The little red garden shed continues to “go away”. It is a bit difficult for someone like me to dismember the years this little building has served me. The butterfly nets from long ago still hang on the pegboard and the little fish bowl still sits on the shelf. Little by little we are undoing it. With its dismantle comes the memories. I have found my mom’s “Bobbing for Apples” for Halloween bucket with a hole in it leaning against a rotten wall, and a scattering of clay pots, fishing poles and tomato stakes stashed in corners all pulled together with cobwebs and years of old narrative. It has had its life.
It will come back as a garden shed once again but with new wooden walls painted red and a tin roof. It will also, I am hoping, have a large chicken coop attached to one side of it – that is what I wish for. I will then use my existing coop for broody hens and baby chicks. In all of the years I have kept chickens, I have never had baby chicks from my hens….maybe this spring?
It seems appropriate that our little garden shed comes down in the fall, Nature’s season of death and dying, and will, hopefully, be complete with fresh paint and baby chicks in the Spring when Nature wakes up once again and recreates Herself.
As autumn tries (and fails) so persistently to arrive here in the Deep South I have made a barnyard discovery, I think. It is about my rooster. He came after me today, an actual attack (scary). I suppose the abrupt hostility of the rooster, one I have had since he was 1 day old, must have something to do with mating and maturation. I don’t know this, just observing his possessiveness and aggression towards any threat to his flock. It’s all good, I totally respect him and the job he was born to do but I will have to be more careful when I am near the hens. He seems to prefer the sneak attack and the backs of my legs are his target. Also happening in the “barnyard” … my Americana finally laid her first beautiful blue egg.
“Two sounds of autumn are unmistakable…the hurrying rustle of crisp leaves blown along the street…by a gusty wind, and the gabble of a flock of migrating geese.” Hal Borland
I am waiting for both…