What The Cluck

I know, I know. I’ve been bouncing on and off my beloved blog all summer, not really keeping with my tried and true weekly posts. My outlet of writing has been pushed aside to accommodate a part-time job that has required full time hours the past couple months. Totally crimped my style. But stay with me, as my regularly scheduled program will resume shortly.

I believe the last time I wrote, I was going all peachy and also wondering whether or not we have a rooster in our flock; our Fed Eleven as we call them. Well, when I heard that crow around 4a.m. one morning, I thought to myself, “what the cluck.” Deciding to keep the guy, we’ve dubbed him Richard, and so far he’s been nice to the hens and downright protective of them too. He has earned his pardon. But, I’ve gotta tell ya, Richard crows all day long. Like, every hour on the hour. Five or six times in a clip.

Sigh.

The hens however, are starting to earn their keep. When the first egg was laid, all four of us went to the coop and took pictures and posted stories on Instagram and brought the egg inside, passed it around and marveled at it. Seems silly now, but it was exciting to us just the same. We’re up to collecting five eggs a day, all different sizes and slightly different colors, with some darker than others; some with dark specs and some with white specs. And, several with double yolks, even the really small eggs. Sure makes for some great pancakes and the very best scrambled eggs.

So here we are at Farmhouse 1820, harvesting from the garden and collecting eggs. All that was on the property way back when, but now in a much smaller scale. Very rewarding and very satisfying. Cheers to having chickens.  Not only do they provide good eggs, but some pretty funny entertainment as well. The chicken stories aren’t going to stop here. More to come. Cluck. Cluck.