an early easter surprise

I came home late last night to a dark, sleeping house to find a bag of chicken feed randomly sitting in the kitchen. I dismissed it as an odd, yet insignificant item, joking with a friend that mom had brought a batch of peeps home for easter. our laughter at such a ridiculous notion died away, and suddenly our eyes met as the realization dawned...searching the room, we found a rather suspicious box, swaddled in blankets with an electric cord trailing from a corner. filled with a sort of horrified glee, we tentatively peeked over the top to find our suspicions confirmed. six bright yellow balls of adorable fluff with bright inquisitive eyes peered up at us. and so now we have chickens.

amusingly, the container the chicks arrived in was a cardboard fried chicken take-out box. well played, Tractor Supply. they were labeled as 'assorted reds' and we have NO idea what sex they are, so here's hoping we didn't just christen six roosters with feminine names from greek mythology. so our latest farm experiment is being kept at a toasty 90 degrees under a heat lamp in our kitchen, where they are currently eating their baby feed out of a creme brulee ramekin and chirping away happily.

redbuds in bloom

interested babysitter

Blizzard 2010

Well, that predicted 7 inches for the weekend ended up being 2 feet all over the mid-atlantic, and once again, the dogs (and us younger people) are the only ones delighted by the abundance of perfect powder. Preferring to hunker down, no driveways or porches were shoveled today, and the only track visible in the yard is the pathway to the barn and back to the house. Cows and sheep were clearly relieved (and thus immediately strident) at the appearance of relief, eventually mollified by grain and fresh hay. Unfortunately, the depth of the snow prevented the use of the tractor to move hay bales into the feeder, which necessitated a good hour of forking hay by hand for a pretty unruly crowd. Though an onerous prospect, it's actually rather satisfying and rhythmic work, pitching the mounds of hay, releasing the scent of summer into the crisp winter air. Today the barnyard is a small microcosm of life punctuated by steamy breaths and contented animal sounds in a world rendered silent and empty by the heavy blanket of snow.