Wife, writer, tinkerer, grower of food. I'm happiest outside our rambling farmhouse with a basket looped on my arm, picking dinner from the garden. That's joy right there. Please follow along; I'm so glad you're here!
Chickens are just the goofiest things. I've been letting them in my garden ever since I pulled my tomato plants, and it's quickly become their favorite place. Lots of grubs and worms hiding under that maple leaf mulch, and lots of cabbage worms to discover, and tasty asparagus berries to pluck. I regret that I can't let them in during other parts of the year, but first, their scratching would decimate my early spring seedlings, then they would eat the raspberries, and then they would eat the tomatoes. In the late fall garden, with everything sturdy and well-established or else on its way out, the chickens can scratch to their hearts' content.
They talk to me, a lot. June, the out-of-focus yellow one in the top photo, is the most gregarious, following me around at times, acting like I've been put on this earth expressly for her to follow and extort food from. She chases Pete, too. Barrels after him, head down, velociraptor-style. He does not care for this behavior, but we find it quite amusing.
Yesterday we got five eggs. FIVE. The thanks we get for having a big garden full of treats. Omelettes for everyone!