Category Archives: Poetry

Sometimes I feel sorry
For our poor hen Blue
She wanders ’round the homestead
Looking sad and…blue

She tries to join her old flock
Those mean and brutal hens
The older ones are heartless
They chase her from their pen

But then, when I’m most saddened
By her mournful cries
We find where she’s been laying
The eggs that we most prize

Behind the fragrant roses
We see her little clutch
And if we really want them
The thorns we’ll have to touch

It’s then I’m not too sorry
For her lonely plight
She’s repaid our love and kindness
With little thorny bites

As the days get shorter and the temperatures start their downward spiral, we are preparing the homestead for winter.

Most of these preparations center around our flock. Last year, we decided to carry only 6 birds over the winter. It seemed to work out and we averaged 4-5 eggs a day. Enough for us to eat and share with our family.

This year I’m not sure what we will do.

In the meantime, we’ve made a few changes to the living arrangements.

The Condo

The leghorns and Pecky are all hooked up the chicken tractor. That’s right, the old gals got the boot.

At first, they were intimidated by their new condo. They needed a bit of encouragement to walk up the ramp, but once they figured it out they were quite happy with their new digs.

The Apartment

The older gals were demoted to a small apartment in the form of an upside down blue tote with a hole for a door.

They still have plenty of room in their pen, but they are definitely not happy, and they have no problem voicing their discontent…loudly and frequently.

The Studio

And Blue. Poor, poor Blue. She wants so badly to be a part of a flock. She’s tried jumping in with the leghorns several times…almost daily in fact. But they just don’t want her.

After hooking the leghorns up to the coop, she took to roosting on top of the ramp, hoping to be let in. They all just strutted past her, not even acknowledging her presence.

So, we took the little tote that they had been using prior to their move and made her a shelter.

Since she normally roosts right on top of the big pen, we put her studio apartment right next to the mean bullies who won’t let her rejoin their ranks.

Who needs ’em I say. Blue has the run of the place and can eat all the bugs, worms and scraps she wants. She has full reign in the garden beds and can munch on marigolds or amaranth whenever she wishes.

Initially, I thought Pecky would be my favorite. But, while I still think he’s a beautiful bird, I’m more partial to our underdog.

She’s become more used to us, even letting me pick her up without protest…occasionally.

I know there is a big clutch of eggs somewhere on the homestead as we’ve yet to find her new nest, but even that minor annoyance does not lessen my attachment to her.

She’s pecked her way into my heart.

Sad and lonely Blue
Wistfully watching the flock
Longing to belong

Each time she opens up the pen
I jump inside to see
If any of the other hens
Have yet forgiven me

First they circle ’round me
Giving me the glare
And I know I’ll soon see
Their little nostrils flare

They haven’t quite forgotten how
I crunched on all their eggs
But I couldn’t get close to the chow
Not even through their legs

What choice did they give me?
What other way could I
Get enough food to be
Alive and not to die

So I guess I’ll still wander
And strut around the yard
One day they may grow fonder
Or at least let down their guard