Madawaska Pond - Part 1

It was going to be a hot day and my hay field was going to be worked in the afternoon, so I left early for Madawaska Pond. It had been closed to the public for four years and only recently reopened. I was anxious to see it again. I drove south for 25 miles and then another six miles on dirt lanes through the forest to get to the parking area:

There was no one else anywhere, so I let the dogs run and they headed off down the trail. Of course moments later I was hollering at them to keep them closer to me:

Warblers and Thrushes and White-Throated Sparrows sang beautifully off in the trees:

The dogs sniffed everything while I busied myself slapping deer flies which landed on my head - hundreds of them died because they thought my bald head would be a perfect landing strip and diner:

I had been here only once before and that was four years ago. Even so, I opted to follow a side trail when I discovered one, just to see new scenery:

The dogs ran down this side trail with great enthusiasm and I, not knowing where it led, began ordering them once again to stay near me:

It led to a clearing with a gorgeous view of Madawaska Pond:

And everywhere there were Lowbush Blueberries, acres and acres of them. Alas, they weren't yet ripe:

We walked down toward the pond but turned back when I discovered that flat green expanse was under about a foot of water with mud beneath it:

So we headed back uphill, looking for another path back to the main trail:

I stopped to photograph the Sheep Laurel in bloom:

And we easily got back on the main trail. With the towering pines, the wildflowers the bird songs and the lovely aromas of evergreens and moss, I remembered why I had loved this place so much four years ago. But we were just getting started. I'll post Part 2 tomorrow:

More Chickens, More Painting, More Hay, Our First Tornado

The nine remaining hens enjoyed their days of leisure, pecking and scratching around the yard:

The fantail pigeons have freedom too but seldom take advantage of it. But one day I got a call that the baby chicks were in at the Post Office. I'd made a brooder out of a plastic bin, a light bulb and reflector - so I turned it on and picked up my chicks. Their first few weeks will be spent in the pigeons' room:

 This time I ordered bantam (miniature) Easter Eggers, the chickens who lay blue and green eggs:

 They were cute little things and arrived thirsty, hungry and raring to go:

Like their eggs, their feathers come in all colors. One can't tell what color they will be from the chick color except that I felt sure the yellow chicks would be white adults:

 I had nine yellow, four chipmunk colored, three black and two slate gray chicks:

The local teen finished painting the trim on my barn and it made a big difference. Here, you can see that the right three windows and door are finished but the windows on the left are not:

The day after the chicks arrived was warm, so I opened the pigeons' window. But it soon began to rain off and on. I took a nap in the afternoon and awoke to find we were having a torrential downpour - sideways because the wind was so strong, and it was blowing the rain through the pigeons' window, across the room and onto the chicks' brooder. I ran out into the storm to close the window. Later, the wind and rain stopped and I captured this rainbow over the south field. I later learned that a tornado had passed through only a mile north of me, taking down trees and flattening part of a big corn field:

But our beautiful summer returned and things went back to normal. The chickens enjoyed basking in the sun:

 And searching for bugs beneath the apple trees:

At four days old, the baby chicks were already developing wing feathers and the yellow chicks' wing feathers were black. So now their final coloration is a mystery:

And as if things weren't busy enough, the neighbor showed up to hay my southernmost field. He'd just purchased a haybine and wanted to cut and bale my hay. He'll take half of it and help me get my half into the barn so I'll have it this winter. I'm already looking forward to winter as a time of rest: