What I've seen a lot of is chickens spread out, with the group gradually moving along as the roosters stand guard.
For whatever reason, this statement reminded me of the amazing zone attack our chickens organized on the Junebugs this year.
In late June, when swarms of beetles were buzzing in low circles above the grass, the chickens would form a line across the orchard reminiscent of a search & rescue operation: a chicken every 10', the line slowly advancing. When a beetle flew through the line, the nearest chicken would dive for it. They'd do this for an hour at a time. It was amazing to watch.
Of course I forgot to take a video
but here's a photo of some of the hunting pack from that timeframe, back when it was lush and green.
Now it's brown and crunchy, and life has been a special kind of nerve-racking as drought reached a point where southern Appalachia has started to catch on fire. It's reminiscent of 2016, which didn't end well.
Photos of smoke from the past week. The fire that caused this was 10 miles away. Fortunately, the chickens appeared unconcerned even when it rolled in this thickly. Can't say the same for me.
We chose to live on a rugged property and are aware it's not guaranteed we'll escape fire if high winds are involved. In 2016, 14 people died during a "mountain wind wave" that rolled into Gatlinburg from the National Park.
So when a mountain wave was forecast a few nights ago, and drought conditions made for a high likelihood of fires (high enough that schools were closed pre-emptively the next day), we prepared for the possibility of rapid evacuation of ALL family members, including feathered ones, packing chicken/dog/human supplies into a trailer, strategically storing flammable items away from buildings, and running sprinklers for hours over the crispy-dry landscape.
@Shadrach, you'll be pleased to know that after dirt near the coops was wet down, rooster Andre immediately plunked down for long dirtbath. Forget the fluffy, dry dust the ladies love. He was so pleased to find freshly dampened soil.
***
After a long day in an apocalyptic headspace, I let myself feel cautiously optimistic as forecast winds were 5, 6, 7 hours late in arriving. I cracked an adult beverage and headed to the hottub, but no sooner had I dipped a toe than the valley was filled with sirens. A fire had ignited 2 miles away.
This was me pretending to relax in the hottub as I pulled up the scanner app on my phone to listen to wildland squads fighting fires for the rest of the night.
Long story short, the 2 biggest nearby fires were contained at under 30 acres, and our first steady rain in months started at 4 a.m. and lasted 36 hours. I'm still catching up on sleep from the mountain-wind-wave night of vigilance. Living in nature is lovely but not exactly relaxing all the time.
