The Barn-Mart

In our trailer-living days, we kept only what we used in our tight living space, and we stored a lot of clothing and household goods in the big barn at the top of Hawk's Hill.  During garage sale season, I stocked up on basic clothes, tucking winter items in the barn for storage.  In early autumn, I trundled up the hill with a garden cart in tow, to fill with bags and boxes of sweaters, long-sleeved shirts, insulated work shirts and snow boots from storage. Then, down the hill I'd tramp, feet planted against the tug of the heavy cart.  At the trailer, I'd upend the bags of goods, and lay them out in stacks on the big porch picnic table.  The children would come "shop" for the gear they wanted with the songs of migrating Robins echoing up from the orchard and forest.  Oh, how much more appealing than driving twenty minutes to spend time and money in the less charmed environs of a big box store.

Spring found us returning the heavy gear in exchange for shorts and sunhats.  Our Sarah playfully came up with the tag "Barn-Mart" -- when in need of a dress, a "new" pair of jeans, a three-ring binder for school or craft materials to make a birthday present, we were off to the Barn Mart to rummage for treasure.  Can make for a messy barn, but if your organizational skills are even moderately good--clothing in one corner, canning jars in another, books and craft supplies upstairs in the hay loft-- you can tuck away raw materials against future needs and save time-consuming trips off the farm, as well as bundles of jing.

Now that we live in our solar home, Soulstice, we no longer pack away clothing seasonally.  But, we still maintain boxes and bags of craft materials, cloth, and a few bags of really old, clothing remain.  This past January, the Polar Vortex sent me off to the Barn Mart once again to solve a need.  Two of my hens had been heavily treaded (ridden) by the rooster, and were bare-backed.  I had made cloth saddles out of jeans lined with T-shirt materials for them, but the ladies had slipped out of their old "cloaks," breaking the elastic bands that held them on.

As the weather forecasters predicted temperatures dropping down below zero, I looked at those old hen covers and thought they'd be woefully inadequate to protect bare skin even under heat lamps.  So, off to the Barn Mart I went, perusing trash bags of old sweaters, and finding several made of 100% wool.  Bingo!

Putting the new sweater on a hen.  The mask is to keep cold, dry
winter air from hurting my nose & throat

I washed the wool sweaters in hot water and ran them through a hot dryer, transforming them to thick felt that wouldn't unravel when cut.  It was easy to make a pattern from the old saddles, and to attach a piece of elastic to slip under the wings to hold the saddles securely on their birds.  The hardest part of the operation was catching the partly defeathered birds.  My beloved helped me to corral the two hens, and I slipped their warm jackets on.  To one jacket, I had sewn on a "cape" to cover the bird's bare shoulders.

The lowest hen gets the finest garb!

In chicken "culture," the lowest hens on the pecking order are treaded more often by the rooster, so the fanciest cloak went to the lowest hen in the flock.  She tucked the edges of her new sweater under her wings, keeping its warming insulation free of drafts.  In the end, she looked like a character from a Beatrix Potter story, out for a walk to Ginger & Pickles' General Store in her finery.

And as I pulled the covers up to my chin that night, and David read the digital thermometer at -45 degrees F with the wind chill, I knew that my Buff Orpington hens were tucked away safely under cover of their warm winter sweaters.  And I hadn't spent a penny keeping Henny Penny warm.

May you find unexpected treasures in your own Barn-Mart, Basement-Mart, Garage-Mart or Closet-Mart as you do your spring cleaning!

Betsy