When a Muster Becomes a Roar
- Debra Flaming
- Sep 16
- 2 min read
If you’ve ever visited Flaming Acres Dahlias, you know our farm doesn’t just bloom with flowers—it struts with feathers too. Meet our feathered fan club: one majestic white peacock named Lightning (with a shimmer of blue and purple in his train) and his entourage of three peahens. This year, two of those peahens decided to raise families… and let’s just say the stork was generous. We now have at least 13 peachicks running underfoot.
Yes, you read that right. Over a dozen!
And here’s the kicker: when those chicks grow up, we’re looking at a full-blown muster of peacocks. (That’s the official word for a group of peacocks—sounds a lot like an army unit, doesn’t it?) I can already picture Flaming Acres by springtime: a feathery battlefield of young males trying to out-honk, out-strut, and out-dazzle one another in hopes of catching a lady’s eye.
The funny thing is that young peacocks don’t exactly impress in their first couple of years. Their tail feathers are more meh than magnificent. The peahens know it too—they just stroll right on by with a very obvious “try again next season” vibe. But this year was year three for Lightning, and let’s just say he finally figured things out. The army of peachicks is living proof that his display was a success.
For now, the peafowl rule the roost. They perch on the barn roof, strut across the porches, and even parade on top of the house, acting like Flaming Acres was built just for them. And oh, the noise! The males like to remind everyone—at any hour, day or night—that they are very impressive birds.
I can only imagine what’s coming when the five young males with their awkward, unimpressive tail feathers decide they’re ready to add their honks to the chorus. Let’s call it what it will be: fowl madness, when muster becomes a roar!
Dion loves it, of course. He’s always had a thing for birds, especially peacocks. And since he has a knack for multiplying things (plants, animals, you name it), we might just need to start handing out earplugs to farm visitors in the future. Because when this muster comes of age, Flaming Acres will sound less like a flower farm and more like a feathered orchestra tuning up for battle.
And honestly? I can’t wait.
Debra Flaming
