  The loser, no doubt, would be forced out while the winner was safe - until some other upstart comes along.

This spring, as always, I plan to spring gobbler hunt in my two home states of Virginia and West Virginia and aim also to go to Tennessee and North Carolina.  Last spring, I had my best turkey season, but this year could easily be my worst - or another banner year.  There's rarely any logic concerning how a year unfolds in the region's turkey woods.

Sinking Creek Conservation Easement (Blog Seventy-two)

This week we basically finished the process of putting another conservation easement on the rural land that we own.  In April of 2006, we bought 120 acres on Sinking Creek in Craig County, Virginia and immediately after purchasing the land contacted the Virginia Outdoors Foundation (VOF) to put an easement on the land.

In November of that year, we purchased a 20-acre tract that adjoins the 120 acres, so that the viewshed would be protected and the 20 acres would not be developed.  The purchase was also part of our "good fences make good neighbors policy," meaning, in this case, no neighbors no need for fences.

For the past few years we have talked about the need to place those 20 acres under easement and this year we finally did so.  As usual, working with the VOF and the Western Virginia Land Trust was a pleasurable experience.

As a couple who enjoys the outdoor experience, we strongly recommend conservation easements as a way to protect rural America from development.  Land trusts exist in every state on the local, regional, and statewide levels.

Here are some helpful sites.
www.landtrustalliance.org
www.virginiaoutdoorsfoundation.org
www.westernvirginialandtrust.org

A Buck, a Bushytail, a Bear, and a Bunny (Blog Seventy-one)

This past Wednesday was the last day of Virginia's squirrel season, so after leaving school and arriving home, I went out the backdoor to squirrel hunt.  We have a seeded, logging road that runs from one end of our 38 acres to the other, so I walked to our food plot, where one end of the travel way begins or ends depending on where one starts.

No sooner had I left the food plot and entered the road that I spooked the young buck that has taken up residence on our property.  The smallish two pointer, an obvious 1 1/2-year-old male, has been spotted by me a dozen or so times this hunting season.  I was glad to see that he had survived the various deer seasons.

Immediately afterwards, I encountered a gray squirrel, but it was spooky and soon scampered away when I began to slink toward it.  About a half hour later, I heard something rambling through the undergrowth.  The animal turned out to be a black bear, perhaps not having denned somewhere because of the warm weather.

Moving on, and with darkness descending, I jumped a rabbit that likewise was moving along the logging road.  The cottontail was moving so fast that a shot was impossible.

Indeed, I spent the last hour of squirrel season not killing or shooting at anything.  No matter, it was a great evening to ramble through the woods.



Sunday Mornings with Elaine and Mad Men (Blog Seventy)

For the past few months, one of Elaine's and my Sunday morning pleasures has been to sit by the wood stove and watch Mad Men from 6:00 to 9:00 A.M. This morning I arose early to start the fire, so the living room was warm and cozy before she came downstairs for her morning oatmeal and Sunday dose of Don Draper, Peggy Olson, Roger Sterling, and the gang.

Elaine likes to analyze the characters and I enjoy listening to her commentary. She can't stand Pete Campbell, is ambivalent about Ken Cosgrove, and disapproves of Betty Draper.

As for myself, I relish just being in the presence of Elaine's warm personality.  She did so many nice things for me today from fixing lunch (venison burgers, baked sweet potatoes, and wineberry pie) to watching the chickens as they wandered around the yard to planning a Scrabble contest for tonight before the North Carolina basketball game tonight (I'm an avid UNC basketball fan).

Every day, Sunday or not, with her is a joy.

Chickens in the Straw (Blog Sixty-nine)

Several blogs ago, I wrote about how Elaine and I placed a bale of straw in our chicken run.  The chickens have relished destroying the bale, scratching and pecking their way through it.

In about two weeks, the hard-packed bale was reduced to scattered straw.  Elaine then spread the straw evenly around the fenced in run.  And then the chickens had more fun, delightedly scratching through the duff every day.

Every time we bring the birds a treat (their favorites include scratch corn, Cheerios, Total Cereal, and bread of any kind) they enthusiastically scratch for hours looking for the last morsel.

We have decided not to free range the birds, knowing that they would last less than a week in our wooded 38 acres.  At least 13 different predators would make short work of them.  What we have done instead is let the birds out of the run in the evening and under our supervision, the chickens scratch their way across our yard.

The five hens are still producing well, providing us with three to five eggs daily.  However, they are moulting now and we expect egg production to suffer.

My Day as a Squirrel Hunting Guide (Blog Sixty-eight)

I spent all day Saturday taking youngsters and their parents squirrel hunting on the 38 acres behind our house.  I was working on several articles about young hunters, and our place is usually overrun with squirrels.

Not yesterday, though.  In the morning, I took a father and son hunting.  The wind howled, the trees shook, and the squirrels hunkered in their dens.  We only saw two squirrels all day, and they were in the process of fleeing from us.

That evening, Elaine and I hosted two parents and their daughter and son.  The dad and daughter went to one end of the property, the mom, son, and I went to the other.  Results similar to the morning were the result.

The whole, misbegotten day set me thinking about the vagaries of hunting.  I once went squirrel hunting with a wildlife biologist in the Jefferson National Forest.  The gentleman had picked the locale because of its bountiful supply of bushytails.  We never saw one all day.

Two things are certain after yesterday.  One, my career as a squirrel guide is seriously in jeopardy. And two, I expect to see hordes of bushytails every time I walk out the door today to tend to the chickens today.

Deer Season Over (Blog Sixty-seven)

Yesterday, deer season concluded and I was fortunate to kill a doe during the last half hour of the late muzzleloader season.  I started the season in September by bowhunting in Alleghany County, North Carolina and finished it yesterday in Franklin County, Virginia.  I ended up killing 10 deer, 9 in Virginia and 1 in West Virginia.

Elaine and I don't buy any meat from a store, so freezing a good supply of venison is essential for our 2012 food supply.  We easily eat 8 or 9 deer every year, plus share some with family and friends. 

It is always sad when deer season ends, as it has been such a big part of my life outdoors for the past 3 1/2 months.  On the other hand, I am going squirrel hunting next Saturday and am looking forward to the change of pace.  I also have to give two smallmouth bass seminars this month and that too will be a nice change.

Meanwhile, today, I have to clean much of my deer hunting gear, much of it has been piled onto my work room bed - and that is a real mess.  Today, for lunch Elaine and I are dining on venison tenderloin and wineberry pie - celebrating the bounty of the season.  Then it will be time to clean the chicken coop and let our birds free range in the yard for several hours.

Best Christmas Present Ever (Blog Sixty-six)

Last Sunday, Elaine gave me the best Christmas present I have ever received - a fly that she tied herself and that came from a feather from a turkey I called in and killed.  I am not ashamed to admit that my eyes became misty when I found her creation in my Christmas stocking.

A little over  three years ago, Elaine was diagnosed with breast cancer.  As part of her recovery, she attended a Casting for Recovery (www.castingforrecovery.org) retreat in 2010.  CFR is a national organization that offers retreats for women with or recovering from breast cancer. Those retreats combine fly fishing, counseling, medical expertise, and breast cancer recovery.  It was at a CFR retreat that my wife learned how to fly fish and tie patterns.

The joy of having Elaine healthy again and with me during Christmas is something that is hard to express.  The joy of her taking the time to hand tie something for me, especially combining two activities that I enjoy - river smallmouth bass fishing and turkey hunting - is equally inexpressible.

What a wonderful person and wife.