So this morning C. discovers five chicks in the nest (hence the broken eggshells). Sorry, cats and raccoons, for suspecting you. And Dovey is still trying to hatch out some of the 19 (!) remaining eggs.
I'm so damn proud. Ridiculous, I know. I didn't spend 30 days humped up in the musty old shed, keeping two dozen eggs warm with my butt. New life; it's such a simple thing. But it makes me happy.
The swallows are zipping around, buzzing us in greeting, and darting after skeeters and flies. I know – what the hell else would swallows do in the spring? But it makes me happy.
So it's spring and the chickens are awesome and I'm hobbling around grinning like a fool.
Today was a three-egg day, the first we've had in ages. Check these out:
That's the white hen's egg on the left, call it a medium; the little black hen's in the center, and my favorite new hen Ping's egg at right. Ping is the tiny gold one. These three eggs make me happy.
What is it about country life that is so satisfying? Maybe all the fresh air has made me stupid, but I do find pleasure in the simplest things. I was raking up old hay in the barn, and it smelled all farmy. That's a happy smell. What the hell was I doing living in town for the last 27 years?
In other business, C. planted beets and spinach.
I took some scrambled eggs and spinach over to Dovey for my first look at the chicks. And now there are six!