THE CHICKEN DIARIES…June 2012

Such a lot has happened in our poulallier (chicken run) this year to date. Births, deaths and probably a few marriages although – as we have lost all but one of our cockerels to the fox – Bad Boris, the loan male survivor, is now a total polygamist. He is not entirely sure about our tractor though and whenever he sees it pootling past he tries to drive it away. So does Richard, at speed. Boris has been known to draw blood.

We currently have 20 chicks. Eight have an auracana as their mother, eight have the Big Black Hen and four have an incubator as theirs. The latter group’s situation puts me in mind of John Bowlby’s experiments on maternal deprivation which I studied when I was psychology student years ago. He worked with individual baby chimpanzees and they huddled up to artificial mothers made out of terry toweling and chicken wire. They grew up to become very mixed up chimps. Happily my four have each other, but I still feel for them when I see the other chicks and their real live mothers.

The two mothers have behaved very differently towards their offspring. One, Big Black Hen, is exemplary – she goes broody every year. This is her third year as a mum and she is a heroine.


The other is irresponsible in the extreme. As soon as her latch key chickens could scratch around for themselves she dumped them, left home and shacked up with Boris, driving his existing wives out of their hen house. Social Service should be called. Boris had his wicked way with her and then started making overtures to BBH. She sent him away with a flea in his ear. Meanwhile Richard cut bad mother’s wings and returned her to the main hen run. Boris has had to return to his jilted wives, but he is starting to make alarming overtures to the eight abandoned chickens. He has no shame.

MY FRIEND BRIONY READ THE WILDFLOWER MEADOW BLOG AND SENT ME THIS JOKE:

GOD: Frank, you know all about gardens and nature. What in the world is
going on down there on the planet? What happened to the dandelions,
violets, milkweeds and stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect no-maintenance
garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and
multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long-lasting blossoms
attracts butterflies, honey bees and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see
a vast garden of colours by now. But, all I see are these green rectangles.

St. FRANCIS: It's the tribes that settled there, Lord. The Suburbanites. They
started calling your flowers  'weeds' and went to great lengths to kill them
and replace them with grass.

GOD: Grass? But, it's so boring. It's not  colourful. It doesn't attract
butterflies, birds  and bees; only grubs and sod worms. It's sensitive to
temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want all that grass growing there?

ST. FRANCIS: Apparently so, Lord. They go to great  pains to grow it and
keep it green. They begin  each spring by fertilizing grass  and poisoning
any other plant that crops up in the  lawn.

GOD: The spring rains and warm weather probably make grass grow really
fast. That must make the Suburbanites happy.

ST. FRANCIS: Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it grows a little, they cut
it - sometimes twice a  week.

GOD: They  cut it? Do they then bale it like hay?

ST. FRANCIS: Not  exactly, Lord. Most of them rake
it up and put  it in bags.

GOD: They  bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell  it?

ST. FRANCIS: No,  Sir, just the opposite. They pay to throw it  away.

GOD: Now, let me get this straight. They fertilize grass so it will
grow. And, when it does  grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away?

ST. FRANCIS: Yes Sir.

GOD: These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when we cut back
on the rain and turn up the heat. That surely slows the growth and saves
them a lot of work.

ST. FRANCIS: You aren't going to believe this, Lord. When the grass stops
growing so fast, they drag out hoses  and pay more money to water it, so
they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of  it.

GOD: What nonsense. At least they kept some of the trees.  That was a sheer
stroke of genius, if I do say  so myself. The trees grow leaves in  the
spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer. In the autumn, they
fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep moisture in the soil
and protect the trees and bushes. It's a  natural cycle of life.

ST. FRANCIS: You better sit down, Lord. The Suburbanites have drawn a
new circle.
As soon as the leaves fall, they rake them into great piles and pay to have
them hauled away.

GOD: No!?  What do they do to protect the shrub and tree
roots in the winter to keep the soil moist and loose?

ST. FRANCIS: After throwing away the leaves, they go out and buy
something which they call mulch.  They haul it home and spread it around in
place of the leaves.

GOD:  And, where do they get this mulch?

ST. FRANCIS: They cut down trees and grind them up to make the mulch.

GOD: Enough! I don't want to think about this anymore. St.Catherine,
you're in charge of the arts. What movie have you scheduled for us tonight?

ST. CATHERINE: 'Dumb and Dumber', Lord. It's a story about....

GOD: Never mind, I think I just heard the whole story from St. Francis.



Briony has a fantastic riverside and meadow garden herself:

You can see it is a subject close to her heart.

THE WILDFLOWER MEADOW

Above the house, where the soil is thin clay over a limestone bedrock, we have a meadow. Our neighbour, Monsieur D’Incau, a farmer, cuts it annually in July. It is a near ideal site for a wildflower meadow and in the seven years that we have been here this is what we have used it as.

In fact we have another area of grassland where the topsoil is thicker and the slope is to the east and the north – so it is a cooler aspect altogether. He cuts this too, but because of the richness and dampness of the earth it is more of a pasture than a wildflower meadow. He prefers this, because the yield in terms of hay is better, but we prefer the thin poorly nourished meadow to the south. It is our good fortune that the house overlooks the latter and we get to look out across our wildflowers and the insect and bird life they encourage, throughout the spring and early summer.

A wildflower meadow needs poor ground. This encourages flowers rather than grasses. The grasses that do grow are also encouraged to flower and set seed rather than become lush and fat; so they develop beautiful plume like seed heads early in the season.

 I do believe that a plant is genetically encouraged to flower and seed more prolifically and more quickly in harsh conditions. It is nature’s way of ensuring that the species survives. In tough conditions you need to produce the next generation fast in order to avoid extinction. The seeds which are so quickly set and then distributed are little survival capsules packed with a plant’s DNA. They wait for the right conditions to come along. When they do – normally the following year, but it could be decades- the miracle happens and they germinate, ensuring the species’ success for another generation. I have no doubt that higher organisms behave in the same way, but perhaps less obviously.

Anyway – our wildflower meadow has now passed its peak. It starts with orchids – the meadow becomes a sea of purple - we then have clover, daisies, ragwort (sadly), milkmaids, ‘old man’s tobacco’, teasels and vetches. These attract a wonderful assortment of butterflies, insects, small snakes and lizards, tiny mammals and larger mammals such as hare, roe deer and our neighbour’s cattle if they manage to break through the fence. The grasses take over, growing to almost a meter high and then the ground begins to dry out, the plants begin to brown and Monsieur D’Incau takes the hay. He never fertilizes the ground (thankfully – because that would spoil the meadow) and never cuts it so early that the plants can’t release their seeds.

We have done nothing to interfere with the natural balance of the meadow. Each year I think I should introduce yellow rattle; a valuable plant in this type of meadow because it is parasitic in nature and so weakens the soil, thus enhancing the wild flower environment. But I never do because I don’t want to upset the harmony we currently have. How long will it last? I really don’t know; I just enjoy what we have been given.

More on the redstarts

We are doing a bit of renovation work to the house and have stored some furniture in the barn while it all happens. Lo and behold ...and maybe in response to the fantastic music...we have a redstart nest which has been built inside a rolled up carpet. The eggs have hatched and there are tiny, bald chicks inside. All this going on while there is mayhem all around - nature is courageous. I will report on progress.

Red started it

I was going to write about the tiny Redstarts nest in my barn – so tiny that the young birds keep falling out! But instead feel I should post this You Tube clip instead.

What does it have to do with French Garden, I hear you say? Well on the surface not much, until you appreciate that this is a blind aboriginal singer. And who can be closer to Mother Nature than an aborigine? In my humble opinion they understand more about the earth and its bounties than we ever will.

Not only that – he has such a pure and haunting voice. And on this Jubilee weekend…. if he’s considered good enough for the Queen…..

Agree?