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Archive for January 7th, 2009

Little Bitty

Jan
7

Look at that!

(Left to right: banty egg, one of my other hens’ eggs, a storebought medium-size egg.)

My little bitty banty laid an egg!!!! I’m sure it’s hers. All first eggs are small, but this one is small. It’s a banty egg.

Cute, huh? (It’s even pink!) I have no idea what I’m going to do with banty eggs. It would take two or three of them to make up one large egg. Morgan considers the banties to be “her” chickens, so she wants me to let them hatch more banties, and I will, but I’m not doing that till spring. So I guess I’m going to be making little bitty omelettes. Little bitty egg sandwiches. Little bitty deviled eggs. Little bitty pies and little bitty cakes–

Cleopatra: “I may never lay another egg for you, woman, if you keep this up.”

Okay, okay, don’t get your little bitty feathers in a wad!!! I’m just teasing you! I would be honored to have your massively huge omelettes!!! HONORED!!!

Sheesh, these chickens have no sense of humor.

Most of you don’t have access to the Charleston Daily Mail, so I want to share with you the actual paper (which I finally got hold of). Because I’m excited and I’m a dork. Bear with me.

See the front page of the paper?! Me!!

Here’s the column, inside. Right next to Dear Abby. My, Clover’s picture is big! Is the world ready for this much Clover?

Is Clover ready for this much Clover? Will the attention go to her head?

Clover: “I shall expect all my cookies on a silver platter from now on.”

Me: “You’re just kidding, right, Clover?”

I see you have no sense of humor, either………..

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On Its Last Legs

Jan
7


The roof is caving in the middle of this old house on a country backroad. Once the roof goes, that’s the end. I always think it’s sad when I see a house in its final days.

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The Slanted Little House

"It was a cold wintry day when I brought my children to live in rural West Virginia. The farmhouse was one hundred years old, there was already snow on the ground, and the heat was sparse-—as was the insulation. The floors weren’t even, either. My then-twelve-year-old son walked in the door and said, “You’ve brought us to this slanted little house to die." Keep reading our story....



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