Monday (early May)
This year, the swallows returned the first week of May. There were just two at first, then the others came a few days later. They perch in the dying apple tree and chatter away, swooping low over the fields and dive bombing the cats. They fill my heart. We still only have about 10 who call us home, but it took a few years living here before we had any at all. Our barn was empty when we moved in, the fields were barren, the house neglected. The swallows are a sign of the life we’ve breathed into the place, a reminder of home, and always a welcome sign of spring.
I discovered a pair of phoebes have moved into the front porch. They built the sweetest little moss nest in the corner eave. I read that they return to the same nest year after year, so here is hoping they are here to stay. Every time we open the front door, they fly away and perch on the nearby spirea. I feel bad about it because the boys are constantly running in and out and disturbing Mr & Mrs Phoebe.
Thursday
The fox woke us up again last night. I think there were two of them, barking at each other. Do you know what a fox sounds like? More like an angry woman screaming than a bark. Unsettling. We left the chicken coop door open last night, and woke up to a yard full of happy hens foraging in the early morning light. The fox didn’t raid the coop to take an easy dinner. How lucky we were.
Our chicks arrived earlier this week. It was hard to find meat chickens this year due to the avian flu and economic uncertainty. We went in with a friend and got 25 White Rangers. They are healthier and hardier than our usual Cornish Cross. Now we need to organize the freezer before these guys are ready to process. We seem to be well-stocked with drumsticks…
Friday (near the end of May)
The girls got their annual haircut. Trimmed their hooves, checked them all over to make sure they are healthy and happy. I’m always surprised at their big bellies when all they eat is grass! It looks like we have a herd of goats now that their woolly layers are gone. But what a relief it must be to be rid of that thick coat of wool. Now we have bags full of endless possibilities. Dryer balls? Hand dyed yarn? Sell it to a rug maker? I’m entranced by this ecosystem we are part of. Did you know America imports 98% of its textiles? And ships off or discards 85% of its own wool? It feels important right now to participate in this fibershed movement.
I spent a rainy day recently designing labels for our hand-dyed yarn. We have a huge box filled with it, ready to dye with the flowers growing in our field. It has been a steep learning curve the past few years and a labor of love. But if we do anything well, we make beautiful farm-raised goods.
Sunday
It has been rain upon rain for what feels like months now. The ground is so soggy, I squish through the grass every morning on my way to the hoop house. I discovered my rain boots have a leak. Wet toes! But finally, the sun broke through the clouds and we were given a spat of good weather. We were simply triumphant, planting the last of our veggies. We still have a field of flowers to plant and we are behind, as always. But it feels good to go to bed at night, a little sunburned and sore, after a long and productive day in the garden.
I look forward to early summer mornings when I can pad barefoot out to the garden, coffee in hand, dew on the grass and the sun peeking behind the trees. We are a whisper away from frost still, at the end of May. What a long, cold slog it’s been!