an embarrassment of eggs

Our lovely young ladies have been defying my expectations and laying like champs all winter, even through the darkest, coldest days. I know the day will come when they go moulty or moody or broody and slow down or, gulp, even stop laying for a while so I’m appreciating every egg they gift us, but at the same time it can be a bit overwhelming.

With nine hens, we usually get eight eggs per day – although there have been a few days when all nine laid – which means about 56 eggs per week. So we’ve been eating lots and lots of fried eggs, scrambled eggs, hard-boiled eggs and French toast. We’ve given dozens away to the neighbours, to co-workers, to my parents. And yet, as of this moment, our egg count is over 80 (that’s 50 in the bowl above) and the ladies haven’t even laid yet today.

Anybody want some eggs? Free-range, lovingly tended, very reasonably priced. Anyone?

she won’t brag, so I will

Here’s a wet-haired Anna with the scarf she knitted – all on her own – for Papa (my Dad) for Christmas.  She made one for Jam (my Mom) too, out of a beautiful hand-painted alpaca blend, but it got away before I could snap a picture.  There were a lot of handmade things exchanged here during my one month Journey into the Heart of Darkness (the, um, cold) so maybe we should have a photo session this afternoon.

The good news for Anna is that both Papa and Jam loved their scarves. So much, in fact, that Papa has requested a matching toque. Hmpf. He’s never requested a knitted anything from me.

Sniffle.

still recovering


A month into it, I think I can finally say with some confidence that I’ve turned the corner and this cold is not going to kill me. It’s been a doozy, that’s for sure. Strep throat, sinusitis, cold sores, double ear infection, and, gulp, a subconjuctival hemorrhage, which is bleeding on the surface of the eye. Don’t Google image search it – trust me.

Sadly, Christmas was a subdued affair, what with me hacking and sniffling and leaking brains everywhere, and both my birthday and New Year’s were complete washouts. Bummer. The good news, as my coworkers pointed out, is that I must now have antibodies to absolutely everything going around. So bring it on, germy patrons. Cough on that card and then hand it to me. Sneeze in my face as I hand you your books. Wipe your nose with your hand and then ask to use my phone. No problem.

here a chick, there a chick

Chickens are just so expressive.

For instance, here’s a Barred Plymouth Rock chick looking suspicious:

And a Columbian Plymouth Rock looking suspicious wary:

And a couple Rhode Island Reds regarding me with suspicion skepticism:

This guy is a touch suspicious doubtful:

Whereas this one is exhibiting a distinct suspicion lack of trust:

These ones are sharing their suspicions reservations with one another:

And this one is slightly suspicious apprehensive, even in his sleep:

Easy there, chickens. This rollercoaster of emotions is wearing me out.