I’ve got Good News and more Good News. Went out to the coop recently and found a dozen eggs. And so it begins. I spent all the next day channeling my inner Bill Lindgren, circular saws, jig saws, saws alls, impact driver, tape measure, square, a couple of sawhorses and a big stack of reclaimed/repurposed lumber. The resulting nesting boxes were neither pretty nor uniform, strict adherence to the principle that Perfect is the Enemy of the Good. We’ll soon have 30 regular layers. Maybe 14 dozen eggs a week. That’s the first bit.
The second bit actually happened at the Fremont Farmer’s Market last weekend. When the “Egg Lady” showed up with her new prices that reflect the dire state of big box commercial producers. $5/dozen.
Our Golden Eggs Well Laid and Well Played. Super Eggs as we call them. Eat more spinach than Popeye, more grubs than Bear Grylls.
The daily tender loving care they receive makes them Poultry Most Fortunate. I regularly croon to them the secret songs taught me long ago by El Gallo De Cielo (The Rooster From Heaven.) Tell them tales of his adventures, first traveling with Phineas Taylor and His Dandy Road Show Boys and later founding the Cock Of The Walk High Level Training Ashram. Highlights and lowlights of the entire cast of characters that inhabited both the land of REAL and the land of NOT (No Original Thought) REAL. El Gallo, traveling easily and gaily between the two lands, separated only by a Dark Shadow. And how eventually, it was he that revealed there are No Good Witches, whether from the West or the East and Her Horrible Spell was finally broken, pulling away the Sinister Veil to show we are all neighbors and friends.
The hens, rapt with understanding and attention. So content and proud to be chickens after all. Cozy in their new boxes, atop their perches and roosts, making Happy Chicken sounds, and me, the lone male, the Cock of the Walk home again.
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