Why I love chickens

Sorry. I have not only let two weeks lapse without a post but also not taken any new pictures. I meant to take my camera with me for Thanksgiving at my brother’s house. The road to hell….

I’ve been thinking of all the things I enjoy about having chickens. I like being outside at the crack of dawn to let the girls out. Twice this weekend, Hilda and I had a lovely walk around the property after the chicken chores were done. There is something extremely satisfying about lifting a warm egg from a nest box. The hens are always busy and always entertaining to watch as they run in and out of the coop, cooing, squawking, scratching in the dirt, running here and there, and chasing each other over tasty morsels. If I am contemplating making something with eggs and find I don’t have enough, I don’t have to go to the store; I only have to wait until later in the day. I have mentioned the superior taste and quality of our eggs before, but it bears repeating.

I made waffles this morning to use up some buttermilk. Left to my own devices, I would always make pancakes. My husband maintains that pancakes “are too filling.” (I can talk about him because he never reads this.) In my world view, pancakes and waffles are exactly the same except that waffles are more of a pain in the neck to make because the eggs have to be separated and the whites whipped to soft peaks. Furthermore, they have to be cooked in the waffle iron two at a time instead of six on the griddle like pancakes. Well. The things we do for love. Admittedly, leftover waffles heat up better in the toaster than pancakes. But pancakes can be microwaved. Either is a fine thing to have in the freezer.

I hadn’t made waffles since we moved and certainly not since we had fresh eggs. My first discovery was a happy one—the fresh egg whites whipped in half the time (in the spirit of disclosure, I did not time it, but I also didn’t feel like my arm was going to fall off before I was done). My second discovery was not so good—the waffle iron, hot pot, convection oven, and microwave cannot be operated all at once without tripping the circuit breaker. By the time the breaker was reset, I had completely forgotten about the bread in the oven. However, when I did remember, the oven had only lost 25°F. No harm done.

Other that cooking, baking, walking, and taking care of chickens, the rest of my weekend was spent madly cranking out video clips for my partially online class. We’re down to the wire, and there’s no way I can get through genetic engineering and immunity in an hour tomorrow night. Next weekend should be more relaxing.