Jade the hen gave me a bit of a start; the back of her neck looked like she had a giant hole. Upon further investigation in the dark recesses, there are new feathers sprouting, so no damage seems to have occurred, just a profound molting event. Interesting.
So. Many. Cicadas.
I have found cicada shells before, and seen adult cicadas, both living and dead, but haven’t witnessed a cicada emerging from their final molt. I have now, in spades. Every evening when I go to close the people doors on the coop, there is at least one cicada crawling out of its nymph form. I have to be careful not to crunch one in the door, and have had to relocate a couple so I could safely batten the hatches. Here are some of the pictures (not of the same individual).
We took another quick weekend trip and before we left I set up the chicken’s run to make sure they had ample water. I have five water stations (probably overkill, but it makes me feel better). One hanging water dispenser inside the coop with fresh water, one hanging outside with apple cider vinegar added (this is their favorite for drinking), a dog bowl full (which in the winter gets plugged in to guard against freeze), and two foot baths. My hens love their foot baths, especially when temperatures soar above 95. The water in these gets rather disgusting after nine hens have soaked their feet in it. On a usual day I dump and refill these once or twice a day. Since I can’t do that from another city, I set up a water timer with a diverter to run hoses to both trays and flush out the water in the middle of the night. It worked quite well! Not as well as dumping and rinsing, but good enough for a couple days away. The trays are marketed as plant coasters, to keep water from outside pots from staining the floor. They are just the right height for chickens to step in, and big enough for two to stand together. I also add a few drops of oregano oil, which seems to help with scaly leg mites.
When the summer heat starts to dissipate somewhat in the early evening, I open all the people doors in our coop to let the breeze through and bring the temperature down. Then before I head to bed I close the doors up again to protect the hens from late night predators. The worst part of walking around the outside of the coop at night is running into a face full of spider web. To say I make strange noises when suddenly draped with sticky gossamer threads is putting it mildly. So I have learned, finally, to use a flashlight to see the webs before I envelope myself, and how to disarm the trap so I can pass by.
The webs spread across paths usually have three or four anchor points. It is amazing how these eight-legged critters establish the anchor lines as they drift around on the breeze, and equally wonderful that if you break one of the lines, the web collapses and the spider moves in the opposite direction. Away from the break and that which broke it! No spiders in my hair or crawling up my arm, no web across the path or on my skin, and eventually they stop setting up shop in that spot. This method of disarming also looks much more dignified than waving a stick in front of you as you walk, like a deranged wizard.
I went to check my container garden and to my horror saw one of the melons laying on the ground, broken off the vine. Absolutely not ripe or ready. It had suspicious claw or maybe teeth marks. Hm. This melon was the closest to the top of the fence and I can imagine an enterprising raccoon or squirrel trying to abscond with the fruit. Or a curious cat deciding it was a play thing (most likely). Once the orb fell into the yard, I imagine the risk was not worth the reward. I did have it in a netting sling, but it was not as protected as the other melons. We’ll see if any of the others make it to fruition.
So after writing this post, I investigated my remaining two melons and discovered a gaping hole eaten into one of the unripe fruits. Sigh. Maybe the last melon will make it.
