I want to be very clear. We did not buy ducks. Nobody at this farm sat down at a kitchen table and said, “You know what would be great for our current bandwidth as new farmers? Ducks.” What happened is: Kappie found an egg.
It was in the long grass near the lower fence. Speckled, small, and definitely not a chicken egg. We looked at it. We looked at each other. We looked at the egg again. Kappie said, “Should we do anything?” I said, “I do not know.”
The two weeks of plausible deniability.
For the next two weeks, we watched the egg get joined by more eggs, and then we watched a small brown duck — clearly the project manager of this whole operation — show up and sit on them. We named her Brenda. Brenda did not consent to being named Brenda. Brenda did not care.
You don’t get to choose when you become a duck person. The ducks choose.— Joe, learning
And then there were ducklings.
I am writing this from the porch. I can see, from where I am sitting, seven small wet creatures attempting to fit into a baking tray full of water. They are unbelievably bad at it. They are unbelievably good at it. Both things are true. They have opinions about the cat. They have opinions about the wind. They have opinions about each other. They are, in every sense, a tiny loud committee.
What we’ve added to the farm because of ducks.
A real splash pool. The baking tray was a temporary measure. The actual pool was, embarrassingly, an Amazon decision made at 11pm. It is now their favorite place on earth.
A predator-aware coop corner. Kappie built the gate. I did the screws. Brenda inspected it. Brenda approved.
An entirely new appreciation for slugs as a security problem. The ducks have made it clear that slugs are offensive to them personally. The garden has never been healthier.
The future.
We do not, at this time, intend to expand the duck program. We also did not, at this time, intend to start the duck program. So we’ll see.
✎ — Joe, from the porch, surrounded