Laziest Mower In The World

Much to the consternation of the neighborhood, not only do I keep a rooster who crows incessantly, but also I avoid mowing the lawn as much as possible.

Limited time, more rain than usual, and a general contempt for the act has caused my grass to not only grow past knee high, but actually go to seed. My lawn doesn't need to be 'mowed', it needs to be 'harvested'!

Well, yesterday was one of those days that was made for living! The sky was clear, the sun was shining, it was not overly hot, so I fired up the mower AND let the flock out! With the grass at this level, there is no way to do the entire lawn in one shot. So, I concentrated on the parts that face the roadside and the part shared with the neighbors. The chickens are not overly afraid of the mower, but neither do they love it. So, they found other more serene places to be whilst I set about the task at hand.

I don't obsess over the state of my lawn (obviously!) But moreover, I rather delight in the wildflowers that grow within and the multi-levels that lawn achieves. It becomes downright a 'meadow' when it is particularly out of hand. I love it. Everyone else, not so much. So … I'll mow.

It pains me to mow through the cornflowers, lady's thumb, clover, wild strawberry, thistle, goldenrod, dandelions, plantain, etc. just in the name of having flat, even green. As I mow, the crickets make way, the moths and butterflies alike take flight, and I have disturbed their manner of life. Yet, mow I do. The chickens don't like the grass when it is overly long either, so for their sake and for the sake of neighborhood 'beautification' I'll do the task.

Hard to tell from the photo, but here is a section that I mowed against the sheer length of the grass gone to seed. I am of the mind to leave even a small patch of the seeded grass to replenish the lawn naturally. Birds, bugs, and other critters might make off with some of the seed, the good earth will take the rest and hopefully life will be renewed once again.



On such a glorious day, the flock enjoys the freshly mowed patches as they scratch around for tasty greens and insects. There are somes that love the sunshine.

And then again, there are somes that love the shade.

Lawn clippings are deposited in the run so the flock can continue scratching away once they are obliged to go back inside.

And, at the end of the day, herself will come home a hard day's work to a wee 'vase' of wildflowers from our own yard to decorate the table in a very simple, homespun way. 

Eight Little Chicken Heads.

Well, the flock is aging but still living up to the Layers' Union negotiated contract of three or more eggs a day in exchange for appropriate treats with the right percentage of mealworms.

Mealworms and cracked corn mixed are tossed in and the hens stand stone still watching where the treats land and then scurry off, toppling over one another in order to be first to the choicest bits.

The other day I found myself in the unenviable position of being OUT of both mealworms AND cracked corn! Uh oh. This might be trouble.

Undaunted, I thought to 'trick' them by tossing in a handful of feed.

I tossed the feed into the air just like with the cracked corn/mealworms and eight chicken bodies stood still as eight little chicken heads rotated in perfect synch, tracking the trajectory. Eight little chicken heads followed the path all the way until the feed hit the ground, and then eight little chicken snapped back to my direction with complete understanding of just what I had done.

They stood still once again. They glared at me with absolutely no expression in the way that only judgmental hens can and the growing feeling in the pit of my stomach brought to mind the words of Quint from the film Jaws.

"Y'know the thing about a shark, he's got... lifeless eyes, black eyes, like a doll's eyes."

Beaten down with guilt, I trod with slumped shoulders into the house. Chickens will eat almost anything, so I scanned our larders for something to sacrifice to our little contemptuous egg goddesses.

The following is a list of leftovers I came up with. Please note that A) NO leftovers given to chickens should be rotten or moldy! And B) These treats are fine, but not everyday ... only on rare occasions.

Left over corn.

Left over bread.

An odd tomato that wasn't enough for a proper salad.

Left over sliced deli ham that was only just enough for a sandwich.

It's been a great while since they had a ham sandwich, even if it is in a broken apart form, so I tore the bread into crumbles, sliced the tomato into largish pieces, and tore the slices of ham into four or six largish pieces each.

Back to the run and I laid out the fare, but QUICKLY turned away to check their regular feed and water rather than face their judgmental gaze in case they disapproved of the substitute.

A long time reader of this blog who is possessed of attention to minutia may remember Myrtle, with the bent toe. As a BRIEF reminder to the rest of everyone, Myrtles toe became bent when she was just a week old and herself and I fretted whether or not she might be debilitated. Quickly we discovered that she could stand, perch, walk, and run just fine! In time, we also discovered that she was the queen of the fast-dash grab-and-go with treats. She would be first in with a surgical strike, and off again with her prize to enjoy in peace.

Thus ... and remember, this was in an instant ... as I turned to regard the feed and water, Myrtle DASHED between my legs as quick as a flash, the largest piece of ham clenched in her beak, flapping and dragging behind her.

The substitute treats were accepted, the Layers' Union mollified, and peace was restored once again.

The Lords of All We Survey.

August is upon us and it is a time of plenty and easy living. There are always chores to do, but the lawn doesn't need mowing as often, spring cleaning has made the house a little bit more manageable, and we can all sit back and breathe a little easier for a spell.

Herself works on Saturdays, so as a surprise, I took the time to get the kitchen and bathroom into some kind of shape and even cooked a fine dinner for her to come home to of Lemon Pepper Chicken (no, not from one of our own) and a cold Blue Moon in a frosted glass with a wedge of orange (as is the style). I am a terrible cook, but she was well pleased with the results and managed not to wretch or come down with any form of food poisoning.

So here we are. The lords of all we survey.

Not-My-Cat lazing on our potting table (couldn't get a picture, he got up and took to begging for a free meal as soon as I stepped outside).

Coq Au Vin strutting around on the front boards as a literal vision of the "cock of the walk".

And humble me. Sitting on my porch, mildly sweated up from summer heat and morning chores, contemplating the majesty of all of creation. King or pawn, I am just so well pleased with everything that is.