All for a shower

Woops, forgot we left our tree in the middle of the road! You can see the power lines coming off the pole on the right side of the frame and running along the ground. Large tree hung up in the wires.

At the crack of dawn this Saturday morning, Tim was up and getting our house running. The order of the day: to take a shower. The first step of course was to get Grandpa's freezer connected to the generator so we could leave guilt free for the day for more parts. After letting the animals out, getting the generator going and running extension cords to Grandpa's tv, the internet, his heater and freezer and lights, we were free for our outing. Only a 40 minute drive each way, we headed north to Oak Harbor, also providing the perfect opportunity for some reconnaissance work.

This does explain why our power is out! And knowing that it is like this and worse all over our island! Evidently, the fire department chop up the wood and leave it stacked on the side of the road - at least when there are cold winds that knock out all the power, free firewood is in surplus.

Our power allegedly comes from the north, from Classic Road, so we went to see what was holding up the flow of power and make our own estimate for when we might be back on. To the south, we had already seen a large tree pinning down the power lines and are confused how anyone that direction can have power. If that was the not-so-bad side, we wondered what might be in store for us ahead. As we drove towards Classic Road, power lines alternated between running along the ground and trying to hang on to crooked power poles. More large trees lay on our lines, and the down power lines wrapped around our street sign; and then we got to the 'Road Closed' sign. I guess this was the okay stuff! We parked and took Tilly for a walk to scope out what could be worse. Are power poles supposed to be slanted like that? A power line and tree lay across the road, solving the mystery of why no through traffic was allowed. As we surveyed the scene, the power company drove by, looking to be taking pictures and surveying the damage themselves. Though there were a few orange cones by the hazards, no work crews were anywhere near the three large breaks we identified, or anywhere else on our road. We took Resort Road and continued north around the closed Classic. The residents of Resort Road had the advantage of some sections with underground power lines, but where the lines came above ground, both their power and phone were severed. We have been very lucky to still have our phone when homes all over the island are without even the ability to call for help.

I would say those three roads are all out of luck!

With the damage surveyed we confirmed, 'yes, our power will be out a while longer and it is worth taking action to resolve on our own now.' We passed at least 5 large line-fixing trucks heading south as we neared Coupeville - a good sign for us and our south-end neighbors! Though of course we are not high on the priority list and they were not heading for us. At Home Depot, everyone else had beat us to the good supplies for generators and extension cords. The Saturday afternoon after the wind blows out most of the power in the county is probably a little late to stock up on supplies, but we were able to find most of what we needed and got the last plug end from Ace before heading home.

This road is closed. All the roads were covered in branches like this - I don't think the city truck with the snow plow came down this road...

Through amazing skills and talents Tim was able to get our generator hooked up to the well pumps to re-fill and pressurize the water tanks, then connected the generator to the house for light and tv and all the other luxuries and amenities that power provides. Grandpa asked about the hot water heater, so we fired it up and the generator made no complaints. While the water heated, I made use of the propane oven to make some pizzas and got roaring fires going in both the upstairs and downstairs fire places to thaw our fingers and warm the house again. The upstairs fireplace is amazing and blew 500f air into the room soon after getting started, quickly turning a few logs into heat for the whole high-ceilinged, large-windowed open space of the house. The downstairs fireplace isn't nearly as productive, but after removing 10 gallons of ashes, there is a huge improvement in the heat output. With warm houses, warm water, lights, and full water tanks, by after dinner we were finally able to have a hot shower! Delightful what we can do in a power outage.

..Probably because of that. Power lines running across the road, large branches and trees down... And up there at the top of the pole something doesn't seem quite right. Many of the poles have crooked cross arms or the whole pole is leaning significantly. Just a little wind caused a lot of trouble here on Whidbey!

All was dark and quiet

Yesterday, was that only yesterday? we feared we would have to cancel our helicopter flight due to high winds, but fog ended up doing us in first. As darkness came, so did the winds. Gusts up to 69 knots knocked whole trees onto the power lines all over the island and Washington. Three large branches came crashing down, narrowly missing my car and landing right where Daniel and Amanda's fancy new car had been parked only days earlier. Our power flickered and by 8pm, we were in darkness. An early bed time with stories by flashlight made for a fine evening, but when the lights weren't back on by morning, I started worrying about our freezer and the well, both very power dependent. I dropped Tim off at work and borrowed a very nice generator from Tim's kind boss to get the freezer cold again. Driving to and from his work, streets were impassable as firefighters with chainsaws worked to clear paths through the fallen branches. Most of the stop lights were out down the length of the island and spots of power were sporadic and small. In early afternoon, the city truck fitted with a snowplow finally reached our road to push debris to the sides. At quitting time, lights still off, I picked up Tim and headed to the mainland Costco for a new, super-duper, score-of-a-deal generator picked out by Dad and Grandpa headed to his friend's house to kick back with TV, light, heat, microwave, water... all the luxuries power brings.

Convening back at the house, Tim and I moved our little borrowed generator from the freezer to off the edge of Grandpa's porch to get his heat and lights back on in his room first thing so he could settle in for the night, then got to work hooking up our new generator. Eventually it will have a connector straight into the power box to directly power the house, and probably a second cord for powering the pump house intermittently, but for now we have it set up on the patio with some extension cords running to the freezers, our room, and Grandpa's room. Oh yeah, then there's the internet. The internet and the booster for our cell signal also require power, but Tim had a clever plan. Surely I must have a picture? No, maybe tomorrow. Tim has built a box of very high quality, large batteries for such occasions as this, so for as long as the batteries hold out, we have the wonders of internet!

-This message sponsored by Batteries: keeping you lit up when the wind blows it up.

Helo day

 Wow, look at that pooch! I feel that there is nothing more to say with such a stunning star. Here, we have Tilly rocking her Mutt Muffs, and Doggles and mohawk. I custom altered her headgear to sew them all on to one set of elastic straps and a buckle for easy on and off. Everyone was laughing at how awesome she was and taking pictures. The maintenance mechanic guys came around to touch the celebrity and all the flight crews had their smartphones out. So proud of my little girl.

Tilly with her calm, focused and upbeat demeanor (who would have thought, that crazy monster being the calm, focused one!), was chosen to demonstrate how we might be lifted with our dogs by winch if the helicopter couldn't land. Her and her human volunteer were buckled in and then lifted from the floor and swung into the bird and lowered in proper rescue fashion.  

We had quite the turn out today. Our training was supposed to be out in a field and involve the helicopter running while we practiced getting in and out and was supposed to hover above us, but due to fog we had to change plans to an in-hanger training, out of the rain and wind and fog.

Meanwhile, Tim had a very, very long day at work with a couple hours of overtime spent crawling through horrible attics running wires.

Chicks and bunnies

Mama #9 and fresh chicks enjoying breakfast in bed.

The first two chicks of our second batch hatched when it was very cold out, when the nest box was a little too close to the open outside door, when there was no extra heat in the barn, when there was no board across the bottom of the nest box to keep the newly hatching chicks in. They were also born before the others, when the mama hen still needed to stay with the eggs to keep those unhatched chicks warm too. They didn't make it even long enough to dry off, and by the time we found them, there's no telling how long it had been.

After that, I made some adjustments. The next five chicks to hatch stayed warm under their mother as she continued to sit on the eggs. I put food and water in the nest box and a board across the bottom so no one needed to be leaving for any reason for those first few days. When the last chick finally hatched, the first healthy chick, born a couple days earlier was ready to hop over my low barricade and explore the outer world. If the other hens and I hadn't intervened, all of the eggs would have hatched about 21 days after the mama hen started sitting on the eggs regardless of some being laid even two weeks earlier than others. However, in a flock like ours who lay only a couple eggs a day in these cold, dark winter months, I kept sticking other hen's eggs under the mama for a few days after she started sitting. As a result, the hatching started December 1st (21 days after she began sitting) and lasted all week. Two little black chicks hatched, one silver "lavender" chick, one gray "blue" chick, and one very unique chick unlike any of our original 25, who is all black with a very red face, and as it's little wing feathers start coming in, they are golden.

The last little chick to hatch was a little black chick and was developmentally behind the others. While the others were big enough to follow their mama across the hen house, even through a crowd of other chickens, to the food and water, the littlest chick was still needing to huddle close under mama and not move too far or too fast. On Sunday morning, I had agreed to join Brother Daniel and Amanda on an outing (bunny show) before my noon Search and Rescue practice with Tilly. I left Tim in charge of the farm with careful instructions on the most tedious and mundane things. He followed my instructions nearly perfectly, but when I stopped in between my dates, it had started raining and all the chickens had sought shelter in the hen house. In the crowd, the littlest chick had become separated from the others and looked trampled and dead, though only two hours earlier Tim had seen all five happy and healthy. I picked up it's stiff, cold, little body in my hands and turned it from side to side, heartbroken to have lost another chick. But then I thought of my Encyclopedia of Country Living where the author reminisced about watching her mother bring chicks back from death as a little girl. She said her mother would take the chick, put it in a box with a damp rag over the top and put the box behind the wood stove and next thing she knew they would be peeping again. I thought I'd try it and carefully held the stiff, sprawled, cold and lifeless body under the heat lamp. After a minute, the little limbs slowly softened until I could tuck them back in towards it's tiny body. With a few more minutes, there seemed to be faint signs of life, little struggling motions. Satisfied I was no longer holding a dead chick in my hands, I tucked the little thing into my shirt and dashed to the hose, accompanied by growing 'peeps'. Still needing to be on my way to Search practice, I left the chick in Tim's caring hands where he tucked it in with a hot water bottle under it's little birdie sick-bed, a bottle cap full of water, and a dusting of food. When I finally got home from practice, the peeping had grown loud and strong and regular and there were signs of recent digestion on the paper towels in the box. I stuck the littlest chick back in the hen house with its mama and sisters and brothers and it seems to be doing well ever since. It only needed a little warm-up break to catch up with the others and thrive again.

The unusual red-gold chick making use of the baby-only food and water.

The rest of the flock still beautiful. Hard to imagine they were so little and fluffy too, though so briefly.

 This is a video of the first mama, Mama Ukrane, leading her growing chicks around the yard, teaching them about the joys of grass. Notice that the chicks hear a startling noise and bolt back towards the coop and mama has to go join them and draw them back out again. This is probably longer than it needs to be, but I was watching them and realizing a mama chicken raising little chicks all on her own is a rare thing in our country these days and probably something most people have never seen. It's wonderful.(Unfortunately, the video seems not to be working quite right. Perhaps eventually I'll get it fixed...)

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After about two months of staying with us filled with late-night board games, Brother Daniel has gotten a job on the mainland, and with that, Daniel and Amanda found an apartment near the new job. Finally they get to stop living out of suitcases and settle in to a place of their own, but we will no longer have them so conveniently upstairs to spend time with. Last night we went on a last run to Home Depot all together and bought a nice stick of wood and I helped Amanda build a set of four bunny-boxes so each bunny has a private place to hop on and in. Today we headed to their new place, met the landlady who adored the bunnies, and moved all their boxes up three flights of stairs. Hopefully the electricity has been activated by now so they can inflate their airbed and sleep well for their first night in the new apartment. Welcome home in Washington!

Loss

Last night, as soon as the sun set, I hurried across the lawn to put the goat away before Oliver could hear me coming and run out of the warm barn into the cold night. When it is windy or rainy or freezing cold, I always try to beat him and never make it more than half way before he's at my feet. Last night I made it to the barn and he didn't greet me. I called his name as I poured the clattering food pellets into the goats metal dish. Still no Oliver. I went to his house and tapped and called to him and started digging out the straw bedding, careful not to be bit by a sleepy, grumpy pig. Still no Oliver, but I heard faint breathing, faint snorting.

Tim had started the car and was ready to head to Oak Harbor for groceries and dinner.
"Oliver isn't coming out for his dinner. I need help."
"He's probably just warm and sleepy in his bed. Should we go to Oak Harbor and see if he comes out and gets his dinner when we get back?"
"He never misses dinner. We should dig him out. Make sure he's okay."

His house is buried in the sand and straw under the goat beds. He has piled all the straw he could around his house, packing it in until only a pig-size tunnel remains through the center. I started pulling out handfuls of packed straw, hopeful that I had heard his dreamy snorts above the goats bleats and that he wasn't out in the snow somewhere, missing. I found his head. His eyes fluttered and his body moved just slightly. I wrapped him in the towel I had brought down and rushed him back to the house. We cranked up the heat in the 'farm room', I put him on my belly for body heat and got a hot water bottle on him to get his temperature back to normal. Tim's research said even a frozen stiff pig with no heartbeat or breathing can usually be thawed, given some warm apple juice, and be back in action. I was hopeful my shivering bundle would be back to rooting around by the time Daniel and Amanda made the hour and a half trip home from the mainland.

Outside in the barn, the water dishes had started to skim over with ice inside the barn - much colder than I thought or than the other below-freezing nights had been. In the chicken house, the water was frozen solid. I broke my "no heat in the barn" conviction and set up a heat lamp over the water. In the corner by the ramp to outside, I found I frozen hatchling - still wet from the egg but not a survivor. December 1st was my projected hatch date for this latest clutch of chicks and it looks like one came a little earlier than the others. I secured a board across the bottom of the doorway to the outside, closed the little door to keep more heat in, shut the windows, and clamped a board across the bottom of the nest in hopes of keeping the other seven chicks safe and warm under their mother as they hatch. December is the wrong time for new babies, and it will be incredible if any of them survive, but all three of the first clutch seem to be thriving, so I have hope.

When Brother Daniel arrived, Oliver had stopped shivering and was starting to open his eyes, but still not very responsive. Over the next few hours, things didn't improve much, and by 2am, Oliver had gone. Perhaps from some other internal problem that had left him extra vulnerable to the cold. Today we will bury him in the sun, under an apple tree - the place he would most want to be.

Oliver was a good pig, adventuring in Alaska with Daniel for the first year and a half of his life; snuggling in bed or slipping into a sleeping bag out on camping trips. This fall, he loved life on the farm; chasing the chickens looking for whatever goodies they might have found, racing across the lawn for Grandpa's treats, and laying in the sun on warm days. We will miss having a little critter, so dense with personality, so sure of what he wants, and so eager to see us. We will miss our little guy without a purpose, without a job, who's life was just for fun.

The littlest hen lays the biggest eggs

The night we killed all the roosters, Tim did everything he could to talk me into letting Big Chicken, #20, one of only two "buff" (orange) chickens live. That was the chick Tim kept sneaking into the house after the others had moved out to the barn. Big Chicken was the one to sit by the warm air vent on Tim's computer and keep him company. Big Chicken was the one to snuggle up on a reluctant and curious Tilly. Big Chicken was named such because he was nearly twice as big as the other chicks even in their first weeks of life - a tell-tale sign of being male. Meanwhile, Little Chicken, #19, the only other "buff" (orange) chick, the mini-me to Big Chicken, was the last to fit into the leg bands, weighing more than an ounce less than Big Chicken by the time they grew their first feathers (at a wee 4 ounces).

Little Chicken was always a little odd - while the other chicks grew in a round and fluffy matter, little chicken grew long and sleek. Other chicks weighing less than Little Chicken had fatter legs and feet, fitting the leg bands a week earlier than Little Chicken. Little Chicken was the first to grow a full set of wing feathers, which further accentuated the difference between the long thin bird and the fluffy, round flock-mates.

It's cheating to post the same picture twice, even a year later, but it must be done!

Here is the first batch of chickens, last year, early June.

Note the clear rooster perched on the bottom rung with a bright red comb growing. 

Also see the two orange chickens, Big Chicken on the left and Little Chicken on the right.

When it came time to kill off the extra roosters, only the two we still have looked anything like roosters - the rest looked pretty generic and indistinguishable from the hens. To pick which to kill and which to keep, we compared their growth charts - roosters are supposed to grow and develop a little faster than hens; we watched their behavior for signs of dominance - young roosters attempting to learn the chicken mating rituals; and we looked at their combs. While both roosters and hens can grow combs, the roosters tent to have big, beautiful, bright red crowns on their heads and waddles under their beaks, while the hens keep their combs more dull colors and close to their heads. In a flock of all-hens, one hen sometimes has a comb that is a little redder and fuller than the others, and takes on more of a leadership role, but that's as much as I've seen - and only when there is no rooster.

Some of the young hens last summer had almost no visible combs, while some of the young roosters clearly had bigger combs than I'd expect on even a full-grown hen. Other members of the flock were harder to tell the difference, but overall, I felt we did a good job with our sexing, and that the numbers came out to be about half the flock male and female was reassuring.

As the remaining hens and two roosters grew, my confidence in our process grew as we seemed to be right on all accounts. My fear we had accidentally killed a star-layer, mistaken for a rooster, before she had a chance was countered by the distinct lack of hidden roosters in our flock - until one day in fall. Suddenly, my smallest, most effeminate chicken was sporting something big and floppy and red off the top of it's head. It looked like a mistake that should be removed. The other chickens seemed to agree and picked at it a bit. On top of this tiny hen was a comb big enough to rival our star roosters, but flopped over and sad looking.

Suddenly I had doubts. Most strongly was the doubt that this particular bird fit into what kids these days call the "gender binary". I had yet to see crowing, particularly striking tail feathers, any sort of respectable size, or mounting, yet I also hadn't seen any time being done in a nest box, being mounted by the roosters, and there was that comb to think about. And maybe one striking tail feather starting to poke up. Chicken #19 was changed from "her" to "it" and marked for the next butchering date. Tim, desperate to save the last little yellow chick, tried to convince me of Little Chickens merits - reminiscent of the plea for Big Chicken. This time, however, Tim tried to claim that Little Chicken was the mysterious hen behind the large, round, white eggs in the hayloft of the goat barn. No evidence.

This morning, I headed down to the the barn for our morning ritual of feeding and letting everyone out, counting chicks and gathering eggs. As soon as I opened the door to the barn, the flock followed me in. If Little Chicken and Russia had elbows, they would have elbowed me out of the way. First, the big white hen jumped into the hay manger. We fed another flake of hay to the goats last night, so their cozy nest was gone. Russia circled and scratched and tried to get cozy for some laying. Little Chicken watched from her perch on the wall, squawking what sounded distinctly like "HURRY UP IN THERE! I GOTTA GO!" After a minute, Little Chicken gave up on waiting and hopped down to the hay, crawling under Russia and booting her out of the nest. Russia gave up and hopped down to the floor, protesting loudly. In under five minutes, a large, round, white egg popped out of our very little bird. I've had chickens since I was about 3 years old, but surprisingly, today was the first time in my life I have actually watched a hen lay an egg. I don't think Little Chicken even bothered to sit on the nest for a minute - more pushing and squatting than what Mama Number 9 is doing with her developing eggs.

Little Chicken on the hay-nest (They do have nice nest boxes in their own barn...)

- Side note - Speaking of those mama hens, Mama Ukraine and her three chicks have joined in the evening levitation practice, sleeping way up on the nest box shelf instead of down on the floor. I am trying to get them used to sleeping somewhere else before our December 1st hatch date when Mama Number 9 will hopefully need the good spot on the floor.

Back in the house, I added Little Chicken's latest egg to the carton and noticed that she is my dominant layer - providing a third of the eggs and being the only hen to seem to lay every day. Russia Hen, who was next onto the hay bale, gave me a tiny brown egg, making her my second most frequent layer and producer of the smallest eggs of the flock. In one glorious morning, Little Chicken has moved from the "red banded" kill list to the "green banded" long lifespan list. As the only bearer of such bright plumage, and best layer, she has proven herself to have valuable genetics, floppy comb included.

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I hate to make our family a footnote to a lengthy post on chicken gender identity, but so it goes!

Fish Expo: Ronnie posing as a fisherman, Ariel, Tim, and Joe admiring.

Tim's dad, Joe, and Joe's bride, Ronnie, returned to California yesterday after a brief visit during "Fish Expo" - the Holiday Market of Commercial Fisherman - radars and rain gear galore! Ronnie made a large batch of cookies the night before they left, but the cookies didn't even last until their departure. Thank you Ronnie for the delicious cookies!

Daniel shoveling and packing leaves, Petunia Goat helping by eating some.

Brother Daniel and his fiance, Amanda, spent today house-hunting on the mainland - hopefully they will soon have a place of their own. Yesterday Daniel got busy helping me with some manual labor around the farm - moving leaves down to the compost pile and stacking firewood by our bedroom door.

Dry firewood piled against our bedroom door. Old barn door leaning to act as a roof. 

This is the wood from the branches Dad "pruned" when we first moved in, now well seasoned.

We are looking forward visiting Tim's birth mother, Dawn, as well as Joe and Roni and meeting Roni's family, over Christmas. My parents are planing to be here, gifting us with farm and puppy-sitting for a few days while we get away. I try not to post about the future - it's cheating and not being present - but this is exciting news to share.

The last delicate flowers to survive the week of frost and remind us of spring.

Golden orbs of future

I have made a few posts recently explaining the wonders of chicken biology, and now I have some pictures for illustration. 

Our farm-sitting neighbor, Nancy, is finally home after a long trip to visit family, which meant it was finally time to open up and try the goat cheese I made over two months ago. It has a strong, goaty, good flavor, a bit like manchego cheese. We also stopped into the hen house so I could show off the mamas. 

The baby chicks are getting so big! They are rather feathered, and even ventured outside today in the below-freezing weather to peck at grass and learn about the ramp back into the house. 

Meanwhile, Mama #9 remained steadfast on her nest - warming and rotating her eggs with the utmost dedication. Unfortunately, her sisters don't seem to properly appreciate the important work she's doing and instead treat her like a nest-hog (despite the empty nest box next to her). Last time I counted, there were 14 eggs under her! And today, two more had been assimilated. A hen really shouldn't have to deal with more than 12 eggs at a time, particularly when it is below freezing out and she's a first time mama, doing everything she can to keep those babies warm. 

It seemed prudent to do what I could to lighten her work load - first removing the fake egg from her next, then marking all the eggs in the nest so fresh ones can be easily removed (and eaten), then finally "candling" each egg by waiting until dark and holing each egg against my brightest flashlight to reveal the mysteries inside. 

Fresh, empty egg - no baby growing in here!

I went through all the eggs twice a few hours apart, first with Nancy, then with Brother Daniel and Amanda, to be sure I wasn't snatching any developing babies from their mama. Mama #9 was very patient and calm as I felt around under her, drawing each egg out in turn, checking it, then moving it to under her other wing. The empty eggs we collected to take inside. 

This egg revealed a speckled shell in the light. The spots made identifying an embryo difficult. 

With the number of eggs under the mama reduced nearly in half, she can now spend more time and energy and heat caring for the fertilized eggs. The other eggs, with no signs of life, proceeded inside to phase II of testing: the float test. About half the eggs under the hen were growing and the other half were not. About half the eggs we removed were still good to eat (sunk to the bottom of the bowl of water) while the other half were not so fresh (stood on end in the water - due to a drying out egg with increased air inside the shell). The good ones we will be eating while the other four will be thrown as far as I can off the cliff.

Veins and an eye spot showing through the shell - sure signs of future life!

Seeing into the unborn shell of the chick was magical - like a chicken ultrasound but instead of looking at a screen with a scratchy image of the baby-to-be, looking through the eggs we could see the actual babies moving around, active in their shells only a week (or less) into their three-weeks of shell-bound growth. I didn't realize how much they would be moving about inside their shells, kicking their not-yet grown feet, flapping their undeveloped wings, and maybe looking back at the bright light with their newly-forming eyes. 

I am hopeful and excited for the December 1st hatch, though I made a point of not counting my chicks before they hatch. Less than 14, more than 3 eggs under her now - and a to-be-determined number of chicks in the future. 

To give a quick update on our current Honeymoon Point Census, we now have Grandpa, Tim, Ariel, Brother Daniel, Soon-to-be-sister Amanda, Father Joe, Mother-in-law Ronni, Tilly Puppy, Oliver Pig, Petunia and Esther Goats, 2 roosters, 11 hens, 1 androgynous chicken, 3 chicks, many eggs - and Daniel and Amanda's 4 bunnies (and, of course, all our spider friends living in the corners). With Joe came a very special birthday present for Tim which Joe has been traveling with for the last few months.

This picture doesn't do it justice, but Tim was making the most delighted face I have ever seen on him.

Tim now has a miniature metal lathe/mill machine, the perfect miniature counterpart to his larger machine, only about 4% of the size - I did the math and it really is about 4% of the size of the other machine, no exaggeration. Tim's large machine is as large as he could imagine ever needing for all our projects, though it struggles with the tiny precision of amateur rocket nozzles and some of his other projects. This miniature lathe is just the thing for those fine finishing touches, and even works with some of Tim's tools and accessories that were just a little small for the big machine.