chicken nuggets not on the menu

Our friend Sarah and her collection of children were over on the farm hanging out wondering what to do when suddenly we had a small flock of baby chickens to deal with!  

Yes, that is exactly how it happened.  One minute it was oatmeal cookies and coffee and the next a mad race to catch a late hatch of birds.  

I think what I said was, “How did this happen?“  

“Not a good thing?“ Sarah asked.  

No, late chicks are not a good thing :c  

Of course one of them is gimpy send Boo-Bear to the rescue (sigh, will she never learn).  

And Jack, oh-crap Jack, she was way too interested in the babies.  We had to do some discouraging.  Little Pepper screaming, “You are a bad kitty, Jack!” 

But don’t worry Jack is a cat with a plan.  

She parked herself in the crate and waited….

Sophie not quite so impressed with farm life. 

BC ran to IFA while Beach held the gimp and Pepper and I chased off Jack.  Then the chicken round-up was on. Since we have been watching Discovery Channel Alaska, the last frontier, I offered to overly dramatically narrate the hunt for survival in the wild mountains for Utah but BC said it was not necessary since there were only 5 chicks left to get. 

We rounded them up pretty easily.  She wasn't too tough of a mother and because it is cold the chicks were slow, easy to grab.

Mom plus six just moved into the greenhouse.

  

seeing

Having nothing better to do we followed the trail of the homeless towards the river. 

My little gloden shadow practices walking blind through the field.  

In few hours she will walk on the high beam. 

She tells her dog the same thing I have told mine,

 "You fall in that river I'm not going in after you."  

There is art in the grass.

Thorns in the dog's paw.

There are empty houses around the corner.

And people sleeping in fields.

There are news reporters walking door to door looking for the name of a victim. 

And Police driving slowly down the streets searching for the perpetrator, the driver of last nights hit run.

The Christians are in the parking lot of their church giving away clothing & food to people who park their Cadillac SUVs in front of our house, who walk in designer shoes, carrying designer bags. 

Our house smells rich of hot syrup, crisp bacon, and pancakes. 

Trees drop the last of the leaves and a flicker, heard but not seen, makes his way down river away from us.

Across the railroad tracks and up the valley high onto the mountainous foothills one of our own is fighting for his life.

There are a millions things happening all at the same time.

I think we all walk blindly. 

Cutting through the tall grass heading home.

before we settle down

~now it can be winter~