It’s time to prune the cherry, plum, and apple trees. Last week we brought some pruned cherry branches indoors, and today we have cherry blossoms in February.
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Cherry Blossoms in February
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Time to Weed
The hazelnut catkins are in full bloom. The ruby streaks which overwintered are sending up flower stalks too. It is from tiny blossoms like these that many of our foods come.
BB has found something interesting in the ruby streaks. If I had a nose like his, I could probably smell how things are growing underground. I could plant seeds and by sniffing, tell when they are about to pop out of the ground.
Tulips are shooting out of the ground too. The warm, spring sun is calling them out of the ground. It’s time to get busy weeding and deciding what to plant first, and second, and third, and on and on.
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Spring Clouds, Spring Flowers, Spring Everything
Yesterday, the sky was filled with spring clouds. The sun coaxed the daffodils to spread their petals. Winter is shedding away. All I have to do is stand and close my eyes. I can feel winter’s footsteps becoming fainter and fainter. The smell of spring tickles my nose. Spring clouds, spring flowers, spring eggs.
This morning while a group of hens gather to gossip by the stream, Special is in the water looking for something good to eat … or is she doing something else, like looking at her reflection in the glassy water? “Mirror, mirror in the stream, who’s the fairest of them all?” She knows the answer. She just wants to hear someone else say it.
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立春 – Risshun – The Start of Spring
Yesterday, February 4, was Risshun – 立春, the start of spring according to the seasonal calendar used in Japan. Yesterday’s sunrise, with clouds burning brightly, was fitting for the first day of spring
A sure sign of spring are the nine dozen eggs I took to Tweets this morning. The hens are producing twice as many eggs as just a few weeks ago. It’s time for soufflés and omelettes and raw egg on hot rice.
Maggie, tucked in her dark nest, and Special, on her bed of straw and hay, laid their eggs early this morning. Special reminds me of an art lesson I learned as a child, that red and gray go well together. She also has a distinctive voice. When she belts out, her loud cry makes you jump and yell, “What the hell was that!” Her voice sounds like a peacock on LSD. Her eggs are unusual too. They are slender and pointed. She tossed convention out the window when she was born. “I gotta be me! I gotta be me!” I think that’s what she’s saying when she yells.
See, Special’s pointed egg is nothing like Maggie’s round one. If you get a pointed egg, put your ear next to it and see if you can hear a special chicken’s cry.
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Helping Feet
Just because it’s cold and the snow lies heavy on the hills doesn’t mean that I can stay indoors and not tend to the compost. All of January I’ve been collecting the bedding from under the roosts and setting it aside in a covered spot for a substantial compost pile. With the change of the months, it’s time to stir it all up and get it wet so that it can start to cook. Fortunately, I have plenty of feet wanting to give a hand. How people compost without chickens is beyond me. They are indispensable when it comes to stirring and mixing and turning compost piles. They get to all the bits you and your pitchfork don’t. If you look closely at a chicken’s feet, they look like small pitchforks. It wouldn’t surprise me if the first pitchforks were designed after chicken feet.
