Chickens

Notes from the North Coast

This blog could well be only about chickens. I have 11 at the moment, 2 "legacy chickens" that my sister gave me when she moved, 7 teenage chickens that Frank & I bought as day-old babies at the feed store and 2 pre-teen chickens.

The two old galz, Buff and Red, still lay eggs most days, even though they're over 7 years old. Red is pretty benevolent towards the pesky little ones -- she mostly ignores them -- but Buff shows them no mercy. "My food!" *peck* "My water!" *peck* "My space!" *peck* "I'm bigger!" *peck* "You're annoying!" *peck peck peck*

Once I get up to speed on putting pictures in here, I'll include some. But for now the thousand words will have to do. There are 2 Brahmas, beautiful black-and-white speckled feather-footed birds that will reach 9 pounds. Two are Rhode Island Reds, kind of the classic "little red hen" looking ones. They were the first to eat from our hands and taught the others we were ok.

One is a Black Austrolorp, a black hen; PJ is a Buff Orpington, a pretty golden-cream color; one is called a Gold Sex-Link, a cross between 2 kinds of leghorns in which only the hens are gold, so you don't get any pesky roosters unless you want them.

The 2 babiest ones are an Americana and a bantam Black Silkie. The Americana, LaVerne, is a cross between an Aracauna, a Chilean breed that lays blue, green or pink eggs, and some American breed. We have no idea what ours crossed with, but she looks like a little Kiwi bird, kind of speckled walnut color. The bantam Black Silkie, Negrita, is a tiny busy black ball of fluff, with another ball of fluff for a tail. Her feathers won't be like average chicken feathers, but more like tiny ostrich plumes. She has feathers on her feet too, and will have a swanky-looking top-knot when she's mature.

LaVerne and one of the Brahmas got sick with a disease called coccidiosis, a protozoan that lives in their guts but which can make baby chicks sick. So we had the two of them in a hospital cage in the garage for several days and medicated the water that all the chickens drink.

Frank's mother, Betty Lou, has half of the chicks we originally bought and raised in my dining room. Hers are all the same as ours except she has a bantam White Silkie named Danni and a bantam Salmon Favarole, a feather-footed dark-gold hen. Her Americana is more gray than ours, and it's named Baby Huey because even as a 2-day-old chick it was a huge handful, with gigantic cheeks just like the cartoon character.

At various times we've suspected that one or another is a rooster (there's a 10 percent error rate in sexing standard breeds and a 50/50 chance with bantams) but so far we're not really sure. The oldest are about 3 months now and the youngest are about 5 weeks. We should know soon.


As you can see we took chicken-taming very seriously. If you don't get them early, all they wanna do is play Tetris. This one is learning to Google.

Seen in Rush Hour Traffic

Notes from the North Coast

Now that I have a regular schedule, more or less, I leave my house at the same time each day, and each day on Highway 1, I pass the same car coming in the opposite direction. It's a small blue sedan with no hood, the engine gloriously naked as it churns down the road. There's a "For Sale" sign in the driver's side rear window. Depending on whether I'm early, late or on time, I might pass it close to my road, or near the little grocery store and gas station in Cleone, or closer to Fort Bragg. Each time I wonder, Why doesn't he get a hood for that thing? Who does he think would buy a car with no hood?

Hello, again, all

The last time you heard from me about life up here on the Mendocino Coast, I was keeping a hundreds-of-addresses email list, and that was quite a while ago.

Even though, or perhaps because, my life has speeded up a bit since I got here, I decided to jump in and try this method of updating. Hopefully it will keep me motivated and entering a few lines won't seem like such an undertaking.

I live in paradise, at the edge of the earth -- the Pacific coast 4 hours north of San Francisco -- and also sometimes on the edge of existence -- the economy up here is a tourism economy, plenty of low-wage, no-brain jobs, lots of money in the hands of visitors, very little in the wallets of locals.

For two and a half years, I clung to the economic underbelly of this place, combining several part-time jobs and never making ends meet. I did respite care for a county agency, looking after disabled kids so their parents could have a break; helped older and disabled people in their homes; took care of people's yards; declared myself a specialist in bulk mailing for several non-profits; wrote plant descriptions for a local nursery with a nationally-distributed catalog; wrote thank you letters and news releases for a charity out to get kidney dialysis services on the Coast; wrote and designed a couple of newsletters. I also had to make monthly decisions on which bill to defer. And when I met Frank, my sweetie, his unemployment checks seemed like notable regular income. But somehow in the midst of all that I still had time to go to the beach!

In February, challenged by my partner Frank, I applied and won a full-time job as supervisor in a caregiving agency. I hire and schedule workers, keep track of their hours for payroll, enroll new clients and market the business, all with varying degrees of skill and success. I also work weekends and some overnights as a partial trade for a lovely two-bedroom cottage with a fenced yard and an ocean view. I also see my Little Sister, Beth, once or twice a week. I am also still involved with the dialysis charity. I also daydream about retiring early, collecting a bunch of animals, planting trees, and getting an unlisted phone number.

So I intend for this blog to be snapshots of my life on the North Coast and also of the strange rat-race quality my life has taken on. In documenting that, I hope to be able to sort out what's essential and what can go. And maybe I'll entertain a few people along the way.