I feel like a proud mother. Or maybe a proud mother hen. We've been waiting for this day since September. And lately, with all the spring-like weather, and rooster hanky-panky, I had a feeling it would be happening soon. We even gave them a freshly cleaned out coop and fluffed up those nesting boxes, just as a little encouragement.
Someone else in this house has been anticipating this day even more than me.
So when I woke up Friday morning to, "MOM!!! WAKE UP! You are going to scream your pants off!" I knew what was coming before I even opened my eyes.
(And yes, Emma does wake up before me some times. And she sneaks downstairs and does things like burn toast and set off the smoke alarm (Thursday), or sit and draw pictures at the kitchen table, or bring all the outside barn cats into the mudroom for "snuggling". )
On Friday, she must have sensed it was THE day, because she got up, got dressed and went to let the chickens out and check for eggs, very early.
And she was right!
EGGS!!! WE HAVE EGGS, people! Three of them, in fact. And two of them later in the day–because, you know she checked almost hourly. That's one egg from every hen.
I feel so proud.
And we're keeping track–the official "chicken chart" has been placed on the kitchen wall and a tally system is in place. So far, we've collected eight eggs. And Dan, to the shock of our children, fried up a few of those eggs Sunday morning. The girls, apparently, are on an egg strike.
And when I went to the grocery store on Sunday afternoon, I walked right on by those shelves of eggs. There's nothing like the feeling of producing your own food, even just a little bit.
Gets me excited for this year's garden.
And makes me want to give these hens a day at the spa or something…for all their egg-laying work.
