Uncharacteristically (in my opinion) for someone born in Brooklyn and raised in a cookie cutter neighborhood of Long Island, I’ve always had a secret yearning of being out in the wild: growing my own veggies, fishing for my own dinner and eating fresh meat--- that someone else has hunted and skinned (my bohemian alter ego only goes so far). This yearning coupled with my very unnatural fear of being a victim of an air crash over a large desert or shark invested body of water—has led to an obsession with watching shows like I Survived! And Man vs. Wild.
One of the best parts of my time living in Southern Africa has been fulfilling this yearning of being closer to the “wild.” I have been on some wonderful safaris where I have seen cranky elephants flapping their ears at my group in irritation, two male lions fighting over a female, wild dogs on the chase and some of the most beautiful desert sunsets. Most recently, I haven’t had the opportunity to go on any safaris, but I have come to understand the cycle of nature more intimately than ever before.
Growing up some of my friends of color would look at me funny for experimenting with vegetarianism, enjoying camping and wanting to learn about yoga and meditation. Back then, those things were not considered stuff that black folks liked, but rather things that white people did. Now that I have lived in Africa, I feel that living “alternatively” has always been a part of our cultural fabric. It is nice to see that in this day and age my younger brothers and sisters in our communities of color are eating better, practicing yoga and participating in an organic lifestyle without having to say they are Rastafarian. I hope that organic and balanced living in the U.S. is not a fad and is something that will continue into future generations. In our little way, B and I are part of this new wave of smaller and simpler living with the mini farm we have started.
At the moment we have three cats, 20-30 pigeons
, 14 adult ducks, about 30-40 ducklings
, some transient roosters and chickens (ROOSTER) and a gander. I’m glad that we are starting small, as I knew it would be a lot of work, but not until I was actually part of the day in and day out of rearing animals, did I understand how intense it can be. Our day usually starts with the sunrise---as that is when the roosters begin their wake up call and all the other animals start to stir. So even when we want to sleep in we can’t because the hungry animal members of our household don’t let us hit the snooze button. We have to give them their feed, clean out the old water for the new, and then sweep out the yard and their coops. Thereafter, throughout the day we have to make sure that they are constantly fed and have water, and the poop does not pile up around us.
I think ducks stay satisfied for about 5 minutes max. They are always, always looking for food which we only put down three times a day: breakfast, lunch and supper and then we scoot them into their coops for the night, around sunset. Because we only feed them three times a day all other hours of the day are spent keeping them out of trouble as they look for food everywhere! We had a small herb and vegetable garden going, but they found it behind the little fence we built and like a plague of locusts devoured it in a day. The adolescent ducks have discovered that our cats do not always finish their dinner and they run into the house to eat any morsels remaining. And much to my dismay, they have learned how to open pot lids with their bills. Our kitchen area is outside, so I spend many minutes of the day, shooing them with my foot, as they not only recognize our pots, but also, tomatoes, fish and that the human with the skirt and cowboy boots (that’s me) will give us something if we tug at her skirt and peck at her feet.
A lot of our time is also spent trying to keep our ducklings alive. The first weeks are the most crucial because if they get wet or if it is too cold they can die. When they do get wet or if the temperature drops we have to warm them over our electric burners
or use the blow dryer to dry and warm them,
as sometimes Mama Duck is too busy taking care of the others to focus on just one. But, as I’ve learned, some ducks don’t care for their offspring because some are just bad mamas, while other ducks are over protective and don’t want to let their ducklings grow up. We have one duck that although her offspring are now almost adult ducks themselves, she still hovers over them, defends them as if they can’t do it themselves, and sits by their coop (different than hers) until I let them out to eat. In some ways it is good, but in another way she is not serving her purpose of putting down more eggs as she refuses to mate because she believes her offspring are still in the duckling phase.
Ducklings can also die if ants or rats get into their coop. When ants enter the coop we have to pick them off the ducklings with tweezers.
Rats are not much of a problem anymore because we have the cats. But I still get nervous as B told me that he once had a duck that was eaten from the inside out by rats. All that was left was literally just a shell of a duck--it appeared as if she was just sitting on her eggs, when really she had been dead for two days. Other times, eggs
just don’t hatch at the same time as their brothers and sisters, and instead of continuing to sit Mama Duck prefers to tend to her hatched brood.
Other times, we have lost ducks because their feet “dry out” or rather, their circulation stops, and they no longer can get up and eat and drink. B had the great idea of using something equivalent to Bengay to give one of our “dry” ducks a massage. My nephew and I looked at each other with skepticism and a bit of a “B is crazy” look. But we are eating our skepticism now----it worked! Our dry duck is walking around after three days of icy hot rubdowns.
Our ducks are an endless source of amusement: they argue with one another, they intentionally provoke one another and sometimes they are confused that they are just looking at their own reflection rather than some new ducks encroaching on their territory.
Most of the time they get along as there is still enough space and food for everyone, but as their numbers increase I can only imagine there will be more fighting over food, and with the males, over territory. At the moment we have three males and a newly arrived gander. We recently had to separate two of the male ducks as they appeared to be fighting until the death
---causing some decent damage to one another. Being that they are not pets but possible food for us or a source of income when we are ready to sell, B had to step in to protect our investment.
Our gander arrived a couple of weeks ago, and he is still confused and trying to get accustomed to his new home. He is quite big and when he gets scared, angry or irritated he has no problem turning his head and giving us a frightening squawk-like warning that sends me running. I refuse to be chased or bitten by this animal. B says that his temperament is a good thing. After getting to know us, and the yard, he will become like a watchdog and protect us as well as the house. Evidently geese are very territorial which I did not know. I thought those geese in Central Park or on the grounds of the National Monument were territorial because they were with their goslings. An acquaintance recently told me that the breweries for a popular label uses them to protect their barrels used to ferment rum. Now I understand why the price was about three times that of our other ducks. It also explains why we have literally been on a goose hunt ---it took us about three months to find someone who was willing to sell to us and much negotiating by B to lower the asking price.
Our cats-- JonCu, Bijou (aka Morris) and Wanga--- are also a constant source of amusement. I didn’t think that three males could cohabitate in the same house, but they are best buddies with only occasional fighting when the rough housing gets too intense or if there is something particularly yummy to eat. JonCu
is the only cat that is really ours, but he is particularly friendly and pretty much called the other two to hang out with him. Bijou----aka Morris
because to me he looks like Morris the Cat from those cat food commercials during the 80s---is our neighbor’s cat but he seems to prefer our house to hers. Wanga
showed up because he has clearly been abused in other households---underfed and beaten often—he was all skin and bones when he arrived. And just the other day he returned to us with all the pads of his paws burned off and bleeding as animal cruelty is prevalent here. Each day another animal shows up at our house. I guess something about us and our home reaches out and speaks to animals to them know our home is a safe place. Recently we have discovered that a maimed dog has been sleeping under our window so we leave some food for him to let him know it is ok to stick around.
When I was living in Malawi I walked into the yard of the courthouse where I was working and was greeted by three clucking turkeys. Everyone was walking around as if farm animals wandering around in the courthouse was an everyday occurrence. When I entered my particular office I asked why we had turkeys on the premises and was told that they were evidence in a stolen property case---defendant claimed one turkey was his and the plaintiff claimed that they were both his. Which of course I started laughing, “Are you kidding? How can they differentiate between turkeys? Exhibit A, listen to this cluck, it is so different” I was greeted with a stern look and told that this was a serious crime. Well. Now I get it. My goose, ducks and chickens are really part of our family and I have come to identify them by their appearance and personalities. I can tell you which ducklings belong to which ducks and which ones are particularly naughty or sweet. Which has led me to violate one of the primary rules of rearing animals: don’t name them. But I have!
My Mama Ducks are named by their color, Mrs. White, Mrs. Speckled, Mrs. Brown etc and for the males we have Old Boy, Young Boy, Black Man and Mr. G (the gander of course). My duckies have names like Penguin, the Milagros (we have 2 ducks who lived but were on death’s door), Loca (she throws her head back and starts walking backwards), and Mr. T (for her Mohawk like stripe down her head). Old Boy is really old and should be slaughtered for meat, but each week I look at how sweet he is (with us and his wifeys) and I say “No, maybe next week” which B responds “Meu amor. The purpose of their lives is to feed us. They are family only in the way we care for them---so they can be healthy and happy in order to produce lots of eggs and eventually quality meat,” “I know. But…next week.” It is one month later and I’m still saying “next week.” I’ll get there, eventually.
In time, we would like to buy some land so that we can increase our little farm to include pigs, goats, and one day a cow. Until then, we are happy, sometimes really tired and always amused, with managing our Casa Doolittle.
Rooster
Bath Time
Black Man
Branca Esha
Young Boy
Hunting or Playing?
