every day is a good day
The low winter sun sets the trees afire. It looks like the whole woods is aflame. The alders face off as if insane, waving their branches and twigs every which way, twisting themselves into untangable knots.
The cool, drizzly weather keeps the dandelions buds closed tight. They are one sunbeam away from exploding open.
Three queens, Shiun-hime, Sunshine, and Svenda, up on their roost. Of the three, Shim-hime, exudes a most royal air. She looks down at me as if I am one of her countless subjects. You can almost see her fiery eyes commanding, “Off with its head!”
Svenda is out early this morning, enjoying a morning drink out of the cold flowing stream. The stream flows from fall through spring. The headwaters are just a few hundred feet away in the woods to the north. It’s pure rain water, flowing down through branches of cedars, firs, alders, wild cherry, and vine maples, filtering through mosses and ferns before running into the creek. It makes me wonder if Svenda can taste the different trees as she drinks. “Hmm, today’s stream has a heavy taste of cedar with a hint of maple.”
Ungetsu-hime is one of the many hens who are back to laying after their winter break. The basket gets fuller every day, a sure sign that spring is around the corner. Tonight, quite a few frogs are singing at the pond. It’s only January and frogs are coming out of hibernation. It’s a most unusual year.
A rooster’s quest for love never ends. From dawn to dusk, a courting he will go. The only thing that slows a rooster down is nightfall. Once it is time to go to bed, they give up love’s conquest. They’ll even roost next to roosters they compete with during the day.
Making bread ranks up there along with making tofu and petting your cat as one of the most relaxing, heart warming things you can do. Sometimes I add nutmeg, or allspice, or coriander to the dough. Today it’s dillweed.
It’s not something to rush. Adding just a bit of yeast to the dough and letting it slowly rise overnight makes dough that is as soft and pliable as a baby’s butt. Tomorrow the house will fill with the wonderful aroma of baking bread.
Spring creeps ever closer. The daffodils are sending their flower buds up toward the sky. More green than yellow today, each day their buds turn ever more yellow.
Fuller baskets of eggs are a sure sign of spring’s approach. Each week, more hens stir from their winter break to lay eggs. I read about an egg farm, Trillium Farms, in Ohio which produces 8,000,000 eggs every day, which means they must have some 10,000,000 or so hens. Details about the farm were in an article about migrant children forced to work for $2 a day in horrible conditions at the farm. The next time you buy eggs, think about where they came from. No one needs to suffer for you to eat.
When I go out to gather eggs, thirty or more chickens sometimes come chasing after me. It’s my fault. I often give them several scoops of sunflower seeds, something they love to eat. Ever hear the pitter-patter of tens of chickens chasing after you? It’s a delightful sound that’ll put the smile on your face. I wonder what the sound of ten million hens running after me would sound like?