Coldest Spring – Writing Blue

Here’s a lovely bluebird. I can’t tell if he’s happy or not. Most birds look angry.

Normally, I would be outside drafting stories or revising in the sunshine this time of year, but it seems like winter has decided to make a bit of a comeback in my part of the world. After a bout of absolutely gorgeous weather, we’ve got a cold snap. I lost motivation to pull the patio furniture out of “mothballs” just yet, but there are still plenty of things needed to be done, weather or not.

I put in some new trees to replace those we lost last winter (not that they’ll grow to the sixty+ feet overnight) and even a few fruit trees, now that there’s safe, sunny space where the deer can’t demolish the fruit and tender buds. I love those large critters but they can wreck a young tree in no time. We put in more blueberries, and there are some grapes as well. The felled trees wrecked my wild raspberry patches, but not all of them. Time will tell if enough of them survived.

There’s also the need to take care of the chickens, who have been out for one full week as of yesterday (24APR2023), and seem to be enjoying it. They thoroughly foraged all of the weeds in the old chicken run we revamped for them, and are almost ready to have the door standing open for them to wander at large in the yard. Chickens–all birds, really–are fun, silly creatures with definite personalities. Nash still comes running out for me. I think he thinks he’s a dog or a hawk. Or both.

I really want to be outside writing. I always get better results when I remove myself from the technology, just use a notebook and pen and really concentrate on what’s going on in my head. Of course, nature can be distracting too, and I will frequently find myself stopping to listen to the calls of the birds* or some shuffling critters in the blanket of dead leaves. It’s all inspiration, though, especially when I need to ground a scene in the senses.

Anyway, keeping this one short so I can get back to writing. I’m going to have to uncurl my frozen fingers, however, in order to grip the pen. Until next time, stay warm my friends!

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*Titmice are my favorite birds around here–tiny and clever, and amazing to see the little things take off with a whole peanut in their beak (not just a little nut, but the nuts in the shell!). The best bird call comes from the Carolina wrens, though. They fly around calling out “Jeremy! Jeremy! Jeremy!”. Jeremy never seems to answer, though.

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Eater of Dreams is well underway – 23 episodes uploaded to Kindle Vella, roughly 61,000 words. For those interested but not quite ready to delve into the investment of tokens (I totally get it, many of us are being hit with the hammer of hard times right now, me included), the first three episodes are free, and Kindle will gift you 200 tokens as well. Episode costs vary by length, but none are over 50 tokens (Example: Errand Boy costs 24 tokens, Heat is 32 and Camp Discipline is 19). You could read all the way up to Episode 10 – Vrenith: Amidst the Cinders.

Best news is that those 200 tokens are just for the claiming–no purchase necessary, no “buy 1000 get 200 free”. I’m guessing you need an Amazon account, and we all have an Amazon account. Do we know anyone who doesn’t?

New Members of the Family

Recently we lost our pup, a 14-year-old beagle rescue named ‘Memphis’ who warmed our home for the last four years.

Pardon the Anglo-Saxon, but it’s well deserved in this case: “F*ck cancer”.

The idea of getting another dog became something of an emotional debate–nothing can replace any of our beloved pets, but sometimes you need someone else to help you through the grief. We got Memphis shortly after we lost our Penelope, a Golden Retriever we had had since she was a puppy, all the way to the age of 14, because the sound of dog tags jangling in the house made the place unnervingly and heartbreakingly quiet. As far as I am concerned, they could live to be one hundred and still part from us too soon.

We aren’t going to rush into getting another just yet.

What we did do, however, is add six new members to the family: Chickens.

We got them as peeps, but they’re growing fast. If you’ve never raised birds, it seems outrageous to realize they’re doubling in size over a few weeks. Right now the poor things look horrid and mangy because their feathers are coming in. They outgrew what seemed like too much space for them in just the span of three weeks, and here’s hoping that their feathers grow in quickly and the outdoor temperatures to match so we can get them into their coop and run. It’s easy to spoil them–there are all kinds of healthy treats and when they catch a bug, look out! They play keep away and there’s a literal feather-flying (alright, down mostly) as they chase after the prize. I’ve only given one a name, one I am pretty sure is a cockerel, and he’s been ornery from the start. From the moment I saw that little eye staring up at me defiantly, I knew I had to bring him home.

We call him “Nash”.

Neff Family Peeps – That’s Nash in the corner of the box, trying to be an Angry Bird

Here’s Nash now–all attitude, and more than a little of the T-Rex in him

This isn’t our first rodeo–we had Rhode Island Reds years ago, with a rooster named Diego of such a size that he put all of the Agricultural Fair prize-winning birds to shame. I wanted to enter him, but we decided against it. Why? He was too big. He was also a free-range guy, and very protective of his hens* and would be miserable in the tiny cages they provide. Multiply that by a week and you have one seriously stressed-out bird. In spite of his spite, I remember him fondly, too**.

Eventually, we hope to add more to our flock, and are seriously considering Silver- or Gold-laced Wyandottes, or maybe Brahmas. Anyone know of sellers in the Susquehanna Valley of Pennsylvania looking to rehome some pullets?

You may even be wondering after reading this far (thank you for that) what chickens and pets have to do with writing?

Well, for one, this blog was written. Just kidding. It’s really about considering facets of the human condition. We invite things into our lives, and love them and then they’re gone. It doesn’t matter if it’s a human, or a bird or a dog or whatever. It shares a part of us, and we share a part of ourselves with it until one of us is gone, if only for a little while. When we connect with a story, especially one dealing with loss and grief, its because we have experienced the joy and heartbreak in our lives. That empathy makes the stories real to us, and leave us with a deeper connection–and maybe a deeper understanding–of what makes us tick as humans.

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*Penelope was terrified of him, and rightly so with his massive spurs and an insanely sharp beak that sliced clean through my wrist when he snapped on me when I reached into a nesting box for the eggs. I still bear the scar. He hated all females of any species save for his hens.

**Diego, like our hens Edwina and Fuzz, died of old age. We kept them for eggs then as pets, even beyond their laying years. The girls were sweet tempered and friendly, unlike Diego. He’s a story in himself.