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?
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.
Check out this map of every person counted in the 2010 US and 2011 Canadian censuses. (Censi?) Brandon Martin-Anderson plotted one dot for each person – 341,817,095 in all.
Be sure to click on the “Show labels” button in the top right hand corner for the names of towns and major roads. And keep zooming in to see the smudges turn into a zillion tiny dots.
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.
After four and a half months of anticipation, Charlotte is proud to present…the world’s most expensive eggs.
Which has given way to yet another day of unrelenting sun and heat and humidity.
Like a proud new mother, my main focus these days is taking pictures of the chickens.
Seriously, I have a million of these.
They’re just so photogenic.
Maybe that’s just another new mother thing – thinking my babies are the cutest ever?
No, they are.
Chickens are just so expressive.
For instance, here’s a Barred Plymouth Rock chick looking suspicious:
And a Columbian Plymouth Rock looking
And a couple Rhode Island Reds regarding me with
This guy is a touch
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.