Take a tour of Middle Creek

Here’s your chance to take a tour of our cozy little house here at Middle Creek.

Here is the Chicken Coop.  We have red paint to match the barn, and someday I want to build extra run (the current run is off the back so you can’t see it in this picture) and an add-on to the actual coop, but for now we’ll just keep it festive with a wreath.

Here is our historic-ish stone shed where we keep feed, buckets, prairie hay, and straw.  It does get snow and rain in the inside but it makes a great place for all of the etceteras in hobby farming.

This is our old windmill.  It doesn’t work anymore but I thought this was a great picture, so I might as well post it.

Here is our barn and silo.  The barn was a dull gray before we painted it.  And not to brag, but I’m the one who painted the doors.  We are looking to paint a mural on it this summer.

Here is our orchard.  It doesn’t look like much but in the fall, its bursting with apples.  I’ll post more pictures then.

Here is a close-up picture of our silo.  I thought this was also an excellent picture.

Here is our house.  I know, its very awesome isn’t it?        

Meet the Family

Here’s a chance for you to “Meet our Little Family” here at Middle Creek.  First up: Chickens.

Little Red: Little Red is our little bachelor.  Being a bantam cochin no large hens are interested in him, but he still has high hopes.  Unfortunately we lost him this fall but he was such an important part I thought I should include him here.

Nora: Nora is my beauty queen.  She loves to strut her stuff and hates mud and rain.  She won first place at the County Fair but has a hard time staying clean.

Ohura: Ohura is actually my brother’s hen.  She doesn’t like people but loves laying eggs.  She showed all our pullets that we mean business.  She was named after the character in Star Trek.

Sophie: Sophie is my pride and joy.  She is the sweetest chicken ever, and you can probably tell she is in the house.  You’ll here about her a lot more later in my blog.

Lullabel: We call all a barred rock hens Lullabel.  This one is my favorite though.

Aunt Lil’: This is my Americana, Aunt Lil’.  She is very nice but hates chicks.  I named her after a character in the Adult Swim program, Squidbillies.

  The Star Spangled Hamburg: There were actually 3 of these beautiful Silver Spangled Hamburgs, but this is the only one left.  I showed them as a group so named them as a group, The Star Spangled Hamburgs which I think sounds like a name for a baseball team.

 Captain Kirk: This is actually a hen but when my brother named her he didn’t know that.  Unfortunately we lost her this fall, but she was a very important member of our family for about 4 years.  My brother won Champion Poultry exhibit with her, in his first year.

Phoenix: This is my prettiest rooster.  He absolutely LOVES his tail.  One year he lost his longest tail feather and would not go near anyone.  He’s getting older though and needs a good name, so please post any ideas you might have.

Albert: This is my cochin who unfortunately passed at around 9 months.  He was very sweet and beautiful.

Georgia: Georgia was Albert’s match who unfortunately passed way before her time.  She overcame many hardships and never gave up.  Her story is very long and inspirational so I include it in a later post.

Daff: Daff was attacked by a hawk at around 8 months.  She did not survive..  She was very sweet and won “Best Bantam” at the County Fair.

Pocket: Pocket was named after the Fool in the Christopher Moore book Fool. He was also lost to a hawk but I thought he was just too adorable to not include in this.

  Lilly: Lilly was Georgia’s best friend.  I think she is just the prettiest little thing.  I will be writing more about her later.  Her match died when he was a baby.

Bess: Bess is very nice and sweet.  She does crave attention though, a little too much I think.  She is my brother’s hen.  Her original name was Ophelia then I decided I liked Bess better.

Cassie: Cassie is a Columbian Rock, I think.  She does not like being handled but I like her anyways.

Mr. Bawgawkbawgawk:

Mr. Bawgawkbawgawk is one of my favorite roosters.  This is the best photo I have of him and quite frankly, its my favorite.

Charlie and Daniel: Charlie and Daniel are Naked Necks. They have 40% less feathers than a normal chicken.  Most people think they are gross but I think they’re pretty cute.

You’ll have more chances to meet the rest of the family later but for now you’ll have to wait.

Getting Bucked Off a Horse for the First Time

I feel the wind through my hair. I feel the rush that can only come from riding a horse. Suddenly I feel my horse's bumpy trot lurch into a rolling lope. I feel like I'm in a swing going to fast, I can't help but smile. This is what I've waited all day for. Hours in the saddle in the blazing sun, and this is what I've wanted all day. I savor the moment when suddenly I'm lurched out of my revere and I'm galloping. I'm so scared. I've never galloped before and a barb wire fence is coming closer by the second. I look to the side and the rider who was urging my horse to lope was getting farther away (I later learned she was moving to the side so as not to make my horse feel like he was being chased and make him go faster). I try to let out a cry for help but I can't. For a second I feel more confused than scared when I let out a giggle. I realize I've long since let go of the reins and I'm only holding on to the horn of the saddle. I think about dying. I think about never seeing my family again. I want to cry, but the saddle slips and I'm sideways, protruding out of the horses side (or at least that's what it felt like, it all happened so quickly). Something runs through my brain, "Let go, you're going to die anyways". I had no idea what to do. I was still making my decision when my mind was made for me, my horse bucks and I fall to the ground. Something ingrained in me (most likely from roller skating) tells me to tuck in my arms and legs. I do. Then I close my eyes and hear hooves thunder past me. I wait for a second and think to myself, "You're dead. You're 8 and you're dead". I open my eyes, I'm not dead. I see everyone coming towards me and I sit up. I don't know what to do. I just sit there as everyone looks at me and asks if I'm okay. I don't know why but I start sobbing.

Luckily, I was not hurt. My back hurt for a couple of days and there was a hole in my shirt, but no real damage was done. I've kept that shirt for two years and plan to show it to my kids when they get bucked off a horse the first time. I got back on and worked cattle the next day. I've never ridden that horse again.

P.S. Never let an accident stop you from pursuing your dreams. Many people get bucked off and never go near a horse again. It took courage to get back in the saddle the next day and I'm still teaching myself to lope with courage, but I never let that incident slow me down. I could have easily been killed in that incident, but now I realize that incident kept me from getting stupid around horses.

Poopy’s Story…

Let me straightened this out before you decide not to read this.  Poopy is a chicken, well a chick to be more precise.  He is a survivor. 

One morning I was outside when I heard a frantic peeping.  I searched everywhere but to no avail.  Then I saw a hen with some chicks on the hill.  I only counted three.  “Well that’s not right.  There should be four.” I mumbled.  I followed the hen and her babies onto the hill.  Up there the peeping was louder and I finally figured out that the peeping was coming from under a tree.  I circled the tree.  Finally I looked under the tree.  There poopy was under the tree in a pile of cow poop (thus he became Poopy).  I looked at him for a minute.  I could run to the house and get gloves.  I could get someone to come help me.  No, that would take to long.  Who knows how long he’s been here, anything could happen in the few minutes it would take me to get to the house.  I burst in to action.  Well, more precisely I gingerly lifted him out of the sticky poop.  I wrapped him in my shirt held him close to me while I ran to the house as fast as I could without bumping Poopy out of my grip.  When I got home my mom in reaction to the peeping ran to the door.  I had to hold Poopy in a warm washcloth until Mom was done washing dishes.  Then we gave him a bath.  We had to postpone school while I held him as he dried off.  After several hours of taking care of him I took him outside to reunite with his momma hen.  It was amazing and heartbreaking.  I had him concealed in a washcloth yet I could here his peeping get louder and stronger as we approached his momma.  There was no way he could see out that washcloth yet he still knew she was there.  As soon as I set him down and uncovered him he and his mother ran to each other and she tucked him under her wing. 

Today Poopy is healthy, happy, and almost all grown up yet he and his big sis still love their mommy.

Most girls my age, or even most people, would be to grossed out to pick him up.  Maybe if someone else was in that situation they would not have picked him up.  Maybe if someone else was in that situation Poopy would not have made it.  I just can’t have that blood on my hands.  I know I did the right thing, even if it meant getting some poop on my hands, but hey, that’s what soap is for.

Back when I was your age….

Don’t you remember that winter morning when you were just a little kid.  When after weeks of anticipation you wake up to a winter wonderland  Don’t you remember sledding down the steepest hill you could find and landing in the biggest pile of snow.  How come now that we’ve grown up it’s hard to feel that excitement in winter.  How come now that we’re older winter just means cold.  How come I feel like this, I’m only 11! 

My 9 year old brother thinks winter is great.  It’s his favorite time of year.  Yet me, only 2 years older, and I hate winter.  Winter is cold, winter is hard, winter is sad.

I think I started resenting winter last year when I lost my Porcelain D’uccle rooster.  I woke up and I went outside to see my babies.  Stan wasn’t there.  I walked around in hopeless circles, halfheartedly calling his name.  My dad came out to find me in hysterics, babbling about how much I loved him and now he’s gone.  Dad told me that he found Stan this morning crushed in his sleep.  It took me weeks to get over losing him.  I never ever ever liked winter again.

So maybe it’s just growing up in a cold house, maybe it’s losing Stan, maybe it’s just me losing my marbles, or even just growing up makes you loathe winter.  I don’t know what it is but maybe I also still have some kid in me, maybe we all do.

Good-night and have some fun this winter. 

Well, It’s that time of year again….

It’s that time of year again.  That time of year when you wake up and realize you have to dig out that old pair of coveralls and brace your chickens for that big snowstorm.  The time of year when you realize you’re going to have to move the goats in with the chickens to preserve body heat.  The time of year when you realize that winter sucks. 

Sledding, skiing, ice skating…. I don’t know what you do to enjoy your winter but I do know what my winter consists of.  For me winter means hauling hot water from the house to the coop.  It means going through twice as much feed and straw to keep the animals warm.  It means breaking icy water as much as it means broken hearts.  If this sounds like living hell, well, you’re pretty much right.  And if you think mucking out the coop to put in fresh, warm, dry straw sounds like to much work (not to mention to gross) well, you probably shouldn’t get chickens.  Farm life’s tough, especially in winter, but I guess living out here most my life has toughened me up more than most girls. 

Waking up to hear the weatherman say, “Brace yourselves, it’s gunna be a cold one.” is enough to send any good chicken owner straight out to the coop to brace the chickens.  Most of the time “Bracing the Chickens for Winter” means completely cleaning out the coop, putting in fresh straw, covering up the doors with plywood and plastic, sealing up drafts, and adding a heat lamp.  Oh, and putting Vaseline on all the chicken’s legs, combs, and wattles in an attempt to keep away frostbite.  Winter is hard on chickens, especially chickens who hate confinement, seeing as it’s virtually impossible for chickens to survive free-range in a Kansas winter.  All that work seems like too much, but for me I just keep thinking about keeping my chickens comfortable and warm.  You could probably come to our house before any big snowstorm and find me mucking out the chicken coop as I mutter, “It’s for the chickens.  Keep them warm. It’s for the chickens.  Keep them warm.” 

Well, it looks like it’s starting to snow, and I still have work to finish.  So goodnight and drive safe. 

A Feathery Friend

The country is such a big place, it's easy to get lonely. Friends are hard to find. I mean I have friends, of course I do, and they are the best friends in the world. What I mean is that it is hard to find new friends. It's not like in the city were you can just run into your old friends. Anyways, we've been raising chickens for a few years now and I sometimes just take them for granted. I've sometimes been scared of them (they look like they're stalking you). This year we got some bantams and they are the cutest things. I named a little Porcleian D'uccle Sophie and she always ran away from me but one day I went out and she ran up to me. I was so surprised! I went out another day and she just flew up on my back. Now I can put her on my shoulder and walk around our house. I will keep posting updates on her every so often.