Spring chickens

The girls.  

I cannot wait until spring, when we can spend more time with the girls again.  

I want to pin clothes on the line to dry,  I want to shellac the picnic table, and I want to hang out with my chickens. 






I am, apparently, a simple creature.











I am also a bit end-of-winter-cabin-fevered, and we are supposed to get some enormous and much-hyped amount of snow and nasty weather tomorrow.  [Which reminds me. Welcome to my annual battle of wills with late winter:  I may win in the end, but it is usually too close to call during late Feb-early March.  I most always suffer a complete--if temporary--reversal at some point before April arrives.] 

But the chickens are quite sure that spring is here.  Almost overnight everyone perked up, and now combs are bright red, feathers are shiny, and it is time to get out in the yard and patrol the premises. 

Suddenly, eggs are everywhere.  Roxie's laying again and refuses to use the nest box, so there is usually a pale blue egg in the straw underneath it.  Then again, Jason found her recently sitting half out of the box on Ethel, who was squished entirely in the box, so maybe Roxanne is just looking for trouble.  Some of the girls are having fun occasionally using the outside nest box, too, which I keep forgetting to check after no one touched it for months. 


When all of this chicken exuberance appeared, I had a moment of bliss:  Spring really is around the corner.  The girls know; they are my own little assurance.  

I remember one sheltered courtyard on my Minnesota college campus, where a tiny forest of crocus bloomed each spring long before any other area had lost snowcover.  It was a miracle each time.  Turn the corner, look down and--color!  Green leaves, gold and purple flowers.  Hallelujah, winter's lost!

Well, we've got some additional colors to add to the hallelujah 'round here.  Richly orangey-yellow egg yolks, and all shades of brown, black, silver, tan, and deep-red feathered hens.  There are green tips of garlic and daffodils up as well, and the dark brown of the earth is richer and wet with the thaw. 

 



Mmmm.

Almost here.