…Which in turn got me to thinking…

I took that picture planning to crop out everything but the roof-top panels so I could bitch about bird shit. This I have done.

But the exercise got me to thinking about the things that can happen to utility buildings, when you don’t really know what you’re doing but rush in anyway. I confess I’ve grown rather fond of this one, just because of the changes it’s gone through since I’ve been here.

The part on the right is the original power shed. It holds the batteries, inverter and charge controller, and also a now-defunct pressure pump and tank. There’s a very little room for storage, and periodically we have to evict pack rats.

The part on the left was an open carport when I moved here. It didn’t hold anything much except the gasoline generator (which saw a lot of use in those days, because Landlady and T got ripped off by the guy who sold them their electrical system.)

Then there was an incident in which certain dogs, who shall remain nameless, got caught chasing certain cattle. Thus was Gitmo born. T enclosed the carport to create the Big Doghouse. There was talk of a flatscreen playing Lady and the Tramp on an endless loop. I think that talk was joking. They paid big bux to enclose the whole thing with cyclone fencing, which sustained major damage every time Magnus decided he wanted out.

In those days the generator still saw a lot of use, and that’s when I learned another reason to never run one indoors. Those little B&S engines really do need a lot of airflow and are prone to overheat even in the most airy enclosed structure. Two valve-jobs and a busted crank later, I built a new outdoor shelter behind the building for the (new) generator. Little Bear has knocked it down twice now, which says something uncomplimentary about my building skills.

The whole thing was bare OSB bleaching in the sun for years until Claire applied its one-and-only coat of stucco. That’s when the Big Doghouse got its arched entrance. Because Landlady likes arches, okay?

Then Landlady decided to try raising chickens, and the whole thing got another re-do. We ripped out the pain-in-the-ass fencing around the front and side of the building, planted some new posts, and enclosed only the rear. The arched entry got a door, to keep the right animals in and the wrong animals out.

Converting Gitmo to a big chicken yard got delayed when Landlady kept the chickens in the city. The neighbors, or the POA, or somebody complained and they got moved up here. But since there were only three it made more sense to keep them at the Lair and that’s how all that happened. But the idea lives, and early this summer we’ll complete the process. Gitmo will become the Heartless Chicken Factory. We have to trench under the fence and pour concrete to discourage four-footed predators, roof the yard with chicken wire or hardware cloth to discourage raptors, and do some building in the Big Doghouse to convert it to a Big Coop.

The new flock is already ordered, and should be mature enough to move up here sometime in June. The male population is expected to dwindle rapidly – another folksy skill none of us have done before – but Landlady wants to see what happens when we retain one rooster per bunch of hens.

We’ll split the flock for safety in redundancy – most will go in the new post-Gitmo digs and some will join the three ladies at the Lair. At that point, once we see how the egg production goes, I may send the current top hen to be with her ancestors. Then maybe the other two will grow their feathers back. Seriously, they’re embarrassing.

And that’s the chain link fencing that used to surround Gitmo, recycled into a secure chicken bunker at the Lair. It’s chickens all the way down.