Last Year in Our Yard

I don’t know when I’ve been so eager to set the clocks back and return to “normal” time.  For whatever reason, the timing of morning light and evening dark, the chickens’ routines, and my own activities, are all out of whack right now.  The upshot is that I’m saying my goodnights to the girls in the pitch-of-it-all when a flashlight, no matter how bright, is NOT all that helpful.  And I seem to forget their breakfast until almost lunch time.  (Apologies don’t cut it with chickens.)

The night chores are the worst.  I can see where I’m going by moon, stars, or flashlight, and it’s not all that far.  But I can’t see who’s just beyond my sightlines — deer people eating the pears?  bear people ambling through?  scary little ratty people snuffling up the poultry food?  It’s a bit creepy, you betcha.

I can’t remember feeling this way about our nighttime garden in the past.  Not until the last ten years or so since we’ve had lots more four-legged visitors of the wild variety in and around the village.  Day and night.  They like it here and, for the most part, don’t cause much trouble.  A garbage can raid now and then by a bear or a thorough foraging of the roses by the deer.  That’s about all.  And since I’ve been ever-so-careful to take in the girls’ feed each evening, the rodents have deserted the coop as far as I can tell.

Last Year at Tucker and Carol’s

But, with Mother Nature, it is necessary to be ever-vigilant.  Unfortunately, my internal alarm clock does not seem to be synchronized with the ever-changing hours of daylight.  In the morning, it’s not so much of a problem, though sometimes my own activities are well underway before I think “Chickens!” and scurry to open their gate and take them their food and morning treats.  They are sure to let me know that Forgetful Farmer’s Wife does not make for happy chickens.

As yet, Unseen At The Coop

The evening is far worse.  It’s usually “Big Dark” by the time I grab that flashlight and scurry forth.  I try not to think about the time I heard movement just beyond my light beam — fortunately a doe and a buck watchful but too busy eating pears to leave the area.  Would a bear have been so polite?  Do I transmit scaredy-cat-victim endorphins all over the place?

So far, so good.  But November 7th and the end of Daylight Saving Time can’t come soon enough.  What a difference that hour will make.  I hope.