The chickens are fine, but my butt hurts.
Spring in Wisconsin has so far underachieved. It’s tried a few times—rain instead of snow, a few hours of thaw—but it’s performance in overall coursework gets a big, fat F.
All its supposed spring weather has done is produce enough water one day last week to pool and refreeze overnight, sealing shut our barn door, so I can’t get to the chicken feed without climbing down from the loft at the other end of the barn, hoofing it to the bin to scoop up the rations, then retrace the journey back out to the coop.
I tried like crazy to get the door open. Shovel, pickaxe, pins out of the hinges, and brute strength against an unmovable force. That’s when the pop took place in my butt.
Who ever said hobby farming was fun. Or easy.
Who ever said Spring 2013 would recapitulate the balmy spring of 2012, when we all had suntans and had mowed the lawn by now.
That’s the trouble with global warming around here. Inconsistency. It produces failed seasons I can’t count on anymore. We need more organic farmers grazing their cows so we can get back to reliable weather patterns, and less pain down under.