Wednesday, June 28, 2006, 22:10
It's a Bird. . .It's a Plane. . .It's. . .
There I was -- walking around the hayfield this morning with Charlie, minding my own business, when. . .
"Squawk--Squawk--Squeeeeeek!"
A large brown bird flew up in front of me.
It was a wild turkey.
A hen, to be exact.
Charlie was thrilled. I don't know what it is about wild turkeys, but they really get Charlie's attention. Maybe they smell exceptionally good to him.
The turkey flew a short distance and settled into the grass. Turkeys are better at gliding than they are at flying, and this one did not have much of a running start.
Charlie took off in hot pursuit -- jumping up above the hay every few steps to see where he was going. When Charlie leaps up as he's running, his long, brown ears fly out from his head. He reminds me of The Flying Nun (you remember that television show, don't you? With Sally Field?).
"Squawk--Squawk--Squeeeeeek!"
Charlie found the hen again. She flew up in right front of me, but this time she narrowly missed flying into me as she flew over the property line fence and into the neighbor's pines.
"Uh, oh," I said. "I hope you don't have a nest out here."
I turned to see what Charlie was doing. He was still zig-zagging back and forth across the field.
I waited to see if Charlie stopped, because if he did, I was going to have to make a run for it. A few years ago, Charlie found a wild turkey nest in the long grass on the other side of the hayfield. I knew he had found the nest because he came out of the tall grass dripping egg yolk from his muzzle and spitting out eggshell. I didn't walk in that direction for another eight weeks, and the next time we did go that way, the baby turkeys were big enough to fly up and get away from Charlie.
It's amazing how soon baby turkeys can fly. Not to mention dangerous. They are as bad as the adults -- blundering into things and crashing through the tree branches, scattering leaves everywhere. You might be able to say many things about wild turkeys, but they are not -- by any stretch of the imagination -- graceful.
As Charlie continued to zig-zag across the field, I had another thought.
What if the hen had babies with her?
As I watched Charlie, I didn't think it was likely she had babies with her, either. Because if she did, Charlie would not merely be running back and forth, leaping up to look where he was going. He would have his nose to the ground, and he wouldn't give up until he had caught one or until they had all flown away.
"Come on, Charlie," I said, continuing on around to the south side of the field.
Charlie was willing to come with me, so for the time being, any eggs or any baby turkeys in the field are still safe.
We're going to have to take a good look at the end of the hayfield, though. We're planning to cut hay this weekend. And if a wild turkey has her nest out there, we'll have to avoid that section of hay. I'd hate to think that the hay cutter chopped up a wild turkey nest.
I have to say, though, that the wild turkeys have been a spectacular success for the Wisconsin Dept. of Natural Resources. We have a good many wild turkeys around here.
Now, just as long as I can avoid having one of them fly into me when I go for a walk, I'll be fine. . .
LeAnn R. Ralph
Tuesday, June 27, 2006, 18:46
An Impossible Task
I learned something new today.
I learned that it is impossible to wheel a wheelbarrow three-quarters full of water without spilling some of the water.
If you don't believe me, get your wheelbarrow out of the garage or the barn or the toolshed, fill it three-quarters with water and pick up the handles.
See?
Picking up the handles is the first mistake. Water sloshes everywhere.
When I saw the wheelbarrow sitting by the barn three-quarters full of water from the rain we got on Saturday, I figured I'd like to use it to water something. Rainwater has been a scarce commodity around here lately, and I thought, why waste the water?
I didn't try moving the wheelbarrow until this morning, though, when I wanted to use it to move some hay.
A couple of cut-open bales of hay were still in the lane between Isabelle's pasture and Kajun's pasture, and I decided I might as well take the flakes of hay to the garden to use as mulch. But first, I had to do something with the water in the wheelbarrow. Besides dump it out and waste it.
I looked around and then spied the shallots planted a little ways away. Shallots are $7 a pound in the local grocery store. Shallots would definitely be a good thing on which to use the water.
We got the shallots a number of years ago from an elderly neighbor who called them "winter onions" and thought the bulb parts that grew on the top were junk and that the roots were the things to eat. The shallots had spread so much, he had pulled out most of them and threw them in a pile to rot. We asked if we could have some of them to plant in our garden, and he said, "sure, be my guest." The neighbor passed away five or six years ago, but I wonder what he would think to know that the top part of what he called "winter onions" are now selling in the grocery store for $7 a pound?
Anyway, the wheelbarrow of water needed to get to the shallots.
I picked up the handles. Water sloshed out. I set down the wheelbarrow.
Pondered the situation.
Picked up the handles again. More water sloshed out. Set the wheelbarrow down again.
And then, finally, I got the idea that maybe I should just slide the wheelbarrow on the grass until I reached the shallots.
I dumped half the wheelbarrow of water on the shallots and the other half on the wild rose bush nearby.
And then the wheelbarrow was empty and ready to be pushed down the lane to pick up the old flakes of hay -- the last of Isabelle's windbreak from last winter -- so that I could put the hay on the garden.
When I first saw the wheelbarrow three-quarters full of water sitting under the barn eaves, I thought maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to leave the wheelbarrow there to catch rainwater all of the time.
After finding out it is impossible to wheel a wheelbarrow of water -- I think a bucket is a much better idea.
LeAnn R. Ralph