Imminent lists of Spring

To do and Ta daa....

This is no good. I've reviewed my list. There is a shortage of time!  Have you noticed, or is it only me?  

Tomato transplants
 in the basement growing room

Today, a rainy one, is set aside for inside chores.  Funny how the farm invades the inside of our home too.  This day set aside to catch up on all of the maintenance that weeding and planting and spraying and fencing have forced me to neglect, little things like cooking and laundry and vacuuming.

The baby turkeys in my basement, outgrowing their inside pen, scold me and chirp loudly in "get me out of here" fashion.  The turkey whistle for "I'm bored!" is unmistakable.  Usually they join their duckling friends in a movable outdoor pen** that is inside of the greenhouse.  On a sunny day, it is tropical in there.  The babies haven't fully feathered out, so they still need to be kept warm, 70-90 degrees will do.

Bored Bored Bored

The Tropical Chicken Tractor Resort

Holding the loudest one to soothe his anxiety, he is calm, L-Tryptophan calm.  I am calm too, really, really calm.  Has anyone determined whether a nap-coma can be induced just by holding a turkey?  Perhaps, monitoring the heart rates of people who hold the babies is a worthwhile venture.  Maybe we all need a pet turkey. The aroma from the pen wafts acrid and thick and the new thought, "no, no pet turkeys."  I laugh and tell myself to stop playing with the food.  Humor, the only antidote to the reality that some creatures will be food.

Today is 50 degrees with no chance for sunlight- oh and it's pouring down like God left the faucet on.  

There is an outdoor, above ground*, pen that is ready for these squawking fowl, but it is breezy and even with a heat lamp, it's doubtful that they will be warm enough. Besides, consistent with the stereotypes, turkey's are really not bright.  The above ground turkey pen is designed so half is covered by a roof and half has a chicken wire ceiling open to the sunshine.  I can't trust that these vacant eyed, tiny brained critters would come in from the rain. 

A few years ago we raised 16 turkeys, the broad breasted white factory breed.  You know the ones, bred to be gargantuan-Turkzilla.  One night the barn door wasn't latched properly, and it must have blown open in the wind.  One lone Tom ventured out into the darkness.  I found him lying on his back, legs sticking straight up in the air, dead as if he had partied too hard.  The other turkeys were clustered inside of the barn in the darkest corner, afraid to enter into the day light.  

I imagined the scene being a turkey Twilight Zone clip where all of the turkeys warn eachother not to go into the darkness, but one Tom, full of turkey testosterone, on a dare from the other Toms, ventures out.  Five feet out of the door the Tom, losing the miniscule amount of sense he thought he had, realizes that he is alone and it is dark and then starts to run around screaming with his palms-um wings- in the air until he drops dead.  The onlookers shrink back in fear, blaming an alien presence.  No sense what-so-ever.

If farmers didn't raise these mostly brainless beasts, surely, this strain would be extinct.  There are other heritage varieties that haven't had the brains bred out of them or the instinct to survive.  Unfortunately, heritage breeds are expensive- $10-12 per chick.  Turkzilla stock is cheaper. I paid $4 a chick for mine.  

They will all be eaten mainly because these rotund creatures have also lost their ability to mate, negating any hope of keeping a breeding pair around.  Seems that due to girth, the necessary parts cannot span the distance to line up in a matter conducive with reproduction.  How do these creatures continue to exist?  Well, there is a farmer intensive collection and insemination process that quite honestly I'm going put in that "ain't got time for this" file.  Frankly, I'd much rather vacuum or fence or weed.   Which brings me back to time... not enough time.

 Unfortunately, I am off to clean the cages of some very disgruntled teenage turkeys whose output is far greater and smellier than their input.  I will look into their vacuous eyes and tell them that "tomorrow will be an outside day," knowing that their thoughts are likely narrowed down to a repetitive loop of "what's this?....what's this?  Bored! Bored! Bored! and perhaps a prolonged 'DUUUUUDE!"  

That outdoor pen is tempting me...

Duuude!  Got any Cheetos?

 *The pen is above ground because baby Turkeys can catch a deadly disease from chicken feces (and we have plenty of that here) if exposed to it before their immune system kicks in (usually at 3 mos or so).

**The chicken tractor in the greenhouse is sitting on soil never soiled by chickens