Lessons Learned from a Hospital

I am sorry for not posting lately, but my Grandfather has been in the hospital this past week.  I am not sure when he will be out, and once he is released, he will need to go to an in-patient rehab unit to mend further.  Postings will be scattered for a while.

While I have been staying with him in the hospital, I have learned several things:

No one is in a hurry at a hospital.  This week has been nothing but hurry up and wait. Like Granddaddy said, once they have you, they own you.  Isn't that the truth?

There is something wrong with the emergency room system.  I probably don't need to elaborate on this one.  But when the ambulance drivers line up five deep in the hallway with their stretchers and have to wait forty minutes to hand off their patient to the ER nurse, something is not quite right.

You need your family.  I inherited two patients last week.  My Grandfather's roommate was an old blind man named Willie with no family member to stay with him.  He needed help with everything and the nurses were very busy. Each time I cut up Willie's food and fed him, he thanked me and said my Grandfather was sure lucky to have family.  He was lonely and talked a lot.  I know all about Willie's life story now and I wonder when the last time it was that he was able to tell it.  His son arrived on Friday to take Willie to a nursing home.  

Hospitals are filled with stories.  I wonder about the young woman who was wheeled back by her husband to the oncology floor, her hair freshly washed and wrapped in a towel.  Or the same man I saw day after day smoking a cigarette outside in his hospital gown and iv pole.  Or the man who was dressed to the nines, complete with a snazzy hat, and walked around and around the halls with his iv dragging behind, like he had somewhere very important to go.  

Nurses really do care.  One particular day when Granddaddy was feeling blue, five nurses and a cleaning person piled into his room and began to sing a song complete with hand motions to cheer him up.  He smiled.

A Simpler Way of Life

Our family went on a week long vacation through Pennsylvania this summer. While we were there, we fell in love with the Amish country and stayed several days driving the country roads of Lancaster.  The area couldn't have been more picturesque.  And the Amish and Mennonite people of the region were beautiful.  There seemed to be a quietness to their way of life that I think we all could use.  I thought that I would share some of those pictures with you and let you take a journey back to another day and another place, where time stands still.

The Humble Bee

"Aerodynamically, the bumble bee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumble bee doesn't know it so it goes on flying anyway."  

Mary Kay Ash

I don't know about you, but it seems that I have a ton of bumble bees around my yard this year. I have always had them around my flowers, but it seems that everywhere I look these days, a bumble bee is buzzing around.  I love to watch them cling to a flower and then move along to the next blossom, the flower swaying from the strain of its weight.

After doing a little bit of research on this beautiful buzzer, I learned that bumble bees help us with what is called "buzz pollination", which sets them apart from many other pollinators. They grab a flower and shake it during pollination, which causes a release of pollen that normally would stay inside the flower.  Most other pollinators are not capable of providing this service, including honeybees.  This is why in most commercial tomato greenhouses, bumble bees are raised and used to pollinate the tomato plants.  The bumble bee will almost never sting you unless they feel their life is in danger and is much more gentle than even the honeybee.  

So please welcome this humble bee to your garden, along with me!

Pit Bull

I am well on my way to possibly being the next Vice President of the United States.  I went to a PTA committee meeting yesterday.  

Actually, as much as I jokingly say that, I am really in awe of what Sarah Palin has accomplished.  She saw a need in her school and didn't just sit, but did.  She saw a need in her community and didn't just complain, but ran and won.  She saw a need in her state and not only ran and won, but shook things up considerably.  I am impressed that she has felt a call in her life and not backed down from the things she stands for.  She even sold the state jet on Ebay and fired the chef when she became Governor because she was not afraid to walk the walk and not just talk the talk.

I know a lot of people take issue with her lack of experience and the fact that she is a mother of five.  But few questioned Hillary Clinton when she began her quest.  And yes, there are issues within her family, but aren't there in every family?  What I respect is that this family has obviously banded together and embraced a daughter who has made the same mistake that seems to be lauded in Hollywood and poured love out on a baby with special needs without thought.  And did you see Piper lovingly lick her palm and gently smooth down her baby brother's hair?  What better image of true love is that?

Everyone starts from somewhere and I am just not afraid to put my trust in a pitbull with lipstick from Alaska.

Sit for a While

My Grandfather doesn't say a lot, but when he does, it usually is something that makes you think. Yesterday, we were talking and he told me to sit down for a while.  Since I had a lot to do, I told him that I had too much going on to sit.  He looked me in the eyes and said, "Sister, lots of people know how to stand but very few of them know how to sit."  

I am going to begin taking this advice to heart and just sit for a while.  

"Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the Lord has been good to you."  Psalm 116:7

Trust

My youngest daughter has a new occupation.  I believe she might be the first fourth grade hairdresser the world has ever known!

I regularly cut my Grandfather and husband's hair.  I have done so for years to save both money and the hassle of waiting at the barber's.  I am certainly no expert, but after years of practice, I have gotten it down to a science.  The last time I began to cut my Grandfather's hair, my youngest was watching intently and asked if she could try.  My Grandfather shrugged his shoulders and said to let her do the whole thing. With a lot of help from me, she finished his haircut and did a nice job, I must say.

I knew something was up when I was getting my daughter off of the bus yesterday.  Granddaddy walked up next to me and said "I need to talk to her". That meant, "Go away".  So I left the two of them alone and my daughter came bursting through the door a few minutes later. He wanted his hair cut and she had to get her supplies together.

I was given strict instructions to "let her do it", so I watched with my hands crammed under my legs so I wouldn't be quick to grab the scissors.  She draped a covering over him and carefully combed out his hair.  I showed her which clippers to use and she began what would prove to be the longest hair cut in history.  But I will have to say, when she finished the job and I looked, apart from one sideburn being shorter than the other, it was gosh darn good.  

I watched as Granddaddy crammed a bunch of wadded up dollar bills in her hand, (I don't think I was supposed to know) and the customer left the front porch with a smile.  Only certain people will let a 9 year old little girl cut their hair.  I hope that when I am 90, I am one of them.

A Pad for the Peacocks

We are the proud owners of a bevy of peacocks, eight to be exact.  We did not intend to have any peacocks, much less eight, but isn't that how it always ends up?  

This past spring, my daughters and I began incubating and hatching out some chicks, mainly for the pure joy of watching them peck their way through the shell.  A dear ninety year old friend of mine has pair of peacocks and asked if we would want to hatch out some peacock eggs.  Three separate batches of eggs failed in the incubator, so we decided to call it a day.  Until one day when our friend called and told us to get the brooder ready...eight peachicks would be delivered that week!  

The peacocks are now a couple of months old and have outgrown their small brooder pen we had them in.  So this Labor Day weekend was spent putting together a pen for the peacocks. They are much happier in their 25x25 foot pen and have been happily pecking at the grass. They have even found some dirt for a bath.  Right now, they are using some old dog houses we had lying around for shelter, but we will build a more suitable shed for them before they get too much larger.  We attached netting to the top of the pen so that the hawks can't get in and the peacocks can't get out.  So far, it is working very nicely.

I have scrutinized every inch of these peacocks, but thus far, I still can't determine if they are a peacock or a peahen.  Everything I have read has said it is very difficult to tell what their sex is until they are much older, so I guess I will have to wait it out.  As soon as we are able to identify their gender, we will separate them into pairs and find homes for most of them.  In case you didn't know, peacocks can be VERY loud and eight of them would cause my already irritated neighbors to be not very happy.  But neighbors, take heart.  Peacocks tend to only be very noisy during mating season,  And mating season only lasts about five months!

What's the buzz?

Yesterday, I needed to check my honeybee hive.  I added a new super a while ago and wanted to check on the progress of the bees.  So, I donned on all of my beekeeping garb and set out to have a look.  Now my bee expert friends tell me that a true beekeeper does not wear any of that stuff, but I haven't gotten brave enough yet to face the swarm without protection.  And so far, I haven't gotten stung, so I prefer to leave things as they are!

If you have never taken the lid off a hive, you have no idea of the noise they produce, but I can assure you, it is very loud.  It still unnerves me considerably when I first pry off the lid and hear the first of the angry buzzing the bees make in symphony and it takes a few moments for me to get over the initial fear of bees flying all around me. After looking at the super and determining there was still ample room for more honey production, I was satisfied.  This super will last until next spring when the honey flow begins again.

I am amazed that although it looks like mass chaos in the hive, there is a plan and purpose to the commotion.  Did you know that in order to produce just one teaspoon of honey, a bee must visit 4,200 flowers and will travel up to four miles to find that nectar?  And did you know that the drone bee does not possess a stinger?  Its main function is to stay at the hive and take care of the babies. The worker bees collect food and the queen bee stays busy laying eggs. Each bee has a job to do and they work together in harmony to go about their day.  It is amazing to me how it happens, when I can't seem to get two children to sit next to each other for ten minutes without fighting!

Looking at a hive, it is hard to deny that God's hand is not involved in its creation. Each cell of the honeycomb, each drop of honey, each wing of the bee were all perfectly made.  And if He took the time and care into the design of a bee, doesn't He care even more for you and me?

"And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the fields grow.  They do not labor or spin.  Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?"  Matthew 6:28  NIV

A Load of Aloe

I have always wanted an aloe plant.  My Grandmother had an aloe plant and I remember her snipping off pieces of it and rubbing the thick jelly on my numerous bug bites and scratches I stayed covered with as a child.  

Last year, I bought a small plant at the local nursery.  It wasn't much bigger than my fist, but it quickly grew.  And grew.  And grew.  From that plant, small aloe sprouts called "pups" sprang up, each giving life to a new aloe plant.  And so, like with rabbits, I am now the proud owner of an endless supply of aloe.  

Now the question of what to do with all of this aloe comes about.  I have depleted my supply of pots and am now resorted to using coffee cans.  I am also not above the BYOP method, ("Bring Your Own Pot") for those wishing to take a plant home.  I have even used an old shoe or two to hold the new sprigs.

Most of my friends are already recipients of aloe.  All of the teachers who lovingly taught my girls last year received aloe. The bus driver now owns some aloe.  I shared some aloe with my neighbors.  My next target? My postman Mike could probably use a plant or two.  And maybe my husband could take some into the office...

And the winner is...

Since I am brand new in the blogging community, I was so surprised and delighted to receive the Brillante Weblog award from Life on a Southern Farm.  You must visit her site.  The days Georgia Farm Woman writes of are ones of a slower, but more beautiful pace than most of us have the pleasure of experiencing.  I always enjoy reading her entries and especially love the pictures she recently posted of Farm Man's sawmill.  My Granddaddy had a sawmill when I was a kid and I loved watching him take the huge trees and saw them into smooth planks.  Of course, he also burned down his barn with the same sawmill but I will not get into that...  

The rules of the award are as follows:

1)  Add the logo of the award to your blog.

2)  Add a link to the person who awarded it to you.

3)  Nominate at least 7 other blogs.

4)  Add links to those blogs on your blogs.

5)  Leave a message for your nominees on your blog.

Please take a moment out of your day to visit one of these wonderful sites:

Savings Potpourri

Quiverfull Family

The Homesteading Housewife

Down on the Farm

Cloverleaf Farm

On the Way to Critter Farm

Front Porches-Sweet Tea & Old Aprons

Hickory Horned Devil

My youngest daughter loves bugs, so when my mom found this last night, she brought it straight over.  After a few initial screams, we decided we had to try and find out what this interesting creature was.  I know I had never seen anything like it before!  It didn't take long after typing in "strange looking caterpillar" into Google before we came across its picture.  What did we do before Google?!

We discovered that it is called the Hickory Horned Devil caterpillar.  This scary looking thing is actually a very gentle caterpillar and is completely harmless, believe it or not.  The gruesome appearance is to deter other animals from eating it. After growing to more than 6 inches long, the Hickory Horned Devil will eventually turn into the large and beautiful Regal Moth once it emerges from its cocoon.

I am amazed that something so ugly today will be something so beautiful tomorrow. Isn't it fascinating how God designed each creature just to his liking?  I wonder what He thought when He set out to make the Hickory Horned Devil.  I imagine that He designed this creature with a little chuckle, perhaps wanting to create something that will cause children to stop and take a moment to be truly amazed.  Well, this child is truly amazed!  (And a little grossed out.)

 

Where is the Hickory Horned Devil now?  Spike, as we affectionally call him, will be taken to school today to share with others.  We will then release him back onto the pecan tree from which he was found and anxiously await the arrival of the beautiful Regal Moth.

Confessions of a Hoarder

I opened the cabinet door this morning and a Cool Whip container hit me on the head.  Actually, several Cool Whip containers, followed by a couple of margarine tubs, spilled out of the place I carefully collect them.  I have a problem.  I can't seem to get rid of them.  No matter how many I have, I can't throw any of them away. If you were to have looked into the fridge at my Grandmother's house, you would find numerous tubs of various sizes, all salvaged from the trash pile and used now to store bits of left-overs.  Now ours closely resembles the one I remember from my childhood.

Not long after my Grandmother passed away, my mom and I went through her belongings.  We came across 26 pairs of tweezers.  26!  I guess one can never have too many in case an extra eyebrow grows in.  And what she was planning with the drawer of bread bag twist ties, I am not sure.  Rubber bands and disposable pie plates, brown paper bags and safety pins were all crammed in drawers and cabinets in her house.  I remember as a child being amazed as she deftly reached into her curly mane and pulled out a bobby pin for my hair, as if she kept an arsenal on hand for just that reason.  She was always prepared.

Now each time I use my own throw-away pie plates and Cool Whip containers, I realize I learned from the best.  In fact, just the other day, my daughter asked me if I had any pencils.  I opened a drawer to about 10 boxes of them.  One can never be sure...

Operation Peacock Rescue

"What do you think?  If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off?" Matthew 18:12

While this verse has always spoken to me about the care Christ shows for each child in his flock, I can now claim a deeper appreciation of this idea, thanks to my muster of peacocks.

The morning started out with rain, lots of rain.  Since we are in a drought, I welcomed the down-pour.  However, when it did not let up I began to worry about the baby peacocks we had in a small pen in our pasture.  Sure enough, when I look out from my porch, the water is rising quickly around the peachicks.  I hope the rain will stop soon.  Of course it doesn't.  So, grudgingly, I pull on my boots and slosh through the rain that is now coming down in sheets. Since the pen is only about three feet tall, I have to hunker down and crawl to the back where the babies are standing waist deep in water.  How I did it, I am not sure, but I managed to grab all eight peachicks to my chest and crawl out on my knees without dropping a single one.  Victorious, I put them in the chicken house and slam the door closed.

The rain stopped this afternoon, so I go down to the chicken house so I can recapture the peacocks and put them back up in their pen.  Amazingly, the peacocks managed to escape the chicken house and all eight were running happily after bugs around the pasture.  If you read my blog about the hawks, you will understand why I could not let them stay outside.  So for half an hour, I chase peacocks and manage to catch six.  

Two of the peacocks, in all of the commotion, managed to squeeze their bodies through the fencing and get into my dad's yard.  They huddled together and began to cry underneath the rose bushes that line the fence.  I walk around my house, down the driveway and down the road to get to the other side of the fence so I can rescue these peacocks.  For one hour, I chased and begged and even prayed, "Dear Lord, please help me catch these stupid peacocks."  Finally, I was able to grab one by the tail and that left just one, which brings me to the Bible verse at the beginning of my blog.

I walk back along the fence, up the road, down my driveway and around the house to not so nicely place the rescued peacock back into the pen with its brothers and sisters.  I contemplated just leaving the other one to fend for itself as I wiped away the blood pouring out of the open cuts on my arms and legs from the rose thorns.  

But then I heard its cry.  So back around the house, down my driveway, up the road and along the fence I went.  God must have thought I had all I could take, because just as I get to the peacock, he (or she, I don't know which yet) popped back through the fence and landed back in the pasture.  So back along the fence, up the road, down my driveway and around the house I went and was able to grab the peacock and shove it back in the pen.  

Could have I ignored the cries of the baby, helpless and scared in the midst of the thorns?  I could have, but as much as I hate to admit it, I love that silly peacock.  Did it get itself in that mess to begin with?  Yes.  But that didn't matter.  I cared for the peacock and had to rescue it. 

I am a lot like that peacock.  God tries to rescue me from the messes I get myself into and I tend to fight Him every step of the way, thinking it is better among the thorns.  But because God loves me and you as much as He does, there will never be a time that He abandons us.  He will stay with us amongst the thorns as long as it takes until we allow Him to catch us and safely return us to our home with Him.

Growing Grandma

Since I do not know the botanical name for this hibiscus, I have nicknamed it Grandma. You might think this a rather odd name for a flower, but I think it is rather fitting considering its history.

My Grandma Collins, who passed away some time ago, was born, raised, married and then raised her own in the North Georgia Mountains. Her house was nestled right below a small mountain and overlooked a breath taking view. As a child, I have warm memories of being chased by mad mama pigs, picking corn and riding on my Granddad's tractor. One of my favorite things to get to do on my visits was getting to lick the rolling paper of my Granddad's cigarettes made with Prince Albert tobacco and then watch him seal it closed and twist the ends just so.

My dad recently brought me over what looked like a stick in a pot. He assured me it was not a stick, but a hibiscus. In fact, it was not jut any hibiscus. It was my Grandma's hibiscus dug up from Blairsville and moved down to his house. He went on to tell me the story of how the hibiscus came to be.

While my Granddad was away at war, my Grandma went to work in Atlanta to help support the family. While she was there, she fell in love with this lovely red hibiscus and dug up a clump to take home with her in the mountains. There it had grown contently for years. Content to stay put no longer, my Grandma hibiscus now has homes all over Georgia as I share parts of her with others. She even won 1st place when I showed her blossom at the fair last year. I think my Grandma would have liked that.

Chicken Hawks

We have been battling hawks since we first acquired our chickens. When the hawks first began appearing, I thought they were beautiful.  In fact, one would perch on the electric wire right outside our house just above the pasture.  I would watch them while sitting on the porch, commenting on how marvelous "our" hawks were. That is until the first time one of "my" hawks dove down like a downed plane and in one swoop, killed one of my chickens.  I can without any tears or regret say that the hawks have now been disowned by the family.

Because we believe in free ranging our chickens, there is no way to protect them from the hawks. And once a hawk gets a taste of the never-ending supply of free food, they will be back and they will bring their friends and family!  People often ask us how many chickens do we have.  I have to honestly answer that I don't know.  It depends on how many the hawks got the day before.

Our turkey, Percy, had a baby chicken she has claimed as her own.  In fact, she hatched out this baby chick after faithfully setting on what she thought was  a turkey egg.  She was bound and determined that this chicken was a turkey and treated it as her baby.  This is when we in the South say, "Bless her heart."  In other words, "Isn't she stupid?". This saying is usually said with a smile and a slight nod of the head.  Trust me...it is an art form.  

Well, today, a hawk killed Percy's baby.  Did the hawk eat the chick or even carry away the chick to have left-overs the next day?  No.  All it did was swoop down and break its little neck. It was not to survive, which I might have more respect for.  It was for game.  Well, take a little word of warning from person to hawk.  The game is now on.  (Disclaimer:  No hawk will be hurt in the hunt.)

Singing in the Rain

Georgia is right smack dab in the middle of a long drought and has severely restricted its water usage. Everyone, it seems, is jumping on the rain barrel brigade in response to the shortage of water and higher water bills.  I have wanted a rain barrel for quite some time, long before the drought began, and finally broke down and bought one last spring. I splurged and bought one from a local nursery, but I have read that it is quite easy to make an inexpensive one from a food grade storage barrel.  The only intimidating part of the installation is the cut you must make into your down-spout to connect the gutter to the barrel.  Thankfully, I have a handy dad who was willing to help with the install, but if not, it really is easy to do.  My daughter's elementary school even has one in their little garden they have established for the kids to enjoy.  

It takes just one good rain to fill the barrel up, so you must have an overflow pipe or diverter if you don't want water pouring out the top of your barrel during a rainstorm.  There are a couple of other things you may want to consider.  It might be wise to add a couple of capfuls of bleach to the water in the barrel to help with the smell of algae build-up.  In addition, you are going to want a good screen in the top of your barrel to keep critters and debris out of the water.  If you purchase a rain barrel, it will most likely already have one. But if you are constructing your own, make sure you add that element.

While one rain barrel is not going to solve the drought problem or all of your watering woes, it takes just one good rain for it to start making a difference in your yard.  Or you could be like a friend of mine who has four barrels and is thinking of adding another one this fall...

Ok...I give!

My goat, Jill, has been pregnant for a long time. I mean a really long time. In fact, I think it is approaching the longest pregnancy in the history of pregnant goats. Since a goat's gestation is about 5 months, that makes Jill approximately 7 months past her due date, a record in any book. I hate admitting that I missed all of the signs of pregnancy and mistook her swollen belly for a baby instead of her just being gosh darn fat. I was really looking forward to having a new kid around, (the animal kind, not the people kind!) but I don't think that is going to happen unless a real miracle should take place. Even my city slicker husband told me that it was impossible for it to take that long to have a baby goat, which should tell me something. I guess that something is I still have a thing or two to learn about goats! Oh well, there is always next year. Maybe I should start picking her new beau out now...

School Days

Well, we have survived the first half of the first week of school without too many battle scars to show for. Maddie began middle school this year and Emma is in 4th grade. Other than Emma being sad that her big sister wasn't there at her school anymore, I have no worries about how Emma's year will go. All of her friends are in her class and she was excited about going back. Maddie has been a nervous wreck all summer about beginning her middle school career, so I was more than a little concerned about how she would do. I can now safely say she is probably the first child in history to absolutely love middle school!

Since Maddie began middle school, it caused me to reflect back onto my own middle school memories. I can't believe I made it out unharmed, now that I think about it. I remember vividly 6th grade picture day like it was yesterday. All of my friends arrived in the typical 80's garb of the time...jelly bracelets, big hair, long sweaters, pegged jeans. My mom wanted me to look my best and went out and bought me a special outfit just for the occasion. Now that I have a few years under me, I am amazed that I didn't totally revolt and refuse to wear it, but for some reason I didn't and I went to school in what I now call the Outfit from You Know Where. There I stood in my 6th grade class picture in black velvet knickers, white knee socks, black patent shoes, a white puffy shirt (right out of Seinfeld) and a black velvet vest to top off the whole look. Let's just say I looked a little out of place. (Understatement of the century!)

I am happy to say that as Maddie and Emma get dressed for school, they will easily blend in with the rest of the kids. I might not even be able to easily pick them out of their class picture...but that is not a bad thing, considering the other option!

Petunia

From the moment we said we would be getting some animals, my daughter Maddie begged for a pig.  She began with wanting a full sized sow, but we talked her out of that one.  I don't think she understand just how large "large" could be until we showed her some full grown pigs up close.  She settled on a pot bellied pig and saved her money.

One cold February day, we picked up Maddie's pig.  She cuddled it up in a towel on the way home and decided her name would be Petunia.  Being that it was so cold outside, the girls and I petitioned Dad to let us keep Petunia in the kitchen for a few weeks until she got a little bigger.  Since my husband did not grow up on a farm or around animals, he certainly was unaccustomed to pigs living in the kitchen but the rest of us thought it was a fine idea.  He jokingly says now that if only he knew what was in store for him, he might have thought twice about asking me out in college!

Petunia has now grown, and I mean quite literally grown, into a fine looking pig and is a true member of our family.  We even have a pig bowl in our kitchen where only our finest scraps get tossed with Petunia's name written all over them.  People often ask what is that black blob out in the middle of our pasture and we are proud to say that blob is our Petunia!

Lessons From a Boy Scout

My daughter, Emma, is a Junior Girl Scout this year.  With that comes all of the excitement of badge earning.  My Grandfather and Emma's Great Grandfather was an Eagle Scout and knows a thing or two about earning badges himself. When he learned that Emma was interested in earning a badge on rope tying, he was eager to help.  They spent much of the morning tying and retying knots as he patiently worked through each one Emma needed, and even a few she didn't.  I sat on the porch and watched them work and savored the moment.  

My Grandfather will be 91 this September and we don't know how many more years God will grant us to spend with him.  For this reason, each and every opportunity my girls have with him are true blessings.  Not many children have their Grandparents as a part of their daily lives in today's world, much less their Great Grandparents.  While I know they probably don't understand the significance of the impact he is having in their lives right now, my girls will grow to deeply appreciate this time spent with him.

I grew up with my Grandparents next door to me and now have the privilege of living next door to my Grandfather today.  When I was a little girl, he always had time for me.  No matter what he was doing, he would drop everything to play ball or build a go-cart or pick dandelions or ride me around on his shoulders.  Today he doesn't have as much to drop, but he is just as eager to work side by side with me and my girls.  Just the other day, the two of us worked for hours on my front porch shelling crowder peas.  We talked every now and then, but mostly we just shelled and enjoyed the fact that we had each other.

Ricky Rules the Roost

I didn't expect company the day I had a knock on the door. Someone's neighbor had a rooster named Ricky who was looking for a good home. She said he was lonely and was looking for some ladies to keep him company.  I think he must have been loud as well. Otherwise, the neighbor wouldn't have been involved in helping Ricky begin his courting days.  She dropped him off first thing the next morning and Ricky quickly made himself at home.  It didn't take long for him to begin thinking he is hot stuff and he now routinely struts around the hens, looking for his chance to make his move.  We have several hawks in the area and I can always tell when they are close by.  Ricky will begin to squawk loudly, ordering the hens to quickly find cover. When the hawks leave and Ricky knows the coast is clear, he makes another noise that must mean, "Okay, Ladies. Ricky has once again saved the day. Gather around and let me tell you about how I defended you from the meanest looking hawks you have ever seen." I love to hear Ricky crow his call each morning...and mid-morning...and noon...and afternoon...and dusk! Whoever said roosters only crow in the morning has never been around a rooster. Never the less, we all love the sound of Ricky crowing and even our neighbors say they enjoy it, too. I usually will sit out on the front porch to relax for a few minutes each day and I always see Ricky running after butterflies in the pasture, with his ladies close behind him. We do have other roosters, but Ricky certainly rules the roost here.

Do they really have a beard?

When my bees first did this, I thought it was a clip from Attack of the Killer Bees.  Since this is my first year dealing with honey bees, I had no idea what this was and was afraid they were about to swarm.  Now I know that it is called "bearding" and it is basically what bees do when they get hot.  We sweat...bees beard.  Some of the bees relocate outside the hive to cool off and give the other bees inside of the hive additional room to fan their wings, creating their very own AC.  Although there are a few things you can do to help with ventilation, for the most part there is not much you can do about bearding.  It doesn't hurt the bees or the hive and is something to expect when it gets really hot, especially here in Georgia where the summers are grueling.  

I just added a second super onto the hive (a second floor to their home, so to speak) but will not be able to collect honey this year.  Since this is their first season in this hive, if I rob their honey this year, the bees will not have any honey to feed them through the winter.  But I can't wait until honey season next year, where I am sure to have a wonderful harvest.