Waiting for the miracle

Are you chitting me

Are you chitting me

The thermometer has been stuck between 1ºC and 4ºC for about three days. The hens are huddling together in the coop, rather than sleep alfresco on their favourite perch. Only one of them has been laying since the solstice, and even she’s had a day off today. The sparrows and great tits and blue tits are ravaging the feeders, and Joshua might have to refill them before the weekend.

But I nipped out to the garden centre on Sunday and came back with some seed potatoes. As usual Jenny has used our excess egg boxes as chitting trays, and in just a couple weeks I’ll be forking some chicken shit into the soil and planting the spudlets, and then, after another cold snap, it’ll get warmer and sunnier, and life begins again.


These guys are always early


About rpg

Scientist, poet, gadfly
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