The First Egg
This is the first egg laid yesterday by our new flock. It's always a puzzle figuring out which hen has been getting busy in the henhouse, unless you can sit and watch them all day. This egg comes with a clue in the form of an auburn feather, which means it could belong to Pinny, Henna, or Pearl. I put my money on Pearl because she has mellowed in the way that pullets do when they're about to become hens. They don't run away from you quite as much, and of course, there's always the mating pose that can give a bird's reproductive maturity away. However, I haven't actually witnessed my girls doing this yet. (A posture they will immediately assume if you reach out for them, wings slightly askew, knees slightly bent, in readiness for the attentions of a rooster.)
Having fresh laid eggs is one of those things that makes your life feel blessed with abundance and rich quality. I was giving the girls some fresh water before coming to work this morning and there was a breeze whipping through my yard that smelled of distant ice floes. Absolutely autumnal. I saw that my butternuts are quite large and tan, almost ready. The vines are dying back. The tomatoes are showing signs of petering out. The dahlias are only now budding out. I feel so sad for them, blossoming just as the icy winds start tearing through town. Next year I will have all my dahlias in early. The nip in the air made me feel excited for the winter plannning of next year's garden. I know so much more now that I've been through the summer in this new yard. Next year will be one of more careful plantings.
Most people get sad when the taste of fall comes. I relish it. I like to feel it on my skin, the bite of arctic whipping through an otherwise warm day. Harbinger of warm interiors and frigid landscapes. Hot soup. Sweaters and hats. A pulling in of forces, reserves of energy stored against sleet and snow. I will miss the fresh vegetables in my own garden. I will miss the farmer's market (not done for this whole month, luckily).
I hope all the hens start laying before the winter really settles in because when the daylight hours are really short they'll stop laying anyway. I'd like to see all of them lay a couple of eggs before shutting down for winter. (I could use artificial light to force them to keep laying, but doing this will burn them out younger.) My girls are almost all grown up!
As I was cycling to work I heard some hens squawking in that delightful way they do when they are laying. Somewhere between eighth and ninth on Birch. It made me so happy! (I don't risk getting anyone in trouble mentioning the location because hens are LEGAL here.) I am tempted to bombard my old chicken-hating-neighbors (they know who they are) with chicken information and news about mine. I want to send them charts that show all the cities, big and small, that allow people to keep chickens. But I remind myself that trying to make them feel uncomfortable about their strange aversion to poultry I will not be acting in a gracious manner. It will put me at a disadvantage in the end. So I'll refrain, and instead I'll be super happy for all of us who keep hens and hope that anyone who would like to have them is able to.
Having fresh laid eggs is one of those things that makes your life feel blessed with abundance and rich quality. I was giving the girls some fresh water before coming to work this morning and there was a breeze whipping through my yard that smelled of distant ice floes. Absolutely autumnal. I saw that my butternuts are quite large and tan, almost ready. The vines are dying back. The tomatoes are showing signs of petering out. The dahlias are only now budding out. I feel so sad for them, blossoming just as the icy winds start tearing through town. Next year I will have all my dahlias in early. The nip in the air made me feel excited for the winter plannning of next year's garden. I know so much more now that I've been through the summer in this new yard. Next year will be one of more careful plantings.
Most people get sad when the taste of fall comes. I relish it. I like to feel it on my skin, the bite of arctic whipping through an otherwise warm day. Harbinger of warm interiors and frigid landscapes. Hot soup. Sweaters and hats. A pulling in of forces, reserves of energy stored against sleet and snow. I will miss the fresh vegetables in my own garden. I will miss the farmer's market (not done for this whole month, luckily).
I hope all the hens start laying before the winter really settles in because when the daylight hours are really short they'll stop laying anyway. I'd like to see all of them lay a couple of eggs before shutting down for winter. (I could use artificial light to force them to keep laying, but doing this will burn them out younger.) My girls are almost all grown up!
As I was cycling to work I heard some hens squawking in that delightful way they do when they are laying. Somewhere between eighth and ninth on Birch. It made me so happy! (I don't risk getting anyone in trouble mentioning the location because hens are LEGAL here.) I am tempted to bombard my old chicken-hating-neighbors (they know who they are) with chicken information and news about mine. I want to send them charts that show all the cities, big and small, that allow people to keep chickens. But I remind myself that trying to make them feel uncomfortable about their strange aversion to poultry I will not be acting in a gracious manner. It will put me at a disadvantage in the end. So I'll refrain, and instead I'll be super happy for all of us who keep hens and hope that anyone who would like to have them is able to.