The sounds of spring
Spring at Reachwood is my perfect heaven.
The second the snow went away the flowers emerged in force. Spring beauties, wild coltsfoot, honey suckle, crocuses and literally hundreds of daffodils, my absolute favorite flower. Everything else turns every shade imaginable of green, you can hear the stream through the trees, the early morning light on the river beats the sunrises hands down, and you get all this before the blackflies, mosquitoes and ticks really emerge.
There is only one thing that can even remotely dim the beauty of a Reachwood spring.
Guinea hen mating season.
My son heard guineas for the first time when he was 3 and he declared they sounded like rattling pots. Since then, he has decided that that they sound like steampunk chickens, whiny crows, and evil mechanical clown laughter. He’s been correct every time.
Most of the year they only really carry on around sunrise, sunset, and sometimes if there’s actually something lurking that they feel they should warn us about. During mating season, however, the noise is much more frequent, at a much higher volume. The two males sing to the female, they call out challenges to each other, they chase each other squawking madly and get into endless vocal and physical confrontations.
There are only 3 guineas at Reachwood currently. That is all that is left of a flock of 14. They may be quite inbred; they may be quite old. No one is sure. These three are my only real experience working with this kind of fowl so for those of you who have a deep love for the breed, don’t come at me.
These particular birds are unbelievably dumb. I am currently watching one hide from a downpour under a dead elderberry bush. There’s no protection being offered whatsoever, he’s twenty feet from the expansive deck that could offer refuge, but no, a 7 ft stick with a few sparse twigs is his choice of shelter.
When we moved in, we put a fence up around part of the yard to keep the dogs contained and to give the birds a way to get away from them. The guinea hens will literally spend all day long pacing back and forth in front of the fence desperately trying to get to the other side (no matter which side they are on) until eventually their pea brains kick in and remind them that they can actually fly.
And then there is their parenting skills. Let’s be clear, they are great at sitting a nest. Mama is endlessly dutiful when the chicks are still in the eggs and will only take brief breaks, rushing back if she sees or hears anything near the nest. And once the eggs hatch, you definitely don’t want to get too close, or the males will fly at you and try to claw your eyes out.
And that is where it ends. They have no hesitation leading chicks off of 10-foot drops, no qualms about leaving struggling chicks behind to die or get eaten, no worries about leading them into the woods to be stranded in a thicket, and if something attacks the nest at night mama will, quite contentedly, fly up into a tree and leave her children to be devoured.
They suck.
It doesn’t help that guinea hens are incredibly cute, particularly for something that grows up to look like an overgrown feather duster in evil clown makeup.
At the moment, however, the rain seems to have dampened their interest in romance and all is quiet. The peach and plum blossoms are adding their pale hues to the riot of floral beauty and you could not imagine a more pastorally idyllic scene. There’s no better place to be.
I just may need to invest in some ear plugs.