You have to admire her optimism, but when Annie insists that “the sun will come out tomorrow,” there’s no way around the fact that she doesn’t necessarily know what the hell she’s talking about.
The sun finally did break free here in central Maine yesterday, and it’s out again today, but only after it went into hiding for a week or more, during which we were buffeted by multiple snowstorms, high winds and other meteorological indignities. One storm alone dumped 21 inches of snow in our backyard last weekend.
We have a small coop, and because of its size, I’m reluctant to lock our three hens inside during the day, no matter how bad the weather gets. So while Old Man Winter expressed his wrath, I completely covered the outdoor pen with several tarps. This at least gave our chickens the option of venturing outside to stretch their legs without getting wet or wind-blown, although they rarely took advantage. Thus sheltered, the pen was dry and draft-free, but mighty dark and not very inviting.
The weather finally began to improve yesterday, so that, by noontime, I had removed the vertical tarps from the sides of the pen, leaving only an overhead tarp in case it began to snow yet again. By 1:30 in the afternoon, though, the sun was out in full force, so I removed the top tarp as well, leaving the pen fully exposed to the bright sunlight and (reasonably) pleasant temperatures.
“The girls” slowly emerged from the coop into the pen, looking for all the world like prison inmates who had been set free after serving their time. They seemed a bit dazed and tentative, thanks to that bright orb in the sky, but they recovered quickly enough. When I checked in on them at dusk to make sure they were on their roost in the coop for the night, they chattered softly, in what I took to be a sign of contentment. It was a welcome sound that had been sorely missed for quite some time.
The sun finally did break free here in central Maine yesterday, and it’s out again today, but only after it went into hiding for a week or more, during which we were buffeted by multiple snowstorms, high winds and other meteorological indignities. One storm alone dumped 21 inches of snow in our backyard last weekend.
We have a small coop, and because of its size, I’m reluctant to lock our three hens inside during the day, no matter how bad the weather gets. So while Old Man Winter expressed his wrath, I completely covered the outdoor pen with several tarps. This at least gave our chickens the option of venturing outside to stretch their legs without getting wet or wind-blown, although they rarely took advantage. Thus sheltered, the pen was dry and draft-free, but mighty dark and not very inviting.
The weather finally began to improve yesterday, so that, by noontime, I had removed the vertical tarps from the sides of the pen, leaving only an overhead tarp in case it began to snow yet again. By 1:30 in the afternoon, though, the sun was out in full force, so I removed the top tarp as well, leaving the pen fully exposed to the bright sunlight and (reasonably) pleasant temperatures.
“The girls” slowly emerged from the coop into the pen, looking for all the world like prison inmates who had been set free after serving their time. They seemed a bit dazed and tentative, thanks to that bright orb in the sky, but they recovered quickly enough. When I checked in on them at dusk to make sure they were on their roost in the coop for the night, they chattered softly, in what I took to be a sign of contentment. It was a welcome sound that had been sorely missed for quite some time.
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