Not to eat–to visit. We visited our #2 daughter, the one who keeps the chickens who supply us with eggs. #2 daughter has a degree in landscape architecture, and she’s happily making the place she and her husband live on into a thing of beauty. I took a buncha pictures, but either they didn’t come out or they came out so well I’m going to upload them to my Flickr photostream. Real Soon Now.
Here is a pic of her primrose. It ought to be called a fancyrose or a flashyrose.
And here is one of the hens who lay the golden-yolked eggs. This one is Henny. If you’ve never eaten a fresh egg, it can be quite a startling sight. The yolk is almost orange-yellow, the color is so intense. A scrambled fresh egg looks like it has cheese melted in it, or like it has food coloring added. And it really makes a difference to the taste–dishes cooked with them even more so than the eggs plain. So we were sure to say thank you to the dear chickens. From outside the fence, where they couldn’t peck at our toes.
A very sad thing happened: Daughter #2 had five hens and Lodie, but she came home one day and found one of the hens missing. She figures a hawk came and took her. So she and her husband and my husband spent a day putting in posts and laying strips of chicken wire across the top of the chicken run as a hawk baffle. So far, it’s working.
Well, it’s Derby Day, and cool and wet and nasty, as usual. We may forgo the Mint Juleps and go for Hot Toddys instead.
writing prompt: Have a character meet the animal who provides–or is slated to provide–his or her food.