A Frozen Chicken Ranch

Ten below zero wind chill here at the Chicken Ranch this winters morn. The ground is frozen and unyielding as I hobble out to feed today. A recent attack of gout/arthritis has put a hitch in my giddy-up.  My ankle has swelled up like a hammered thumb. The uneven and hardened surface makes the trip to the critter pens less than joyful, as each step sends daggers of pain shooting up my leg. It’s been a long time since I’ve had an attack this severe. Drinking tart cherry juice each morning has proven very effective in keeping the Scottish Curse away. But I changed to another brand of cherry juice recently, and I am now paying for trying to save a few dollars. Going back to the original pure tart brand.

As I go to provide water and food to the domesticated creatures here, I ready myself for breaking the ice, draggy wooden gates, and putting out extra feed. The winter conditions are stressful on livestock, poultry, and for that matter, chicken ranchers. The bitter cold nighttime temperatures have made life a bit hard for the wild animals too.

Some days, slaking their thirst is a major challenge for the deer, turkey, and waterfowl that live in abundance around us. Most creeks, ponds, and rivers are frozen over. The nearby Sangamon River is a frozen stack of white dominoes. Three foot square blocks of eight inch thick ice are in a frozen scalloped state, one block riding the back of another. The animals walk the banks looking for a thin layer that might yield and provide a frigid drink. And that can prove dangerous to them. Last year, my grandson, Kirkland and I found a good size buck in a creek during one of our walks in the woods; it may well have broken through the ice and drowned.

 I pour water into the chickens containers. Songbirds that have braved the winter, flock in as I leave, and guzzle the life sustaining liquid with gusto. They prod and crowd one another for a chance to drink. The cardinals and blue jays scatter the smaller birds as they fly in. The doves, though the biggest of all, come in quietly, and seem not to want to create a fuss. The hens too are taking advantage of the warm water before it freezes over. Our hens are hearty Plymouth Rocks and Rhode Island Reds. They can handle the cold as long as they are out of the wind at night. They walk through the snow in the hen yard, even when the breeze ruffles their feathers, and a white dusting lies upon their backs.

The wood pile has depleted significantly in recent days. The crackling fire and dancing flames warms us inside and out,  on these long frigid nights. The wood stove brings the work shop to a comfortable temperature, making necessary projects easier to accomplish. Something cozy about a wood stove on a snowy winters day. There is a nice contrast of the warmth of the stove and the snowflakes drumming the window pane.

When there is no snow, farming country has a sepia tone look in the winter.The houses and barns sit on an island, surrounded by a sea of brown dirt and guarded by stark black trees. The pastures of ranches and farms are a faded, barely green; nothing like the deep lush color that a wet spring would produce. It makes a body look forward to spring . That being said, I do like the seasonal changes.
 
The heat and humidity of summer are replaced by the milder temperatures and drier air of autumn. Winter brings snow to cover the colorless surface, indoor pleasantries, and snug warm coats. Spring brings renewed life, a sea of color, and the promise of summer, with its long days and short sleeve weather. If variety is the spice of life,  Midwest weather is definitely lively.

While it's frigid here now, the weather man says a high of 60 degrees may be ours in a few days. As it is said often here, "If you don't like the weather in our part, just wait a few hours, it'll change." As I limp back to the house, with my collar high on my neck, and my cowboy hat riding tight to my skull, I'm thinking of a line from an old song, " ...and change gonna do me good."