Moments before turning into the driveway, I alarmedly pointed toward the sky, “A red-shouldered hawk!” The bird circled directly over our land. “Oh yeah, it is!” Dave said excitedly.
Instead of hearing the red-alert tone I’d intended, he heard awe and excitement. Apparently, my Mama Bear instinct for our chicks and chickens has kicked in with full force.
A car length from the garage, I said, “I’m getting out.”
The slowing car barely came to a stop before I hopped out, half-closing the door behind me as I hurried toward the chicken area. Since nearly all of them fly over the temporary four-foot fence anyway, I’ve gotten in the habit of leaving the opening stakes slightly ajar so they can come and go.
I made it almost at a run to the edge of the woods. A cluster of hens stood close together, as if stunned. Five of the eight accounted for.
I turned toward the sky.
Ten or twenty crows were carrying on, cawing up a storm. Their commotion, likely a prolonged response to the hawk, eased my worry a little. Whatever the hawk was up to seemed to involve them. The deep shade beneath the oaks and pines also gave me hope that the others had simply taken cover.
But where were the remaining three?
A peek behind the pallet compost bins revealed two of them.
The last one?
She was happily scratching around inside the compost pile, atop watermelon and avocado rinds. Lucky lady number eight. My favorite… Even though I’m not supposed to have favorites.
The area they’ve claimed sits near Evelyn’s playground. For two years it’s been a no-go zone, buried beneath old oak leaves and crisscrossed with abandoned vermin tunnels. I know because the ground gives way beneath my feet, and heavy rains have carved little rises and dips throughout the area. Muscadine vines and thorny runners slice at my ankles, and unless I was flying through on the riding mower, I’d mostly left it alone.
Now the chickens are changing it.
Every day they scratch, fluff, fertilize, and turn the soil over. Without really noticing, I’ve started tending it too.
This evening I pulled weeds, moved branches, and filled in holes.
Maybe, with the chickens doing their part and me doing mine, this forgotten corner of the yard can become something beautiful. Somewhere a little more manicured. Somewhere useful.
And, if I’m lucky… A place for even more flowers and native grasses.
Well, that’s it for me. I’d better hit the hay. Morning comes early when you wake up with the chickens.
Love, Jaclynn