A Misty Morning

When I first opened my eyes today, the view from every window and French door was surreal. Clouded in fog, the front paddock was hiding from me dramatically but I was too tired to snap any perfect photograph. John got up after that while I thought I’d go back to sleep but a couple of purring cats hindered that as they do so well. So eventually I put both feet on the floor and inched my way out of the bed so as not to disturb my now sleeping beauties that disturbed my own chances of getting back to sleep, and lumbered into the front rooms of the cottage. Aha. It was still foggy enough for a quick shot or two to capture the elusive quality of the scene in front of me. That emboldened the awaiting flock of persistent young chicks, who’ve decided I’m their real mother because I often treat them to plates of mash in the morning after they eat with the big guys. 

So these little scruffy but perpetually famished birds groom themselves as they wait for me by the front door. Some of them, like the one who flies onto my arm or shoulder or directly onto one of the plates I’m holding, flies at the door too when he sees me. But after I get them settled hovering around and onto the food, then my first job is to sanitize the entire area around the front door where everything I put away at night used to be awaiting me in the same fashion the next day. But this hasn’t happened since this brood decided that I had endless food coming out of my arms. Thus, everything is disturbed, chewed on, knocked over and sat on and worse, and everything is up for grabs as a bed or bath in great anticipation of the morning’s meal to come emanating from me as soon as I get the nerve to open the door to the awaiting baby vultures.

As they mature they begin to look more like raptors to me, especially the males, who begin to behave a little differently than the more demure females.

Although they’re still quite cute and their antics make me laugh, it’s more than time to wean them off this extra food. But this particular mass of babies from two different hens is bonded to me more deeply than most of our other chicks.

So the process of separation hasn’t crossed most of their little birdy brains yet although admittedly they are fending more for themselves and wandering further afield every day.

John thinks I’m nuts for paying so much attention to them although he has a stash of seed here and there for the smaller visitors that come around to see him while he’s relaxing near the fish ponds. He’s the one who feeds the whole flock morning and late afternoon and lets the hen and her one chick out of the chook house every day and locks them in at night. He’s the one who finds the other solo chick who can’t get away from the nearby auntie and now mother hen that eat up the food he throws nearby for the young one. But he doesn’t intellectualize about them like I do. Doesn’t fret like I do if one’s missing and go looking for a half an hour for an errant youngster that missed a meal. Oh well. To each her own. These babies need me and I guess I need them too. Since my daughter moved further away from us with my little grandson in tow, I’ve missed escaping from here which we could do in a few hours in the car and likewise they don’t visit us anymore either. So, mothering these babies helps me deal with the loneliness I feel and that can’t be all bad. I had children over a period of 25 years. My mothering instincts have never shut down and they probably never will. Actually.. they're what keeps me going.