Walking through last week’s white fluff several inches deep (a foot deep in some places) to reach a feed trough, it occurred to me that I did not quite feel attached to my feet. It seemed they had a mind of their own, though luckily, they had a mind to stick with me and go where I was going.
At the time, I thought, “Out-of-body experience.” That isn’t quite the right description. It’s more of a detachment.
I found I didn’t mind it. I’m familiar with the feeling; it happens all the time. With vestibular migraine, my ear doesn’t quite connect to my brain in the right way. There’s also a nerve that connects from ear to knee. Thanks to my ear and that nerve, when I experience a trigger like sudden bright light or a moving crowd, my knees can buckle or my feet land akilter while walking.
So when I experienced that in the snow, it was a lot more fun than if I had had a migraine.
I had some time to ponder blog posts while I dug up moldy straw and pulled posts in the barn this morning. I’ve been deep cleaning (or attempting to deep clean) throughout the summer. The space has a lot of potential, and the particular area finished today is surrounded by plywood boards and previously provided protection for farrowing sows and their piglets or ewes and their new lambs.
Chickens are currently the only barn inhabitants–that is, the only non-pest barn inhabitants. There are plenty of raccoons and snakes and mice. But the chickens are the only ones that are intentionally fed and housed.
These pullets are housed in a fortress — not a true fortress in the medieval style, but a coop I bought at Tractor Supply Company and put together, stumbling through the drawn directions. Two pieces of plywood and a piece of hardware cloth are wedged underneath the coop to prevent anything from digging in the soft ground underneath the coop and entering the chickens’ home. So far, it’s worked (knock on wood). Continue reading “Life as a Farmer and Writer”