In the last post, I promised you an update on Plan473. Unfortunately, there has not been much going on as all the time is devoted to the Work Box and it entails. There have been so many trips to the Big City #1 and #2 over the last six months I can't even keep count. Miles and miles of Texas...
Or how about this one: the sun has risen, the sun has set, and we ain't left Texas yet. One of my all-time favorites. Traveling for days in a hot summer car with no AC, vinyl seats with sweat pouring down your back and sticking to your legs, and the lovely smell of exhaust coming in the back window. Oh, don't forget this is at a steady clip of 55mph. Yee-haw boy howdy those were the days.
On one of the many trips we made a side trip and collected grain buckets. No, we are not getting horses or cows or goats (much to my dismay as goats eat poison ivy). The buckets are going to be used for an above ground bucket garden (hopefully) and to replant many of the potted plants. Each bucket will take one and a half maybe even two bags of dirt/mulch they are so big. Just look at this poor bottle brush, not only it is wind burnt, his growth has been stunted by the too small pot. I can't fix the wind, just the growth room. Ugh, wind.
Remember I told you about the wind. I am sure it has been mentioned a time or two or twenty. The wind is a constant thing here. Constant. As in when the wind does not blow, people are standing around with a confused look upon their faces. Who? What? Where? Huh? Aliens? Is the end of the world coming?
The wind does crazy things. In the winter, the wind blows from the north and only slows long enough to blow once again from the south. Long enough here means a few hours. It blows and blows turning sand into stinging bits of grain. It blows until leaves are burned and plants are withered. It blows leaving weird impressions on the ground where plants rub. Heard of crop circles, right? These are wind circles.
With no time to wait for desirable weather, the planner had to modify the welding basket with a tarp and boards to secure the tarp. It was debated to add pool noodles to create a soft barrier to push against the box when welding but decided against it as the sparks would cause the noodle to catch fire, melt, cause drama. The wind is drama enough.
The wind blew the bale of hay off the water toter and the bird brains had a field day. A FIELD DAY. Hay was spread for miles and it wasn't even a full bale of hay. It less than half. Could they scratch this effectively in the field? No. Guess greenish grass doesn't fly into the air when scratched ferociously. Scratch, fly, scratch, fly. Birds have been known to have little to nonexistance brain capacity. I don't really believe this rubbish, but then there are times...
And since their ryegrass bed in the coop had exhausted itself by mid-March, they have been forced to venture out more and more.
Venturing is important as the temperatures are rising and they still do not have shade in their coop.
First, they started with areas close to the boxes. Safe places they have been to before. An added benefit was the dog's water bowl. Why go back to the coop when we can just drink here? The dog doesn't seem to mind. I tried to catch a picture of two chickens standing on the bowl. It was a feat. Two birds worked fine. A third try to join, the bowl tipped, and birds fell off in a rustle of feathers and squawks. Yet still no pictures. Hard to take when your laughing so hard tears are building up. Bird Brains.
These birds are a mess. Sometimes I think they have forgotten they are chickens. Climb a tree, venture among the trees in chicken made paths. Do something other than stand on my porch. One day the Kid and I were pulling sunflowers from the walkways when we a rustle in the coop. It was a cacophony of irritated chickens.
Thinking the worst, we hustled over there to nothing more than chickens. No opossum, no raccoon, no snakes, no cats. Just chickens with a pecking order issue. The rooster was in the nesting boxes. Not only was he in the box itself which was enough of an issue to cause a squawk. He had squeezed himself into the CHOSEN nesting box. The CHOSEN box. Needless to say, the hens were not having it. It was impressive he could fit inside and have the ability to turn around so he could get out. The boxes are designed for the small hens. He is twice the size of the largest Black Sussex and three or fours times the size of the little Americana. Bird Brains.
While this was not our bird, the beautiful bluebird, flew into the glass door one day and instantly died. I have read about the number of birds that die year and year for this same reason. But the office door is on the ground, not a high rise. He even left a little bird dust on the door. It was so sad. He received a proper burial far away from the gopher digging dog-o. Poor little bird.
Finally, we had an alien outbreak. For weeks, mysterious circles were appearing on random mornings and partially throughout the day. But with the wind always blowing, the sand was dry and the circles were not completely understood. One morning when there was a high level of morning dew, the true image presented itself. Not alien circles. Not wind circles. Not crop circles.
Dog-o circles. She did this last year but time erases the memory. As this is the only time of the year she does it, the circles must have something to do with a skin allergy in the spring. While chomping and chewing in a frenzy she turns in a complete circle. And she usually only does it in the mornings. Chomping Circles. Dog Brains.
See not much has really happened at Plan473. Just the normal everyday life things. Hopefully, as the Work Box settles down, Plan473 will pick up again.
