It’s coming on to winter, so it’s time to think about getting the boots out of the closet and putting them by the porch door. I watch Project Runway. I know that boots with heels are in fashion. Heidi Klum struts around in five-inch heels and manages to look elegant and powerful. She’s probably going to wear boots like these this winter:

Maybe these boots are fine when walking on flat ground, where there’s no ice or snow. Maybe. But to me, they look like an accident about to happen. Fashion is dangerous!

Around here, we have our own sense of style. LL Bean Boots are classics.

Sensible, sturdy, warm. But safe? Not always.

Left by the back door, wild animals appropriate them for their own uses. Always, always, look inside before slipping them on.

What with molting, shortened days, colder weather, and aging hens, I expected egg production to trail off this month, and it has. On Thursday, I went from collecting two eggs (from 14 hens) to none. Oh well, I thought. On Friday, there were still no eggs, which was really too bad because my son with the broken elbow has been asking for scrambled eggs every morning. In the afternoon I took the compost bucket out to the big barn’s run and found these:

They are very well hidden, nestled in the end-of-garden refuse and dead leaves. They’re also in a corner that I don’t usually look in. Here’s a view from outside the bin:

The eggs are in that front, left corner.

While hiding a cache of eggs isn’t unusual on many farms, it is here. This is the first time in over fifteen years of keeping hens that my girls have hidden their  eggs. I’m not sure what prompted the change. As far as I can tell, there’s nothing different with their nesting boxes. Maybe the way the materials were tossed into the compost made that corner irresistible?

Or, perhaps there’s something going on that I don’t know about. The other day, Lily was acting strangely. She kept asking to go out. Then in. Then out, where she’d station herself in the center of the lawn in an attentive sit. Also, the HenCam barn hens spent a nice, sunny day indoors, which is totally out of the ordinary behavior for them. My hunch is there’s been a predator around, and judging by Lily’s tension, it’s not one she’s familiar with. Maybe the bear that destroyed our bird feeders two years ago is back.

In any case, I want the hens to lay their precious eggs indoors. I put a wooden egg in the nesting box, and the hens went right back to laying where they’re supposed to.

I was pretty sure that the eggs were fresh and in good shape, but I checked to make sure. Old eggs develop an air sac and float in water. Fresh eggs sink. Eggs a few weeks old rotate an end and point out of the water. Here you can see a two-week old egg, upright, and the horizontal egg is the one collected from the compost. Both eggs have since been eaten. They were delicious.

(Look closely at the photo and you’ll see some of my egg cup collection!)

It’s been a challenging week. Last Friday my son broke his elbow at school, which necessitated an ambulance ride to the local hospital. Then, he had another ambulance ride to a Boston hospital that has a pediatric orthopedic surgery department. They gave him pain killers and a temporary cast. A few days later we had a consultation with the surgeon and a new, temporary cast was put on. Yesterday we were back at the big city hospital for the surgery, which was more difficult than expected.

My husband and I were sitting in a waiting room, in that sort of dazed, anxious stupor that one has in hospital waiting rooms, when Steve pulled out his laptop. He nudged me and pointed at the screen. There was Pip, standing up, yet soundly asleep, leaning his head on Caper’s furry belly. Pip had a look of serene happiness on his face and a a beauteous smile on his lips. We smiled too. I joke that Caper and Pip are “useless” – after all, they’re boy goats. Lawn ornaments. But the truth is that they’re very good at their job, which is making everyone that knows them smile. I needed them yesterday, and they sure earned their keep.

I snapped the sprouts off of the plants

and gave the stalks to the goats. By all the shoving, burping and leaf-grabbing, you’d think the boys were starved. But, look at those round bellies! Those goats always have full stomachs.

But, look who’s watching! Candy wants cabbage, too.

Okay, girl, here you go. Thanks for sharing with the hens.

This is what I harvested.

I’ll show you in another post how I cook Brussel sprouts.

It was in the low twenties this morning. A hard frost is pretty when you know it’s going to warm up later.

This is why the growing season is over.

I’ll bring the Brussel sprouts in later this afternoon. It’s said that they taste better after a frost – if that’s the case, they should be delicious!