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Thursday, Apr. 28, 2016

Brazil Buzz

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

My flock of barred rock pullets is basking in the warm sunshine today. I fed them, gathered the small eggs from their nesting boxes and hand-pulled a heaping basketful of very tender green grass from beneath the leaves that fell from the giant pin oak at the homestead. Those showy chickens thrive on my healthy menu.

I do not know if that slow middle aged barred rock rooster was grateful to receive such fine pickings. He is neither appreciative nor interested in anything else that comes his way. Could be, the adopted barnyard rooster's mother drop him on his head, at one time or another. He acts as if he is not sure how to get with the program -- a chick in "cock of the walk" clothing.

The harvest of the cornfield next to the little blue house at the end of his road is now completed. Acreage rests.

Deer and other animals, birds and insects forage the idled space for food night and day. It is marvelous how efficient modern farm machinery is.

The farmer completed the harvest, smoothly, in two days.

Now, I can see as far as my eyes will take me. There is so much to observe before fall plays out and winter's wonderment wanes away into next planting season.

There is an abundance of food, nuts, berries, etc., for wildlife around here. Nature provides adequate shelter and we add manmade habitat as well. Everything is, as should be, in the woodlands, fields and streams in my world.

I notice that our Tootie Mae requires plenty of warmth. When the heat springs from the duct, she enjoys the moments. She dislikes being anywhere that makes her shiver.

I plan to add a colorful handmade doggy quilt to her belongings, for comfort sake, for goodness sake.

I will wrap her up in her new cover at nap time, or bedtime, the times when I whisper "sweet nothings" in her ear and sing lullabies.

She is a good listener and I think she likes what she hears.

Last week, I split two loads of firewood. While sitting in front of that splitter, handling piece after piece, unbeknownst to me, a tick decided to attach him or herself to the skin near the small of my back.

The adult tick bore deep into the tissue and held on with all its might. That Lynch blood filled his belly and killed him before my handy little doctor discovered the ugly corpse.

Paul Baby detached the bloodsucking arachnid, properly and treated the entry site. The treatment hurt like, "help me!" Still, the area is angry looking today. I do not need a tick-borne illness, ever.

I cannot begin to tell you how many times over the years that I have aired that remark. More than a few ticks latched on to the nature lovers hide, to date.

I enjoy leisure walks along the trails on my land, but these days, I seldom go it alone.

Friends have sighted several coyotes. We hear their barks and howls coming from the spills toward the north forty. We spot them in the fields and hereabouts tracking rodents, birds and large insects. A pack of those nocturnal feeders can rip a person to shreds.

Recently, that happened to someone. One looks as if he was part of a special litter. Possibly a feral dog mated with a coyote female. The animal is much larger than a full-blooded coyote. He rarely comes out of the deep woods.

Last winter, a pack crawled out of their dens and found their way to our front yard. I thought they came across Gray, our rescued cat.

They made such a fuss the dog lost his cool.

That commotion under the maple tree near the house was more than I needed, while home alone. I turned on the porch lights. The noisy pack started at me and I started at them. Before I could blink an eye, the skinny wild scavengers disappeared into the black of night.

Uninvited hunters, some no doubt, without license traipse through our woods. I can tell by the amount of ammo the trespasser(s) fire and the frequency. Untrained minds and hands hold those firearms.

It is not safe to tend to my chores when activities like that are going on.

Pay close attention -- I do not trespass or take anything from you. I expect the same in return.

Thanks to my family and friends, old and new, that made my birthday so special this year.

It seems like only yesterday, Paul and I celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary at Traditions.

Well folks, we were married Nov. 15, 1957, 52 years ago come Sunday.

Some pessimistic killjoys predicted it would not last two weeks. Imagine that!

I know one thing for sure. If the union should collapse now, I get Toot-Toot!

You can reach me by phone at 446-4852 or by e-mail at pmlsartor@aol.com.