The blustery day
Autumn is usually my favorite season but it has been missing in action here in Portugal. October has been a weird month. The hot weather of summer extended into the front end of the month, with temps in the high eighties and even low nineties (Fahrenheit), while the wet weather of winter crept into the back end of the month, the rainy season starting a whole month early.
Today marks the eleventh day of rain in the past fourteen days. It's a sneaky rain, falling steadily for an hour, then clearing up with a little sun, so that the chickens all come out into the courtyard and spread their wings to dry. Then a cloud will roll past and we'll have another fifteen minutes or so of downpour, then clearing, then, a few hours later, more rain.
In between showers I plant all the flowers our neighbor Alberto has brought us, and shovel the ancient chicken shit out of the big room of the coop. I still got pretty wet though. The wind today has been exceptional, reaching 60mph at some points. I went out to the outside to find my metal sink had walked halfway across the carport, pushed by the insistent hand of the wind. The shower curtain billowed and flapped like a sail, scaring the roosters. The metal door on the pool house banged back and forth; the metal mud room door answered in low booming tones.
Thank you for glazing the windows, I told the h. The house has broken windows all over the place, not an issue in the summer when it allowed a breeze to spirit through, but a real problem on cold rainy days. We will be replacing all the windows with modern double-paned affairs, but the weather necessitates a few concessions, namely the h putting new glass in the three broken panes on the first floor of the big house.
Now, we are buttoned up tight, and can open the shutters for the morning light without letting in the cold air or rain. A side benefit- the house is notably less dusty; I find I am sweeping only once every couple of days now, and the dust is mostly Jake's dog hair.
Today the wind gusted so hard that my umbrella turned inside out and knocked down all the bean poles in the garden, which is sad because the beans were about 20% up the poles, making us feel more accomplished/connected to our place here.
Side note: when I thanked Alberto for all of the plants, I tried to say "plants make a house a home" but groped for the Portuguese word for home because it's not a very homey word, at least to my ears (lar). His brow furrowed, waiting for me, then he supplied the word he thought I was looking for, allegra. Plants make a house more joyful, he thought I was trying to say, and I went with it because it's true.
The hens watched with interest as I planted the flowers Alberto brought us for the courtyard planters. Salma Hayek stood at my elbow and tried to sample a leaf or two - I gave her fluffy butt a gentle push and she squawked for HR. Jackson Pollock strutted over the top of my new succulents and I chased him, but the desultory way he evaded me clearly said, I'll be back.
While running for cover when a new squall blew in I noticed that one of the jars I have laid around for the baby chicks to feed without danger from roosters looked unusually stuffed. A closer look showed one of the bigger chicks stuck fast inside. I turned the jar over and pounded it til he fell out; as soon as he did, looking dazed, new mama hen Goldie gave him a little peck as if to say Hey you piggy that's for my kids, keep out. The unstuck chick staggered around for a bit til he found his mama, and stuck close to her for awhile.
It's been cold for Portugal, in the 50s though the humidity makes it seem colder. Every night when the flock starts its roost we hear the cheeping of the little ones that are too big for mama to sit on but a bit too small to fly up to the branches of the trees. They run about in panic, staring up at their mamas, flailing their impotent little wings. For five nights running I have found a little one buried in the wet clover and taken him inside, keeping him in a soft sided cooler full of straw. One night I had two chicks, but all the other nights the two larger ones found their way to the roost. Little Chico is the runt of the peep, and can't quite make it up to a branch even when I scoop him up and put him on the wall, right below his mama warbling encouragement. Every night he evades me in terror, while I follow him by turns cajoling and complaining Come on, now, I haven't eaten you yet, you can trust me. Last night he started showing some trust - he still ran, but basically stuck his head into the clover and shook, allowing me to pick him up. I put him on the wall twice, each time he tried and failed to flutter up to his mom Stella, roosting there with his bigger sib The Man. He'd land on the ground and I'd chase him around til he hid in the clover. Once I get him in the cooler he quiets down quickly, though if you lift the top even a little he starts squeaking in fright, so we don't. Last night he touched noses with Jake, which was cute, but when I put my face close to him, he ducked his head into his wing, and who can blame him, to his tiny self my face must look huge, all predator eyes and mouth. Still I was a bit offended, as I've been feeding him twice daily since he was born.
Hearing the rain splatter and the wind roar like a freight train throughout the night I felt sorry for the chickens out there in the sodden forest that grows between our house and the road. The roosters crow at 4:45 rain or shine; when I appear for the morning feed they are a bedraggled lot. The coop should be ready for them in a week's time, and then we have to convince them to use it.
Meanwhile, I've built a lot of trust and a few of them know their names and come running when I call, and I've developed a hilarious relationship with a young rooster I call Potsy (so named because Alphonse, or The Fonz, is his best friend). Posty likes to stand on my foot and peck my shin or calf while I feed the flock; he wants to eat out of my hand. I've always had a soft spot for audacity so let him. Sometimes he lets me pet him; seeing this, Amber Heard and Leif Garrett edge closer every day. I've taken to blowing a whistle at feeding time; when the coop is ready I'll go up there and whistle to lure them to their new home and we'll see if Pavlov was right.
The flock stands around in the open when the rain stops, drying feathers; the wind ruffles them in a way that looks exceedingly uncomfortable. I know how you feel, I tell the hens with their tangled looking tail feathers, my hair frizzing around my face in a sympathetic halo.
The wind is supposed to die down this evening. I'll be glad when it stops. Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day was one of my all time favorite books as a child in part because I read it all cozy inside barefoot under a blanket, safe from the prying fingers of the wind, its howl impotent against the fortress of a warm house with parents nearby. The chickens are really just one giant family so perhaps they suffer through the gusts telling themselves, At least we're together, hang on everyone, it will be over soon!
Each morning at 7a sharp I bring Chico out to reunite with Stella and The Man, and Stanley of course - he's the rooster dad, always hovering nearby. Stella always runs over, and when I bend down to release Chico she no longer shies away but comes up close, waiting for breakfast. Stella and I are developing an understanding. There is nothing funnier than when I call Stellaaaaaaaa! and she comes hustling out from the East field, her chicks Chico and The Man behind her, Stanley standing nearby on one foot ready to protect, or eat.
It's good to have plants in the ground; some have already started taking hold with all the rain, showing new buds. I hope the h can get the beans reclimbing the poles without too much trouble. We've had so much rain, the raised boxes are bulging a little with saturated earth.
The rain has been so steady the gardeners have not been working for the past two weeks. They came back yesterday and today, despite the showers, because we have some indoor work - namely, clearing out the cavernous workshop and also the cottage at the top of the property, both of which were inherited stuffed with construction materials - wooden beams, steel poles, roof tiles, you name it. Now they stand clean and empty and ready for what's next. Empty, the workshop is much larger than I realized; we were admiring having this newly available building to use when yet another rain squall swept through, and we - the h, Tiago, his dad, me, and Jake - all stood together in the space, as nice and dry a refuge from the blustery day as any in Pooh's Corner.
