Rory has come to visit during school vacation and the chores begin. We found out the worms are not dead after all. At least not all of them, so we have to feed them eggshells to help reproduction, and squash flesh and seeds.
If you look really closely you can see a couple of worms in their last meal. We also saw very very tiny worms, so I guess the eggshells work. We are not the only ones tending a worm far. Over at Garden Rant I just learned about this NYTimes article and urban vermiculture.
Worms aren’t our only livestock. We have to get out to the chickens. People mostly talk about the romance of chickens, clucking cheerfully, decorating the lawn and producing beautiful eggs. But the winter reality is freezing waterers that need to be rotated, and a difficult trek to the hen house.
Rory was game, and ready to trek in the snowshoes, but you’ll notice he’s not carrying the waterer. That was me.However, he fed them and made up a song.
My little chickens, my little chickens
Happy as can be.
Makes funny noises,
Plays around all day.
In the big ol’ pile of hay.
My little chickens, my little chickens
Making the best of time,
turning into big egglaying hens
that they are.
My little chickens, my little chickens,
Growing up so fast!
Great song, Rory! It often seems to me that animals (maybe even chickens?) respond better to our singing than our talking; it’s a more elemental form of communication. It also helps us forget that it’s cold outside……
Tinky