Watercolor Wednesday: Morning Bugle Hello! I can’t wait to share my newest painting, Morning Bugle, with you on this Watercolor Wednesday, but I owe you a quick explanation about where I’ve been: Where Have I Been? It’s been a minute since I’ve shared anything here on Unbound Roots, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat down in the past couple years with the best of intentions to connect, but I wasn’t ready. The past four years have been A LOT! The COVID-19 pandemic, dealing with long COVID symptoms, a terminal diagnosis for my father, the death of my uncle, selling of our house, building a new home, the death of my dear father, a breast cancer diagnosis for my mother just two months after my father’s death, my mother moving in with us after falling very ill from her immunotherapy, the death of my grandfather (my mother’s father) when my mother was at her sickest, my mother moving back home after seven months (I still miss her daily presence in our home), and healing as we get back to our new normal. Life trials can be tough, and it’s amazing how they can zap any of the creative juices. Writing, painting, woodworking. Nothing felt right in the past four years. Instead, I was focusing on one-day-at-a-time and one-foot-in-front-of-the-other. Sleep (not easy), exercise, helping my children with their homeschool work, visiting with my dad before he passed, being there for my mother, seeing loved ones, preparing healthy meals, keeping a clean house, and working on the final touches on our new home were the only activities my brain had room for. All I can say is THANK GOD for the support of my husband and children, exercise, and daily devotions. These three things kept me somewhat sane over the past few years. It wasn’t until this past September when something began to change within me. On the Road to Recovery Two months after my mother moved back home, my little family of four took off on a long road trip through Montana, Wyoming, and Colorado in early September, 2025. I could go on forever about our trip, but I’ll keep it short. Mountain hiking, hot spring swimming, horseback riding, fly-fishing, rock-hunting, and wildlife viewing renewed something in me. I was able to focus on the present while we experienced new and wonderful things. I remember being home for a couple of weeks after our road trip and saying to my husband, Jake, “I feel happy and content. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way.” Grief is a fickle thing. No one can tell you exactly how you’ll feel, when you’ll fall, when you’ll start to pick yourself up again, or what your new normal will look like. There is a general grief process (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance), but nobody can prepare oneself for how this process will feel. I know my grief started the moment my father gave me his heartbreaking diagnosis of pulmonary fibrosis in early 2020. It was the same awful disease that had invaded his father and both of his brothers. We all knew what his outcome would be. The trials that came after that diagnosis in the next four years just compounded what I was already trying to process. It was ROUGH! In September, the fog of these trials began to lift. Painting, writing, and woodworking – I was starting to feel the pull again, and it felt SO GOOD! I was finally in a place where I could let joy back into my life. So, here we are! I’m ready to share my words and paintings with you all again. Morning Bugle “Morning Bugle” is the first painting I’ve wanted to complete in years. Yes, I’ve finished a few other paintings for myself and others, but this was the first painting I was looking forward to – the first painting I’ve felt inspired to paint in years. This painting was born from an experience in Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado. Rocky Mountain National Park Thirty-seven degrees at 4:30 a.m. in Rocky Mountain National Park, my friend Jen had us up early trying to glimpse the ever-elusive moose. Jen is known as a moose whisperer, and the impressively large mammals seem to flock to her. I have never been lucky enough to see a moose in the wild, but I hoped to change that. We pulled into a parking lot next to a large mountain meadow. I knew we must be in a good observation area as wildlife photographers lined the parking lot with their huge, fancy lenses on tripods waiting for the first light of dawn to break. Promptly, we heard an eerie, high-pitched trumpet sound followed by a series of grunts. Sending chills down my spine, the bull elk’s morning bugle was emblematic of the wild, untouched landscape we were immersed in. When dawn began to break, dark silhouettes of the elk herd began to emerge. Their presence was special to our whole family, but I’ll never forget the beauty of hearing that morning bugle. The bugle that inspired my first enjoyable painting in years. The bugle that signified that healing had arrived. I introduce you to Morning Bugle – a painting that portrays my vision of what the bull elk must have looked like as he bugled in the wooded mountains of Rocky Mountain National Park on an early, chilly morning in September. Experiences Shortly after the morning bugle brought the sun up, two bull moose put on a show that had us all breathless. Powerful sparring between a younger, smaller bull moose, and a larger, older bull moose kept us captivated. Jen, our moose whisperer, was as enthralled as we were. After the sparring, the two moose sauntered up near where we were parked giving us all an up-close experience with the amazing animals. As Christmas and the new year knock on our door, I wish you and your loved ones a year full of grand
On The Farm
Welcome to life on the farm: Where every memory is a treasured tale. Join our family journey as we share heartwarming stories, time-honored recipes, and rich historical narratives passed down through generations. Gather ’round as we invite you to experience the joys, challenges, and abundance of rural living.
For Life: A Watercolor Painting Portraying Love, Life, and Dancing
“For Life”, an original watercolor by Erin Burton, depicts two sandhill cranes dancing. The story within is one of love, life, and dancing.
Rump Bells of Christmas Past
Antique rump bells, family history, and Christmas spirit intertwine in Erin’s newest story and original watercolor painting.
Swedish Family Recipes
I’m sharing my great-grandmother’s recipes for Swedish meatballs and rice pudding. Christmas dishes that are no longer reserved for Christmas because we like them that much.
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Rescuing Gooseberry… Twice
My family was in the throws of craziness about a month ago. The free soccer league that I founded last fall was beginning their spring practices, both kids had started soccer, my husband and I were coaching both of their teams, and my parents had opened their barn doors to the Unique Boutique and Antiques Tour of which I was fully involved with. Every day and evening was filled with something. It was during that busy time that I got a text from my sister-in-law who lives two hours south of us that read: “Know anyone who might be interested in a goose? She showed up [at the park my sister-in-law works at] last week like someone dumped her here…” My sister-in-law attached this picture: This is a story about rescuing our goose, Gooseberry… twice. The First Rescue Anyone who knows me, knows that I can’t resist or turn down an animal. Especially an animal that needs a home. Unfortunately, my schedule didn’t allow for the time to go and pick up the goose, but my sister-in-law was determined to get the goose to us, which I loved. The day after I got my sister-in-law’s text, she drove the goose up to our house. When my brother and sister-in-law pulled into our driveway and took the goose out of the car, the goose sat quietly in the cardboard box she was in (which was far removed from what the ride up entailed). The kids and I peeked into the hole at the top of the box, and we saw one big, shiny, black eye staring right back at us. We carried the box gently back to our chicken run, and opened the flap for the goose to come out. The goose walked out of her box quietly, assessed her surroundings, and proceeded to give us short, quiet honks as her neck quivered. She seemed nervous, but not too scared of us as she would come within a few feet of where we were standing. My sister-in-law had thought of a name for the goose on her ride up, and took into account that all of our chickens were named after wildflowers. Gooseberry seemed to fit our new goose perfectly. My family was happy to adopt Gooseberry, and we were excited to give her a new home. Well, for a few days anyway. The Second Rescue Gooseberry stayed in the run for three days. She had fresh food and water, half of a hay bale to lay on, and my son invented a grass-feeding station, which Gooseberry took to immediately. We enjoyed watching her bury her head in the grass as she ripped off bits and pieces of the bright green treat. By the second day, Gooseberry started coming close enough to us that we could pet her side gently if we didn’t move too fast. Since Gooseberry seemed to settle in nicely, we decided we would let her loose in our fenced-in backyard on the third day. Gooseberry needed to be as free as possible and have unlimited access to grass, a gooses main diet. It was time to introduce her to the chickens who wander the yard. Well, that lasted but a few minutes. Gooseberry took off through the back woods moments after finding her freedom. The kids were sad, and I was worried, but I hoped that she would find a local goose family to join as our home is surrounded by lakes, ponds, and creeks, so waterfowl abound. But, as it turned out, Gooseberry wasn’t interested in the lakes, streams, or creeks, she was interested in being around people. Days later, I saw a post online that read “Anyone Lose a Goose?” The person who posted the information had a picture of Gooseberry lounging in the grass of someone’s front lawn. We immediately jumped in the car to pick her up but, she had already wandered off. There were many more sightings in the following week, but we never did cross paths with her… until the day the kids went fishing down at the lake. On a warm, sunny day, both of the kids were plopped down on the bank by the water’s edge when they heard honk, honk. But, it wasn’t the typical honk they hear from the wild Canadian geese, it was higher pitched. They recognized it! The kids followed the sound up the road a bit and down a driveway where they found Gooseberry drinking out of a puddle. They tried to carry Gooseberry home, but little arms were no match for large wings, so the kids rode their bikes home as fast as they could to come and get me. I immediately packed our large dog kennel in the car and we rushed off again. This time Gooseberry stayed put. My kids jumped out of the car and slowly approached Gooseberry while I opened the back of the car and the door to the kennel. When the moment was right, my daughter dove onto the goose, giving her a great big bear hug. That little girl wasn’t about to lose Gooseberry again, so she held Gooseberry tight until we were able to get her into the kennel. Finally Home Early the next day, my daughter and I went out to clip Gooseberry’s wings. Clipping wings is just like clipping finger nails – no pain involved. The primary feathers are the only feathers that need cutting, so when the wings fold back, you can’t tell that there has been any alteration. Clipping the primary wings halfway down the feather shaft makes it so the birds are not able to get adequate lift, thus keeping them grounded. Gooseberry did try to take off again, but only once. Since then she has been getting used to her new home, and we’ve been surprised by what we have learned about Gooseberry. The most exciting and welcome discovery was finding out how much Gooseberry loves people. She waits for us to wake up in the morning, and
I’m Tickled Pink
I’m tickled pink – I really am! From Westfalcon Farm preparing for the Unique Boutique and Antiques Tour, to a cute pig, and another award nomination (not the Sunshine Blogger Award that I previously wrote on) – all have combined to make a pretty great past month or so. Let’s start with the Unique Boutique and Antiques Tour. Westfalcon Farm Boutique Westfalcon Farm has been working diligently to prepare for the Unique Boutique and Antiques Tour – a new adventure for the family farm this spring (2019). This year 11 farms in the city of Cambridge will open up their barns to showcase unique handmade items and antiques. To prepare for the sale at Westfalcon Farm, the kids and I have spent a few days at the farm washing old doors to use as display tables, picking out 100+ year old barn wood pieces to use for painted signs, cleaning old milk jugs to use as table supports, and helping with whatever else my parents may have needed. My dad recently sent me a photo of a wrapping paper holder and cutter he created out of old barn wood, a piece of iron, and an old saw. How fantastic is this? I can’t wait to wrap our customers’ purchased items using this cutter. I love rustic, upcycled creations. When the tour commences, Westfalcon Farm will feature hand painted signs with unique sayings, beautiful stone vases, rustic barn wood furniture, mixed container gardens, succulent gardens, handmade jewelry, potted perennial plants, fresh baked Swedish bakery, hot coffee, Minnesota Swede Fish – a homemade gummy candy, rag dolls, doll beds, maple syrup, and my watercolor paintings – both originals and prints. Because my paintings will be in the barn sale, I wanted to focus my paintings on one of my favorite subjects – animals. More specifically, farm animals. Tickled Pink I’ve been wanting to paint a pig for a few months now, and the Westfalcon Farm Boutique gave me the inspiration I needed. My great-grandfather’s (who grew up on the farm) family used to raise pigs on the farm, and I had a vision of creating a happy pig – a pig that would make the viewer smile. I imagined the pig to look like Clarabell, the pig that my great-grandfather’s family cherished back in the early 1920’s. Here is a photo of Clarabell: A photo of Henry (my great-grandfather’s uncle who lived with the family on the farm) holding Clarabell: This photo is not of Clarabell, but I have to share something my grandpa displayed in his scrapbook. Myrtle, my great-grandfather’s sister, is seen here holding a piglet. My great-grandfather wrote this beside her photo in his scrapbook: “Pigs had mumps. Myrtle came back from the city a week later very sick with mumps. Pigs died.” -1920 My great-grandfather was also a wood carver, and carved this humorous figurine preparing a roast. Here is my version of Clarabell in watercolor. Do you think she looks happy? My husband came up with the name “Tickled Pink” – it suits this painting perfectly. I’m hoping that our customers can connect with the animals I paint. Perhaps our customers live on a farm with animals in Cambridge, maybe their family used to own a farm, or perhaps they just love animals – like me. I can’t wait for the sale! Finally, I’d like to take just a minute to write that I’m also tickled pink to have been nominated for the Best Lifestyle Blog Award. Best Lifestyle Blogger Award An anonymous friend of mine has nominated me for the Best Lifestyle Blog award. A title that is awarded once a year at the Bloggers Bash Awards in London. Thank you kindly to whomever nominated me, I’m very grateful. If you’d like to vote for my blog, please visit The Annual Bloggers Bash Awards to place your votes. I have to say that I am among many other wonderful bloggers, so please take a moment to look around and visit some blogs that catch your eye. Thanks so much for your support!
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The Hat Thief
The hat thief is tenacious, insistent, and unsympathetic. She’s motivated, resilient, and determined. When she sees a hat, and it’s within reach, there is nothing that will stop her from getting it. She is the best hat thief I have ever seen (okay, the only one too), and she makes me smile every time I see her succeed. The Adoption A year ago last October we adopted a 5-6 month old black and white puppy from a nearby rescue. We named her Ayla after the heroine in my favorite book series – The Earth’s Children by Jean M. Auel (I dare you to read the first book in the series, Clan of the Cave Bear, and not get hooked).We didn’t know much about Ayla, only that she had been rescued from a high-kill shelter in Missouri, she had recovered from Parvo as a young puppy, and that she seemed to get a little excited when she went outside with her foster parents. This last admission turned out to be a huge understatement. We took Ayla out on her first walk the day after we adopted her. Five minutes into the walk, she saw a dog walking a quarter mile down the road, and immediately put her buck up, started barking, snarling, and foaming at the mouth. My favorite was when she jumped like a fish out of water – trying to shake the collar around her neck. She wasn’t excited, she was crazy! In the next few weeks, we found that Ayla had panic attacks when we would put her in her kennel at bed time, she got very territorial around food and treats, and when she was tired, and someone walked too close to her, she would snap and growl at them. But, the strangest revelation I had was that I never saw this puppy play. She never seemed happy or loving. Did she even know how to play? I was angry. My anger was not only for this little 40lb. furball of crazy, I was angry at the rescue for adopting out a dog with so many problems – especially to a family with children. I was so close to returning Ayla to the rescue, but something kept us from doing so. My family and I took Ayla to puppy training, we had an animal behaviorist come and work with Ayla at our home, and we continued to work with Ayla on a daily basis. Then, about nine months after we adopted her, something happened. Ayla stole her first hat. The Hat Thief Ayla is part border collie and part Australian cattle dog, so her nature is to round up every moving thing that invades her sight. Last summer, my family was up at the cabin enjoying a warm afternoon on the hammock when Ayla began chasing the under side of the hammock, trying to nip at the kids and round them up. The kids were giggling as they tried to dodge Ayla’s quick movements. At one point, the hammock became unbalanced as both kids tried to pile up on the left side to avoid Ayla, and the whole hammock flipped. Legs, arms, and bodies were flying everywhere before the kids landed in a heap on the ground. Before we knew it, a black blur ran by and sniped my son’s lucky fishing hat. This move was so unexpected that I immediately started laughing, and both of the kids took off after the hat thief. Ayla sprinted, dodged, and teased the kids in an intense game of keep away. Her tail was up, her ears were alert, and she seemed to have a spring in her step as she played. Ayla was playing! For the first time since we had adopted her, Ayla was playing. She finally looked like a puppy – a happy puppy. Happiness It’s been another eight months since Ayla found happiness. Her behavior isn’t perfect yet, but she has improved by leaps and bounds. I like to say that we’ve learned just as much as Ayla has. The family has had to learn a patience we have never had to utilize before, we had to learn signals that Ayla was giving us when she didn’t know how to handle certain situations, and we had to learn different ways of training this smart and determined pup. Even though we’ve all been learning a lot, I’m happy to say that Ayla has held onto her puppy playfulness. Ayla enjoys playing with her older sister, Brook, whenever our 14-yr. old dog is up for playing. Ayla has also found joy in playing with dog toys. She loves to catch her squeaky soccer balls, retrieve her tennis balls, and play tug-of-war. And, she has found that winter is her best friend. Why? Because everyone wears hats whenever they go outside! When my family watches the hat thief in action, it makes us smile and laugh. Seeing the happiness, playfulness, and joy that has emerged in a puppy once devoid of all of this brings us happiness, playfulness, and joy. What brings a smile to your face? I’d love to read about your stories of happiness? *Update – Today Ayla managed something quite impressive. She was able to get my son’s hat out from under his bike helmet. She was sure proud of herself when that hat slipped off of his head.
My Heart: A Special Project for Valentine’s Season
“Mom, have you seen my heart?” my daughter asked as she rounded the corner to go search in the kitchen. “The last time I saw it it was on your bed.” I replied. “Oh, that’s right!” she yelled as she went running into her room. My Heart My heart just happens to be a little, red, fabric heart with frayed edges that was once filled with lavender blossoms – a sachet. Seven years ago, my husband bought me a delectable box of hazelnut chocolates from France for our sixth anniversary. When the package arrived, the ornate box of chocolates came with a bright red sachet attached to the top. The fabric was thick – maybe a denim or a canvas – and the French lavender flowers that were inside the sachet perfumed the air as soon as I opened the box – a nice surprise. I remember savoring those chocolates. I’d eat a piece of the creamy hazelnut treat once per day – letting them melt in my mouth. Sharing was very limited. I know my husband had a few pieces, but the kids (who were one and two-yrs. old at the time) shared only one piece. The chocolates didn’t last long, but I kept the sachet in a drawer for years, until my daughter started to sleep with it at age five. My daughter was going through a phase of being afraid of going to bed. “What happens if a tornado comes during the night?” “What happens if our house starts on fire?” “What happens if a robber comes to our house?” My daughter would think up every bad situation, and worry herself sick, which prevented her from going to sleep at a regular hour. My husband and I were getting very tired staying up late, and we were running out of ideas on how to help her through this phase of unrest, until I remembered the red heart. The Lavender Sachet One night when my daughter came to our room, unable to sleep again, I went to my drawer, pulled out the heart, and sat down with my daughter. “Smell it!” I instructed her. “Mmmm… that smells good.” she replied as she exhaled after taking in the still-sweet scent of the lavender sachet. My daughter sat quietly as I told her the story of how I acquired the heart. “Would you like to bring this heart with you to bed?” I asked. “It will help remind you that my heart is with you always.” I offered my daughter. She and I walked back to her room, my daughter snuggled into her covers, and put the sachet up to her nose to smell the sweet, calming lavender. It’s been years now, and my daughter still sleeps with my heart. The bright red heart is a little more muted, the edges are a little more frayed, and a hole in one of the seams allowed all of the lavender to fall out. She still has bad nights of sleep here and there, but when she does, you can bet you’ll find the red heart with her. The Boutique Just recently, my parents found out that they will be running a small boutique on their farm come May of 2019. I asked my daughter if she would like to make hearts, and sell them at the boutique. “Yes!” she said. “I can make hearts for other kids that have a hard time sleeping.” Last weekend, my mother dropped off some of my grandmother’s old thread and some red felt that my mom had found at a thrift store. I ordered two pounds of fresh lavender blooms from France, and a small bag of polyester fill. First on my to-do list was to hand-wash my daughter’s old heart, stuff the sachet with a little bit of fill and lots of lavender, and stitch up the hole. My heart is now clean, and smelling sweetly of lavender once again. We have spent the last few days cutting out hearts, stitching them up using the simple, but showy blanket stitch, and then filling them with sweet lavender. We have many more my hearts to make before the boutique in the spring, but our hearts are in it – we’ve been enjoying ourselves. Love My heart began with the celebration of love – a wedding anniversary, and will hopefully continue on for years – bringing love and comfort to others. My Heart – the perfect project for this Valentine’s season. Happy Valentine’s Day to you! I hope you have love surrounding you, even if it is just a small, red, heart to remind you.
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More Than Just A Chicken: The Impending Death of Our Friend
Nestled in a thick layer of straw in the corner of the chicken run you’ll find a chicken with bright gold feathers lying still; unnaturally still. If you look close enough you can see her densely feathered back rise and fall as she takes her steady breaths. She opens her eyes, but only wide enough to catch a tiny glimpse of me before they close again. It’s been three days since she has had anything to eat and drink. My heart hurts, and the waiting is difficult. Goldie is her name. My family names all of our chickens after flowers, and Goldie was named after the summer to fall-blooming perennial, goldenrod or Solidago. The bright yellow flowers on the goldenrod plant provide large amounts of nectar and pollen for butterflies, bees, and other insects. It’s a happy plant, so we felt it would be the perfect name for one of our friendliest chickens. Goldie brings us happiness. As Goldie grew, we found that her name was perfect in more ways than one: never leaving my side as I worked in my perennial gardens, following me up and down the rows cleaning the worms up behind me as I tilled up a new garden area (with all the other chickens running terrified from the loud machine). I’ll never forget watching Goldie run as fast as she could – half running and half flying – as soon as I carried a shovel into her view. When I proceeded to dig, Goldie would jump on top of the mound of dirt that had not yet left the shovel and scratch at the pile for any traces of insects or worms. I’m still convinced that she thought she was doing the digging. I’m going to miss the comfort of my constant companion out in the gardens. Goldie started laying shell-less eggs this past year. Her eggs contained the inner egg contents (white and yolk), and an outer membrane – no shell. Why? We are not sure. The layer feed we provide our chickens contains 4% calcium, which is the recommended amount of calcium for strong egg shells. We also provide free-choice oyster shells, so the hens who need more calcium can add it to their diets. Unfortunately, this hasn’t helped Goldie. Two months ago, Goldie became ill after one of her shell-less eggs broke open in the oviduct. The issue was apparent from the color of her feces (the bright orange-yellow of a free-range chicken egg yolk). Goldie was quiet for two weeks, unable to fly up to her usual perch, and chose to lounge underneath the deck during the day. Little-by-little, she improved. This surprised our family, as we read that most chickens who have an egg break inside of them come down with a deadly infection within hours – not Goldie. Goldie was back in the gardens in two weeks. My family came home from vacation almost two weeks ago to find Goldie sick again with that same orange-yellow yolk leaking from her vent. Goldie returned to her coop-floor sleeping corner, she rarely left the underside of the deck during the day, and her comb seemed to droop a little lower. I knew something was really wrong about a week ago when I brought some of Goldie’s favorite kitchen scraps to feed the chickens, and she ran out to inspect them, but she wouldn’t eat them. Goldie parked herself in the corner of the chicken run where she was sheltered from predators and weather four days ago, and this is where she remains. This time, the egg that broke internally was too much for her. Goldie rarely opens her eyes now, her breathing seems more laborious, and her left foot sits just outside her warm umbrella of feathers in the same position it was last night. More than anything, I want to pick Goldie up and cuddle her to give her some comfort. Though, I know this would bring me more comfort than her. The chickens love to be around us, but like to stay on their own two feet; especially Goldie. So, I resist. Instead, my family and I continue to check on her every hour or two, talk to her in soft voices, and give her gentle pets on her back every once-in-awhile. This evening the clouds finally broke after several days of showers and thunderstorms, so I went out to weed the garden. As I walked into the backyard I saw the kids holding some twine and sticks. “What are you two up to?” I asked them. “We are making Goldie a cross to put on her grave.” they replied. I smiled and said “That is so thoughtful of you. Thank you.” But, what I wanted to do was cry. I proceeded to weed the garden without Goldie by my side for the next hour and a half. I miss her already, but the garden is ready for her. When Goldie passes, she will be buried in the garden among the fragrant monarda, purple coneflowers, spikes of Russian sage, large hibiscus blooms, and yellow roses. Hummingbirds will visit her, bees will provide a constant buzz from dawn ’til dusk, monarchs and swallowtails will flutter in and around the flowers, and I’ll continue to weed the garden with her by my side. My son walked up to me today and said “Mom, it’s hard. I don’t want Goldie to die because I love having her as a pet, but I don’t want her to suffer anymore.” The death of a pet is difficult. Goldie has been much more than just a chicken, she has been a wonderful pet, friend, and gardening companion. We miss her already.
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Treating Lily – Our Sick Chicken: Out of My Comfort Zone
“Mom, something is wrong with Lily.” I remember my daughter notifying me about Lily, one of our Easter Egger chickens, last week. Unfortunately, I had brushed it off at that moment. Last fall we lost one of our friendly chickens, Jazzy, to some sort of illness. One day she was breathing funny – the next morning she had passed. The kids said they had noticed Jazzy acting funny for the past two-to-three days, but hadn’t told my husband or me, so we asked them to let us know as soon as they notice something amiss with any of the chickens. The kids listened. Since Jazzy’s death, the kids have notified me of many problems with the chickens. This is great, except many of these problems haven’t been problems at all. I would follow the kids outside just to see the ailing chicken pecking happily at the grass, or sunning herself next to coop. These moments led to a The Boy Who Cried Wolf frame-of-mind for me. This is why my daughter’s warning about Lily went in one ear and out the other last week. I was watching the chickens peck at the ground under the sugar maple tree the day after my daughter had notified me of Lily’s condition, and I noticed one of the chickens standing very upright – it was Lily. Three other hens were foraging for grass, bugs, or anything else that looked appetizing while Lily stood upright and looked down at her lower abdomen as if she was trying to figure out what was going on. She looked exactly like a penguin looking down at an egg between her legs. Her abdomen was huge and swollen. That evening I prepared a warm epsom salt bath to soak Lily in, as this is what helps egg-bound chickens, and I was very sure that Lily must be egg-bound as she has been laying the largest chicken eggs I have ever seen. Lily’s eggs have been the size of goose eggs – poor chicken! After the bath had been drawn, my husband brought Lily in and gently set her in the water. My children came in and wanted to feel Lily’s abdomen, so I moved out of the way. Both of the kids announced that her belly felt like a water balloon. I proceeded to massage her belly for 20-30 minutes before my husband put her in a towel and dried her off. Lily spent the night in our dog’s crate lying on heat packs to hopefully relax her and help the egg through, but as morning dawned, nothing had changed. My husband and I frantically researched what our next steps should be, and we both determined that an internal check should be completed. If Lily was egg-bound, she would have 24-48 hours to live if the egg wasn’t removed. By gently inserting a gloved finger just an inch or two into the vent, we would be able to feel the egg if Lily was egg-bound. I was moving outside of my comfort zone. As the kids slept, my husband picked up Lily and held her like a football, and my heart started to race. I was nervous I would hurt Lily, but she didn’t move – Lily was an excellent patient. As I performed the check, I could feel no egg – Lily wasn’t egg-bound. I was relieved that she didn’t have a massive egg stuck inside of her, but now we had to find what else could be causing her condition. My daughter had sleepily climbed out of bed to come check on Lily, and wanted to help bring her back outside. When my daughter set Lily down next to the flock, I noticed that her comb was a deep blue-purple color – cyanosis – a sign of circulatory problems. We didn’t have much time. I ran inside and continued researching. From the list of possible causes of a swollen abdomen, there was only one more treatment we could try at home – drain the abdomen using an 18-gauge needle and 60cc syringe. Ascites (ah-side-eez) or water belly is a condition where fluid can fill the abdominal cavity as a result of heart disease or tumors, and is usually followed by cyanosis of the combs and wattles – a perfect description of what Lily had going on. Thinking of sticking my little hen with the huge needle made me feel faint, but my husband, not-so-gently, reminded me that if I want to own these animals, that I was going to have to step up and treat them when they are sick – he was right. Thankfully, there are many YouTube videos that demonstrate how to drain a water belly. Going even further out of my comfort zone. I called multiple stores until I found a local equine veterinarian who said I could come and pick up the the needle and syringe we needed to drain Lily’s abdomen. Within an hour, I was sitting with Lily on my lap as I sanitized a spot on her lower right abdomen – just behind where her leg attaches to her body. This time I had Lily in a football hold while my husband gently inserted the gigantic needle. I tried not to squirm as my heart raced – I swear I could feel the needle going in. As Lily reacted to the puncture of the needle, I tried to soothe her by petting her gently and talking to her in a calm voice. Lily closed her eyes – I’m guessing it was more from being in shock than anything. Either way, she was coping better than I was. After my initial anxiety, I calmed down and honed in on what was going on. I was able to instruct my husband on where to insert the needle, the depth of insertion, and what he should expect as he extracted the liquid. The substance should have been a clear yellowish liquid that is easily extracted. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Instead of an