New chickens on the Ranch; days of sun after so much gray

By Bebe and Sissy Fenstermaker

The sun is out for a bit of time today. We don't plan on much bright light these days, having had rain, mist, slush, drip, and drizzle for six weeks straight. There have been only five days of sun during that whole time. Walking to the pickup this morning was more ticklish than ever because we've gotten six inches of rain in the last four days. The caliche and gravel road base had become the consistency of fluffy nougat candy. Last night when I tried to open the corral gate to let the cattle in, both my rubber boots stuck fast in deep mud and I got free only after some real exertion. If the cows had decided to push past me without waiting they'd have bent me over backwards, feet glued in the ground. What a mess!

On one of the days of sun last week all the wildlife came out for Vitamin D. There were six happy wild turkeys in the black-capped vireo habitat looking the brush piles over for nesting sites. Wild geese flew northward in their wandering Vs enroute to panhandle grain fields. A scaled lizard dared me to move him from his sunning spot on a bale of hay in the barn. Later that evening when driving down the Ranch road, three nice plump feral hogs dashed out of the habitat and into the field. Assessing the quality of Easter ham roasts on the move, I lightly tooted the pickup horn at them. As I came back in focus and continued down the road I saw, to my horror, the hunter's pickup parked down the road. He had been in the hunting stand, certainly aiming at the hogs and I had interrupted the hunt! Later the other guys confirmed that Preston had indeed drawn a bead on a hog but did not shoot because he didn't want to surprise me.

I have ordered baby chicks and will split the order with a friend. The hatchery I usually order from does not have a hardy line of Rhode Island Reds, so I found another place to try. That has not worked out very well. The new hatchery would not let me order directly from them because a chain of ranch product stores is in our area and they will only go through them. I'm not very comfortable depending on another's conscientiousness in getting baby chicks from the post office on time; I like to get them as soon as the call comes. But we went in to the store and placed a laborious order. The salesman called the hatchery on the phone and placed the order while we waited. I got the due date and paid the bill. On the appointed day no call came. After a couple of my calls the store contacted the hatchery and -- surprise, surprise! -- they had no record of the order. I should have quit then but they gave another due date and the store manager apologized. Now, a week later, the chicks have arrived and I have never seen such travel-weary chicks. Double handling is not good for them and this morning I found the littlest one dead. It just had had too many hands on it and too many heatings and coolings. It took the whole bunch many hours to settle down last night; their peepings were loud as they swayed sleepily on their tiny spraddled legs, afraid to relax and nestle down. After so much jostling they were still trying to stay alert to avoid being trampled by the others. This morning they all are completely collapsed and sleeping soundly. I may have to give up finding a robust line of Rhode Island Reds and use the original hatchery because their chicks arrive in better shape. In this chick group there are tiny Lakenvelders, which will grow to be lovely fast-moving white hens with black heads and necks and black tails. Also, I'm trying for the first time speckled Sussex which will be rust brown with a white dot on the end of each feather. Americanas were included in order to get blue and green eggs, always a surprise to my egg patrons. I am also trying Delaware chicks for the first time. These are a line developed in the U.S. mid 20th century and are supposed to be good layers of brown eggs. My neighbor laughed that the fox will like those because they are mostly white and nicely visible.

This has been a sad month because we have lost visibility of two wonderful members of our family. Little Chispa, our sister's dear 15-year-old Spitz companion, has died. We will miss the sight of the two of them taking their walk down the block, checking all bushes and yards for interesting smells and sights. Chispa always met us at the gate, never failing to welcome us with her big smile; she was such a looked-forward-to person. She ran her bustling dog, cat, human, and poultry-filled yard and household with precision and elegance. Genevieve, my adopted child and deer, died last month, and now Sissy's yard is much quieter. Her family still swirls around at mealtimes but the interpreter is not there. It is nearly impossible to describe the experience of being a part of a deer's life and family but three of us humans do know and have had the honor.

Bebe Fenstermaker

I am not sure spring is with us yet; however, it's beginning to look so. This morning the “quien sabe pear” in full bloom greeted me. Bless its heart, it is so beautiful with its fluffy white blooms. However, the fragrance of them draws not bees but flies. And the fruit, though it is definitely a pear in color and shape, is as big around as the end of my little finger. I hope the fruit is satisfying to wildlife. I enjoy its color in the spring and the fall. Shrubs such as agarita and mountain laurel began blooming in late February. The redbuds are just now starting where as in San Antonio they began blooming three weeks ago. Of course, the anemones were the first wildflowers I saw, white, blue, and pink. Now others, such as golden groundsel and the various buckeyes, are either blooming or just before doing so. February has now slipped into March and the latter's winds are whipping along. I have not had to water anything in so long it slips my mind. I have to consciously remember that with all the wind pot plants will need a little watering.

The other day as the dogs and I were returning from our walk, three red-tailed hawks circled overhead, announcing their presence with high pitched calls. They swooped down, sailing over and around the fields, rising just in time to clear fences or a line of cedars. Like us, they were enjoying the third day in a row of sun, after so many gray, wet ones. The songbirds suddenly went from much twittering to silence. A male and female cardinal flew by, just clearing the ground to the nearest group of trees. Bebe and I have seen turkeys lately, both along the county road and in pastures in and around the Ranch and Frommes. Just the other day as we were driving the Ranch road a hen and six of her last summer's brood crossed in front of us on their way to the creek. Of course, we are thrilled to see them around again. Now, if only we could get the bobwhite quail to return.

The Egg and I by Betty McDonald is a book I recommend for a fast, humorous read. It was written in the 1940s about the struggles she and her husband went through establishing a chicken egg business in the wilds of Washington State. I hope to find her other books as I bet they will be as entertaining. From her work, the various films about the Ma and Pa Kettle family were produced. I remember those films and how much we enjoyed them.

Today I could cheerfully have throttled a mass of motorcycle folks on my way to the Boerne Post Office. I waited for the whole bunch to pass ahead of me at a four way stop intersection thinking it would be easier rather than to get into the middle of them. I took a back road into town as they headed up IH-10. Well, upon approaching the bridge over the Cibolo Creek in downtown, there they were again balling up traffic, backing it up unmercifully so that those of us wanting to turn off to the right had a long wait. I cut through a residential area, which is my route to avoid the now commonly clogged main street through Boerne. As I got to the street to turn onto to reach the Post Office entrance, I couldn't believe my eyes. Here they came again, in single file!

Sissy Fenstermaker