New Ducklings, Old Towns, and Lessons in Quacking
So the big day arrived. In the midst of dealing with a very aggressive bear (read: feathered-massacre-level aggressive), we made the drive—30 miles one way—to pick up our new Muscovy ducklings. For context: said bear wrecked nearly our entire chicken flock, destroyed our fencing, and turned our coop into modern art. It’s been a week. But back to the ducklings. I’m incredibly lucky to have connected with a fellow homesteader who shares my obsession— ahem, I mean, passion—for these quirky birds. This is my second duck purchase from him. (And if you happen to be in Southwest Virginia and want well-bred Muscovies that haven’t been overly domesticated into little feathered golden retrievers, drop me a note. I’ll hook you up.) We had perfect weather for the drive, which took us straight through the town my parents moved to when I was nine, when we first came to Virginia from Iowa. I hadn’t visited in years. So I took my husband on a little memory tour. We even stopped by the same resta...