Jail Bird

Winter is exhausting. The snow never seems to melt before the next snow fall. The days are not getting longer fast enough. I linger in bed every morning trying to devise an excuse not to eschew my warm blankets for a frigid room, which is why I can't blame Helga for doing her own brooding. 

You may recall that Helga is one of my hens and just three months into her first laying cycle she's gone "broody."  That means she wants to set, or nest on her eggs until they are hatched. Of course, she doesn't have any eggs, because she stopped laying when she decided to set. That doesn't keep her from sitting on the other girls' eggs. She keeps hopping onto eggs, and I keep taking them from her. Wow, is she ever cross about that. She hasn't resorted to pecking at me, but her hackles stand on end in an impressive display of feathers worthy of a Las Vegas showgirl. 

Helga calms down from a samurai moment.

Unfortunately when I take this broody girl out of the nest, she's more warrior than beauty. She literally has to be dragged out trilling and squirming. She claws the walls of the nest trying to hold onto it. That is heartbreaking enough without her bewilderment in defeat. Once pulled from the nest she is overwhelmed by agitation. All of her feathers stand up. She holds her wings away from her body, doubling in size. This is when she starts to look like a samurai warrior. In her turmoil she puts on quite a display in her feathery armor.

Recycling the Christmas Tree

We're making full use of the Christmas tree this year.  Not only did we have a nice holiday outing when we went to retrieve it from the forest, but we've enjoyed the decorations and lights for a month. Now it is time to cut the tree up for projects and firewood.

The holidays wouldn't be as much fun if they lasted year round, and the tree certainly couldn't stand up much longer either.  The sun exposure from our south window dried out the Christmas tree. By the end of Epiphany half of the needles were turning brown and littering the floor. It was so far gone that it was easier to dismember it in place rather than drag it outside.

Beginner's Angst

The new year is here and with it comes a barrage of seed catalogues.  I suppose there are many seasoned gardeners who look forward to curling up with a hot cup of tea to thumb -- or green thumb -- their ways through stacks of mail order possibilities. I imagine these confident and experienced amateur landscapers having well established gardens worthy of photo spreads in Sunset magazine. They look forward to a good spring workout and muse over the idea of having a fun little experiment with succulents as they calmly sip their tea and confidently dog ear pages.

I, on the other hand, am completely stressed out. It has taken me four nerve wracking days to research, plot, and calendar my garden activities. One entire day was spent ordering seeds from websites that might have been designed in the paleozoic era of e-commerce. I still haven't begun to research the irrigation system or to plan construction of the trellises. Sipping tea is for the pros. I need a glass of red wine and a hot bath just to get over thinking about gardening.