I rotated the pen.
It needed to happen. The interior was a mudfest.
First, dug up all the grass. Then, Shane left the house at a trickle overnight. Finally, a day of nothing but rain hit.
The pen had sunken into the ground. It made it a beast to turn (after I ripped all of the weeds and grass out of the chicken wire that had taken root."
I was only able to get a partial turn, but it was better than nothing. I probably should buy some grass seed, too (with all the poop smell in the air, I bet that mud is pretty fertile).
The hens were happy to scratch around a new spot.
The wet ground let me pull up some posts with ease, at least. We only have a dozen birds, but they keep us busy. Being a real farmer is not for the faint of heart.
The eggs keep piling up for Carrie. When she gets home, I hope she plans on doing some cooking or baking. I don't know what to do with the things except throw them in a bucket.
A homeless shelter would love to get your excess eggs. Or you could give them away at church, to the staff during the week or to a class or anyone on a Sunday.
ReplyDeleteI loveto read your chicken stories!