Independence Day

We bought some guinea fowl about a month and a half ago, with the intention that they would keep down the sizable tick population and protect us from Lyme's disease. They are amazing little birds that could leap to stupendous heights even when they were tiny fluff balls. Because I'm not getting out much, I've mostly heard stories about them from Ian and children, and I have peeked out the window at our makeshift brooder which glows red at night because of the red heat lamp inside. It looks like a squat, round spaceship has landed toward the back of our garage.

I have spent some of my favorite times of the summer sitting in front of the white plastic calf hutch. On Memorial Day weekend, when Ian was converting the hutch, I sat there in the shade of the maples while my seven-year-old son assembled screws and nuts from Ian's toolbox into impressive fake fingers. I had every intention of being productive, trying to plan something with Ian while he worked with his hands, but he had to leave me frequently to get more supplies. My boy and I sat in the dappled shade, feeling time and the green world stretching out forever around us. I have not felt that way since I was a child myself, but I recognized the feeling immediately.

Ian and I sat in front of the hutch again yesterday, Independence Day. It was a long walk for me, but I made it. Ian opened the door to the structure so that the birds could leave it and begin to explore the world for the first time, and we made ourselves comfortable in the grass nearby so we could see what happened next. The birds were fascinating, like little dinosaurs with ancient faces that they were always moving and tilting to get a better glimpse at us. Even though their world was small in their little brooder, it seemed lively. Together, they all decided to preen themselves on their roost, and then it was time to hop down suddenly and hunt for bugs. A few of them jumped up onto their feeder and tilted their strange faces to get a better look at the sky through their open door, but none of them seemed interested in hopping out. With Ian sitting warm beside me, holding my hand, I felt like we were a new item watching a movie together instead of a long-married couple, sitting in the grass peering into a calf hutch. I was completely content.

We finally went back inside for lunch, but a couple of hours later, Ian asked me to look out the window at the little group of birds making its way tentatively across the lawn. I think that was the golden moment of guinea fowl on our property. Pretty soon, one of the cats stalked the birds and lept into their midst. About half of them fled up into the trees, and the rest ran around in a panic. The cat never caught any of them, but he apparently convinced them that they are in an unsafe place. The only one that seems to be here still is a little guy that apparently was not brave enough to follow the rest of the flock out into the world. Last I heard, he was alone in the calf hutch, honking to his friends. Maybe he will convince them to come back.