This is our farm column from farmer Casey O’Neill. O’Neill is the owner operator of HappyDay Farms north of Laytonville, and a long time advocate for the cannabis community in Mendocino Co; more of his writing can be found here. The opinions expressed in this column are those of the writer. If you would like to submit a letter to the editor feel free to write to [email protected].
I head out for chores in the dawn light, well bundled against the cold North wind with a mug of coffee and a thermos of herbal tea. The storm blew in overnight, soaking rains wetting the landscape as May begins. As I feed the dog, cats and rabbits, the rain turns to snow; big, fat flakes falling against the tapestry of green spring. Snow late enough in the season that the oaks have already leafed out happens every few years, but it’s been awhile since I’ve seen it.
I climb into the pickup, push the clutch and turn the key; the engine roars to life. I shiver in the chill while the engine warms up, then I put the transmission in gear and nose out onto the driveway to head for the ranch. The defroster will start to warm up the cab right about the time I get there, and I contemplate leaving it running but decide against it. I open the gate and pull down into the barnyard and shut the truck off.
Snow is falling heavily now, silhouetted against the darkness of the hay mow as I face the east side of the barn. The beauty stops me in my tracks and I spend a moment enjoying the simplicity of it all. Then I see that the turkey hen is not in the chicken coop. She has roosted on the horse trough and looks wet and cold. I gather her up and open the door to the coop and tuck her in where the straw is dry and the body heat from the other birds keeps it warmer than the chill of a snowy morning.
The turkey has become something of a mascot and protector of the laying hens after the death of Igor the goose. She came to us via an elderly neighbor who could no longer care for her, and she has fit right in with the flock of laying hens. Most of the time she makes it into the coop at night, but sometimes she roosts outside. I think to myself that it was a poor choice on this night, which began dry and fairly warm but ended cold and wet with the storm that blew in.
I’m early to choring today because I need to move the chickens back down into the barnyard from their location in the north pasture. We’ve had mountain lion predation happening in the neighborhood during the past couple of weeks and have decided that the chickens may fare better closer in, nearer the livestock dog who protects the sheep and pigs. The birds can only be moved when they’re in the coop, and I think to myself that I should have moved them the night before, but I’m finding it harder to get up the oomph for the late evening effort this spring, preferring the early morning push.
As the thickening snow begins to stick on the ground, I pull the pickup into the pasture and get out the tow chain. I shut off the solar charger that powers the electrified poultry netting and untie the corner posts from their anchors. I take the fencing down, gathering the sections together into a bundle, first one half and then the other. I haul the fencing down to the barnyard, trying not to tangle it so it will be easy to reset.
The feed tubs, waterers and the trash cans of feed go into the truck bed. I put the transfer case into 4-wheel low and back slowly up to the coop. The tow chain goes over the ball hitch on the truck and each end wraps around the metal bars that stick out on the sides of the two 4×6 skids that the coop is built on top of. With the chain secured, I climb back into the truck, pulling off my wet gloves, glad for the warmth of the heater. I should have brought my insulated winter gloves, but I’ve been operating in springtime mode and didn’t think to grab them, so my hands will have to manage.
The towing is downhill, which is good in the slick conditions. I edge the truck down the gentle slope, careful as I go through the gate to adjust course so the wider coop doesn’t clip the gate post. Another 100 feet or so with a turn to the west and the coop is where I want it. I back up slightly to loosen the chain and then fumble and tug it out from around the metal bars on the coop skids. I unload the truck and move it out of the way, and I pull over an additional shelter from the barnyard to provide some extra hangout space for the birds during the storm. Then I reset the electric and open the coop door so the birds can come out if they want to. I fill the feed bowls inside the secondary shelter and some of the more adventurous hens cross the space from the coop to have breakfast. I fill the waterers, appreciating the irony of filling buckets of water when there is water all around and the snow continues to fall thickly.
Now that the chickens are cared for, I turn my attention to feeding pigs, sheep, and Booboo the livestock dog. When it’s lousy out like this I put hay under cover for the sheep, though they don’t much seem to mind the wet. Snow blankets their wooly backs, and they follow me looking for treats. The pigs get some soaked alfalfa pellets, which the sheep like to steal mouthfuls of when they can. This keeps everyone busy while Booboo eats, otherwise they’ll try to take her dog food.
Chores are finished and I’m starting to get cold, but Amber has texted that she’s made oatmeal and I know the fire I built before leaving will be warm and I have a second cup of coffee waiting for me. As always, much love and great success to you on your journey!
