Michael filled water buckets for ducks last night. This morning they were glazed with ice. We are due below freezing temperatures still, but the ducks needed to go to pasture.

Every year we carry them, one by one, between the duck mansion and summer pasture. We carried 29 down this year, leaving Gracie in the mansion due to her arthritis. Arthur died in March while I was at my mom’s, leaving Gracie and the Khaki Campbells as the last of our original ducks. The Khakis remain spry and so made the trek to summer pasture.

It would be cruel to leave a flock bird alone. Gracie has plenty of company. We incubated 42 duck eggs this year. 39 of them were fertile. We lost a hatchling who could not quite make it out of his eggshell in a timely manner, leaving us 38 tiny birds. We purchased another 16 ducklings: new Pekins and more Khakis (shown in the above photo).

We fostered them in plastic tubs in the basement until they outgrew that space. Their growth rate drove us to advance taking the mature ducks to pasture, even if we have to haul water by hand for a few days. (We hope it doesn’t stay cold!)

New ducklings are so entrancing.

More than half of the old ducks (not Gracie or the Khakis) will be harvested this year. I brought a variety of potato sausages (duck, smoked chicken, and venison-pork) to my mom’s house so we could do a comparative tasting. The duck won hands-down.

We love our ducks. We love to cuddle them. We love to care for them. We love to eat them. It is an interesting and amazing process. Not for everyone. Perfect for us.