Lamenting Yard Losses While Awaiting New Chicks

The December 2022 week of freezing temperatures just plain decimated my yard. Plants that I had enjoyed for decades were about as dead as plants can be. Many perennials were dead looking, but this March or April will let me know if at least the roots survived and I can see some green growth from them.

Like most folks in this area, our plants have been hit hard the last few years. The great ice storm in 2020 damaged the live oaks worse than anything that has ever hit them; and there are still broken limbs, high up in the trees, that I will have to let Mother Nature remove for me. That year, I lost all but one azalea, and it was damaged pretty badly.

A hurricane in the fall before the ice storm had caused a lot of limb damage in the orchard. Since then, the latest hurricanes have done further damage to the orchard and my yard. And this past December, that Arctic blast set my yard back even more.

My solution is this: whatever is dead will not be replaced. I will plant annuals this year for color and not worry about the rest. I am just plumb tired of re-planting this yard every spring, then having to do it again after the latest weather catastrophe. I will mow the grass, trim what trees are left, plant caladiums and other colorful plants, bless them, and let it be.

That will surely help my ailing back and give me more time to read, listen to Steve Bannon, and fret about the decline of America, which is worse than any ice storm. Anyway, I do have something to look forward to in May. I ordered twenty Buff Orpington baby chicks and fifteen of the chicks that will grow up and lay colored eggs. Clarence Duncan, my friend of forever, will raise them for me, along with the ones that he hatches out from his flock of multicolored chickens. We will share feed costs, but he will be the one to get them up to a size to put in my chicken yard.

ARTICLE | Alma M. Womack j

All of the chickens that I have now came from Clarence’s flock the last several years. He has a lot more than I have, so he can supply me when mine die or escape and get killed by dogs or hawks or other varmints. The flock is usually pretty safe in their pen, for I have an electric wire around it to discourage critters from climbing up the fence. But the old ones die off, so Clarence will bring me a fresh batch of pullets once in a while so that I’m never without eggs.

Roosters are another problem. Some that Clarence brings are docile and behave nicely. Last year, though, he brought one that purely hated me and anyone else that dared to walk in the chicken yard. This rascal was smart. He would wait till my back was turned and I was dipping out the feed from the large trash cans. Then he would rush in and attack my legs, squawking the whole time.

I cannot tell you the number of times I kicked him back or chased him with a stick. If he attacked while I was washing out the scraps bucket, I would pour water on him; and he would back up. And it wasn’t just me he hated, oh, no. He would attack grandson, JG, and Mike Duncan if he was tending to the flock on a day I had to be gone.

Finally, we all had enough. Clarence exchanged roosters with me, bringing me a beautiful, docile rooster. But this rooster died after two months, and I could not find any injury on him, so I don’t know what happened to him.

He was not replaced. While I miss the sound of a rooster crowing in the morning, I am in no hurry to get another psycho rooster. I’m hoping one of the pullet chicks I ordered turns out to be a rooster, and he can come here. Buff Orpingtons are my favorite breed, for they are just big, yellow pets. They crow, protect their hens, and do not try to spur me at all.

Alma M. Womack lives on Smithland Plantation on Black River, south of Jonesville, Louisiana. In addition to her duties as maitresse des maison, she is the keeper of the lawn, the lane, and the pecan orchard at Smithland.