More Clearing Opened Up

During breakfast, Phil was reading in our beloved Husbandry when he had an epiphany. Nathan Griffith, apparently, had a flock of wonderful laying hens, but needed to expand his operation after a couple years. He ordered some new birds, and when the new chicks were introduced to the original flock, the older birds quit laying. Obviously, some pestilence was introduced with the chicks to make the older birds unproductive.

This was a complete epiphany, but like a missing puzzle piece. As I remember it, when we added our layer chicks to our layers, the diminution in eggs was so immediate and startling, that I initially thought the chicks were eating the eggs. Then, naive neophyte that I am, I assumed that the layers were simply having a second molting period, but when it stretched to two months, until the new chicks began laying, it seemed like simply one more added insult to injury.

Before we moved the chicks outside, we were getting a good dozen and a half eggs a day. That dropped to just about none (so that we didn't even have enough for eggs for breakfast). And now that the new chicks are laying, we are back to 18 on a good day. I don't think the older birds ever resumed.

Except for the free-ranging ones, that have, apparently, escaped the scourge of mystery. They have consistently laid an egg a day, usually somewhere in the barn.

The signs are very obvious in retrospect, but not at all clear while living. What to do? Kill the old birds, probably, and start with birds from a new hatchery at some later date. (Preferably next October, because I prefer to raise layers starting in fall, not the spring: let them overwinter while growing, and wait to have their first molt until they've been productive most of a year.)

After reading this, Phil was inspired to scour the layer boxes. So he scraped and washed and disinfected, then moved their house to a new location in their current pen. I think there was a lot of unmentionables; it took him several hours.

Next, Phil was heading to the lower pasture when he noticed a little section of thick, new growth. He had been meaning to clear that dense patch for some months, and suddenly thought, "I will just do it a minute."

The base of our finger now looks much more open, more free.

I like this spot now!

The saplings he laid out along the road to the lower pasture as a little corduroy road. While it doesn't offer much additional traction in dry weather, in damp weather, we hope it will help.

And since the road has been compacting drastically in the two years we've been here (either that or washing away), it is good to get some protective cover on it. Keep that soil where it belongs.

I finished weeding the greenhouse today, and planted raspberries until every spot was taken. It astounds me how much more foliage the plants have that were planted into tilled and amended soil, rather than into untilled soil. In retrospect, I should have planted the most vigorous raspberries into the good greenhouse soil, not the runts. It could be I end up transplanting the greenhouse plants out and better plants in.

Argh! More repeated work!

I don't know if it's allergies, or the occasional 3am wake-up, but I felt absolutely ill when I finished weeding.

I went down to the chicken's patch, and started to dig up some of the more pernicious weeds. It looks like we have a few enormous burr-plants, and some other nasty pricker bushes. Not to mention the finite-but-growing clumps of Johnson grass.

It's a mess. I sank into the depths of despair: why are we trying this endeavor, with our 1-gallon-a-minute well, our depleted soils, and our fast-growing weeds?

Phil offered hope: the asparagus, which we've weeded only a few times this year, is thriving and beautiful. It's a bummer to have a garden replenished with weed seeds and grass rootlets, so we'll have to be diligent in the future, and not bite off too much. But we can do it!

And then we had a debate about what to do with the very nasty weeds. Most sources say to send them to the dump, or burn the nontoxic ones (i.e. don't burn poison ivy). But Phil wondered if it was better to keep all that organic matter on the farm. After all, if nature composts, wouldn't weed seed carbon compost just like any other, assuming a hot enough pile?

Our book references (Eliot Coleman and such) apparently don't deal with noxious weeds, being perpetually on top of their weed problems, so they offered no solution to the conundrum.

Our five pigs are yet with us. Chunky looks a bit wild, with his hair standing up.

Buttercup remains watchful of us, the piglet snatchers.

And if you were ever curious what pig courtship looks like, now you know. The boar tries to dominate the female, who demurs until she is good and ready.