Having nodded off last night before receiving word of the election results, today’s morning radio alarm was one to which I awoke before buzzer, eager for the news. It felt like Christmas Eve last night, climbing into bed with high hopes for Obama to win, and for so much more action and awareness to be brought to our world’s needs.
The Christmas morning atmosphere was further blessed by the gift of an egg from one of our pullets . . . or at least we think so. Perhaps one of the elderly ladies who had stopped laying for a while got back in her laying box. Regardless, that brought today’s egg count to 2 instead of 1 and we are thankful.
As the weather dallies about, skyrocketing up to the mid-50s and down to freezing, we have yet to consistently close the coop door. In Idaho, it was right off the porch, and an easy ritual while cleaning up from dinner. Here, the coop is but a football field away, but night’s dark curtain seems to obscure our view and memory of the task to be done. I’ve briefly looked into automatic doors, which would close at sundown and re-open at sunrise. Foy’s Pigeon Supplies offers such a product.
Such a no-brainer tool would be very handy for protection from predators, but our sparky Premier One fence that outlines a chicken run amidst race-horse fields currently manages this goal, day and night. Such a door would also be useful during cold weather, but to the tune of over $250, I’m more ready to start remembering to walk out there come sundown. Truthfully, I’d also rather not keep investing in electricity-dependent items such as this.
Automatic doors powered from a small solar panel would be nice though . . . I suppose I need an engineer’s hat for a day to figure out the pieces to this puzzle. Seems to me my own two walking legs are the most elegant system. The next best thing would be to place our house garden between the home and the coop, so that scraps and vegetal extras would be moved fluidly from one place to the next, from being cut to chicken beak, from coop floor, turned back into garden beds . . .
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