Sometimes things break down in the chicken houses and sometimes I can fix them. Sometimes, I can even fix them to where they STAY fixed and that is a grand feeling. My chickens are around 4 weeks old. I’m halfway thru this batch. We are already having to haul water. We’ve never had to haul water this early into a batch of chickens. I watch the news every morning and today, I heard the chipper weather man tell us the reason for the incredible drought was the intense temperatures and lack of rain. I am thinking that if this Poultry Princess thing doesn’t work out, I shall become a weather person and state obvious things such as “We are having floods due to the immense amount of rain” and “ it’s bright out there cause the sun came up”. Alas, there are no floods. We are in a drought and the only thing to do is just deal with it. So, deal with it, we do… and Clint hauls water in an old tanker truck that used to belong to the fire department. He puts gas powered pumps into one pond, pumps it into the tanker truck and hauls it to the pond that feeds our cool cells. We are strictly well water, no city water at all. They’ve promised us city water for 10 years and, to be honest at this point, I’ll believe them when they turn the valve on and I SEE the water burbling forth and not a moment sooner. They could be digging and laying the pipe right in front but I’ll still just have a “wait and see” attitude. This attitude comes from years of living in rural areas where promises of city water come and go with the election year.
Today, I was walking thru the chickens and noticed one feed line in house two had no feed in it. I knew there was something wrong when the birds were bunched up on one side of the house and the other side was barren. I walked down to the feeder and first off, I unplugged it. (Always unplug the feeder. Always unplug the feeder. This runs in a loop in my head. Should I say it again? We must NEVER leave power on to the equipment we are working on.) I kicked it. I like to refer to this as “percussive maintenance”. Sometimes, it just needs something jarred loose. I plugged the feeder back in. Nothing. I unplugged the feeder (chant it again. Always unplug the feeder) and went to taking the cover off. The cover was rusty and the clips were stiff, but I managed to whack them a few times with my screwdriver. (Again with the percussive maintenance) I pulled off the cover and there was feed stuffed up inside and around the auger. Using my long screwdriver, I poked around and dug in the feed. I never, ever stick my fingers into the feeder. Even with the power off, the auger can be in a bind and if you knock loose what is holding it from turning it can spin so quickly and with so much force it can take your finger off. I once stuck a screwdriver into a feeder and pried loose a bolt that had made it’s way down the auger and when it broke loose, the auger spun and SNAP!! broke the metal screwdriver in half, sending the metal piece flying toward my face.
Never, ever stick your fingers in the auger. This runs in a loop in my head too, and I continue to poke around.
I finally fish out a wad of wire, thin, rusty wire. It’s wadded up with something furry…old, dried fur. It looks like a knot of old leather, too and I can make out a small claw. It’s probably a rat from the feed mill…scurrying back to it’s nest with a ball of wire and he loses his footing and falls down into the feed and dies and mummifies and rides in a feed truck to my farm and makes it thru that auger and in to my feed hopper and down my feed line and stops my feeder up and his family is like “why don’t he write?”
At least, that’s what I surmise happened.
I get my needle nose pliers and pull a few more pieces and strands of wire and rat leather. I put the cover back on and plug the feeder back in. It starts and runs smoothly, filling the pans with feed.
I think about augers as I walk back toward the Kubota and farm equipment in general. It can be dangerous if you aren’t paying attention and sometimes, even if you ARE paying attention. Something can shift…buckle…bind up…flip…and you’re hurt.
The tunnel curtains are held up by thick cables that run thru pulleys. Sometimes, the cable will make it’s way off the track of the pulley and bind up in the doohickey that holds the pulley together.
I had sent the kids to school that morning and set about my work. I don’t have cell phone reception inside the chicken houses, so I don’t even take it in. I noted the cable caught and the curtain was unable to drop. So, with my gloved hands, I grabbed the lower part of the cable and pulled down hard and tried to force the cable back into the track of the pulley. I had it almost there when something broke and the cable snaked quickly into the wall, the curtain falling with a force.
The cable caught my right glove and yanked me into the cranking system. It was spinning, letting the cable fall. It has teeth to hold the cable in, and a braking system. The braking system malfunctioned and before I could jerk my right hand free, it was dragged toward the hand crank, winding in with the fast moving cable. I jerked hard backward with all my weight. I watched as my glove came off my hand and fed into the crank system and was ripped to shreds. I fell backward and looked up at my caught, torn glove. I sat there in the litter, stunned.
It occurred to me that if I hadn’t yanked my hand out of the way quick enough, I would have been tangled up with the cable. No phone. No one at home. No way to get help. Clint would get worried after 4 or 5 hours of not hearing from me, but there’d I’d be, my right hand tangled up inside the chicken houses.
So, a Poultry Princess must be careful. I called Clint after I was done this morning and told him about the feeder being stopped up with wire and he asked two questions. 1) did I unplug the feeder and 2) were you careful to never stick your fingers in the auger.
Of course, I assured him I’m always careful. He told me he was glad I could fix things and that he appreciated it but he didn’t want me getting hurt and he reminds me about the tunnel curtain cable near miss and the times I’ve fallen and I don’t want you messing with the pumps and stay away from the tanker truck and leave the tractor alone and for heaven’s sake, when you check the water level watch for snakes and put some SHOES on once in a while and quit wearing those STUPID flip flops that won’t protect your feet from anything and gotta go, I love you.
Last night, I was helping Clint drag his water scamp to the pond that feeds the cool cells. I got to the pond before he did. I poked around the edge of the pond and saw movement. I expected to see turtles or frogs but instead, saw snakes. 15-20 baby copperhead snakes about 8 inches long. I watched them swirl and swim, my mouth open in horror. We have a veritable nest of snakes in that pond, it seems …where Clint has to be in and out of, hauling water, paddling the scamp out to check the depth of the pump. Shooting them will be a problem…for fear of shooting the 700 dollar pump that is the only source of water to the cool cells. This scared me for him and I said so and he pointed out that I was the one poking around in flip flops.
“True.” I sighed.
“Stay away from this scamp. Snakes like to hide under boats and I don’t want you getting bit.” he said firmly.
I assured him I have no need to go near the scamp. I’m scared of boats and dark water, water that is murky and feet can’t be seen and strange, slimy things bump up against you and perhaps a fish will bite a toe and a snake will POP up in front of you in the water and stare you down. All of these things have happened to me and trust me, there is no fear of me getting in a tiny boat in dark, water.
So, I stood by the well house to flip the breaker off so that there would be no power to the pump Clint was pulling out of the water. He was in a tiny, spinning scamp on dark water. Baby snakes swam and ducked under. Big, ugly snapping turtles broke the surface and stared. The boat yawed and spun and twisted, almost seeming to flip. He looked up at me and yelled “okay! go into the well house and turn that breaker off. Watch for wasps! Be careful!”
I looked at this man I love, this tan, strong man, his hair shining silver in the sun. I looked at him and laughed and said worrying about me getting wasp stung was the last thing he needed to worry about and I pointed out the snakes, the dark water, the boat.
“well, woman! I can’t have you getting hurt!” he said, laughing up toward me on the bank. “somebody’s gotta cook supper and wash my clothes and take care of me and these chickens.”
So, I went inside the well house. The wasps buzzed and whined at me from the corners but didn’t threaten me. I threw the breaker, checking it over and over to make sure it was “OFF”, rubbing the dust off with my finger to make sure.
Clint got the pump adjusted to his liking and paddled the boat to the edge of the pond. I helped him out and then pointed out some baby snakes. He grabbed big rocks and pummeled the baby snakes and injured one grievously. We chased around, me following the snake with my eyes and him leveling the rocks to throw. Finally, the baby snake didn’t surface anymore and we decided we got him.
We headed home after this adventure and I started a light supper of tuna patties and baked potato and broccoli and cheese. Clint cooled off in the pool and came in to watch Gunsmoke and eat.
We talked about hauling water and pumps and baby snakes and drought and needed rain. We then talked about putting our hand to the plow and just gettin’ stuff DONE.
I thought about this as I dug wire and rat leather out of the feeder. Putting my hand to the plow, yes, I’ll do THAT, yes I will… but I shall NOT be putting my hand into the auger or a feeder with power still running to it or tunnel curtain cables winding their way out of their allotted areas, tangling and tortured, bound and wound, snaking into the wall.
I ran my bath with warm, clear water and watched the tub fill. How we take clean water for granted! How we just assume it is safe and pure. I thought about Clint, precarious on that little boat, his arm shoulder deep in the brackish water, fishing around for the rope holding the pump, baby snakes and snapping turtles watching him closely. Almost as closely as I do.
When it rains, dear reader…and I pray it does soon….I will stand on the edge of that pond and watch God fill it (oh, no matter how much water we haul and no matter how big and powerful the pump, we cannot do as good a job as He) and I shall sing as loudly as a trilling frog in springtime.
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