Can you believe that all nine baby chickens are still alive? And here's a terrible and shameful confession: they do not all have names.
Some of them I really can't tell apart. Here are the barred rocks eating cornbread. Now I think this is a pretty picture of some pretty chickens.
I think they're going to be named after the sisters on Petticoat Junction. Yes. I was born when the earth was still cooling.
So. From left to right- Billy Jo, Betty Jo, and Bobbi Jo.
Billy Jo is darkest, Betty Jo has longer tail feathers than Bobbi Jo.
Fuck. I'll never remember this.
Here they are in the garden, helping me with insect and weed control. And, uh, that's Billy Jo in the middle.
Here are the three red chickens and two of the banties. Do you remember when my next-door neighbor asked me to take the red chicks? Remember the little one whose foot was all curled up and we put the bandage shoe on it? So one of those is darker too and I'm not sure you can tell, but is starting to show some of the black lace trim of her/his grandfather, Elvis. Whichever one of those chicks is the smallest and lightest is Lucy for Lucky Lucy- the one who had the funky chicken foot. The other two, for the moment, shall remain nameless.
Here we have Dearie. I think. Or, Deerie, as the case may be. Look at the beautiful patterns on this bird! Isn't she a pretty little thing?
Here's Blossom. Not a good shot. Blurry. Sorry. She moves fast. But would you look at the crazy patterns of that one? And the feather-feet?
Pretty little Violet, whom I did not think would live through her first night here. Her feet are feathery too.
And that is all of the young'uns. I can't help but think that the barred rocks will soon begin laying. Maybe the banties, too. The red ones have a way to go yet. I have no idea if any of them will turn into roosters. At this point, I don't see any overt signs pointing in that direction.
Mr. Moon is in his chair in the Glen Den, resting. I ran out into the rain to take a picture of him pulling up to the burn pile in his truck which was loaded down with the trimmings he did today.
Damn bamboo. He worked so hard. Too hard, really. It's been brutally hot.
I'd love to start watching some of the new season of "Orange is the New Black" tonight but we can't find our Roku remote for love nor money. How sad is that?
Last night we happened onto one of the first episodes of the newest season of the "Great British Bake-Off" and that made me so happy. Such sweet people making such sweet cakes. Mary Berry or whatever her name is, is not that sweet though.
"The sponge is dry and tasteless!" she pronounces with great vigor, and the person who baked that particular sponge wants to die, I can tell. And the poor guy who tried to slip beet juice into the Black Forest Cake! The horror! The shame!
Don't try that at home, people.
And I am caramelizing onions and am about to cook some venison back strap. It's been a good day. I've had a good time writing away and looking up things on the internet about Cuba and then doing some weeding in the garden with the assistance of my chickens.
Life in Lloyd is fine tonight. I hope it is where you are too.
My beautiful (step) sister had chickens growing up. Her mom named all 12 of the chickens after her own mother, Shirley. Shirley 1 - 12.ReplyDelete
Birdie- That's hysterical and wonderful.ReplyDelete
Chickens are gorgeous. I know because I went to the State Fair and there were SO MANY KINDS, I was staggered and backed out of there right quick. I had no idea. Especially the ones with iridescent black and purple feathers. I mean, the damn gene pool. Honestly.ReplyDelete
I love you always. And if I ever visit my sister in Florida, I'm finding my way to your homestead, you can be sure.
As a person newly photographing and observing the photographing of birds, I can tell you right now that those are some beautiful chickens. I think at least one of them should be named Carl.ReplyDelete
Well, I just finished catching myself up with your trip writing. So fascinating, particularly about Hemingway. Lovely photos. Lovely chickens too. I hope I can go to Cuba one day but if not, I'll always remember your writings, thank you.ReplyDelete
I think it's amazing you can keep track of all those chickens. As you know, I can't! I love the feathery feet.ReplyDelete
Ohhh, all those chicken pictures make me want to get hens again. We used to keep a small flock of hens for years and years, but I stopped because I was tired of the winter chores of slogging through snowbanks with buckets of water. I never realized how wonderful our eggs were until I had to start buying eggs from the grocery store. I love your barred rocks. They are beautiful!! -JennReplyDelete
Ahhhhh, a nice update from Lloyd.ReplyDelete
you can call all the rock hand BJ for short, that way you'll never be wrong.ReplyDelete
Ha, yes, I was going to say their names are as confusing as they are, but at least you can just call them all BJ. If that's not a bit awkward ;)ReplyDelete
Beautiful chick-pics, though!
My mother's name was Diane, and her sisters were Joane, Betty-Anne and Suzanne... and their father married an Ann after their mother died. Odd one.
Mary is slightly kinder than Paul Holllywood, who reminds me of a giant angry baby. 'I don't like it', he grumps, as if personally affronted by their flavour choices. 'Where's my banana custard?'
Just catching up, I just love your Cuba photos and stories. I can't believe those are the same chickens you had in the bathtub, where does the time go? GailReplyDelete