I am always thrilled to pieces to hear that HenCam, my blog and Tillie Lays an Egg have inspired others. I’ve heard from people who got chickens, and goats(!) because of what they’ve  seen on the cams. Teachers and libraries have created entire programs centered around chickens. I get especially happy to hear that my girls have becomes muses to artists. Recently, I heard from a potter who asked if she could send me something in thanks. Today I got this in the mail:

Julia, the artist, says that it was Tillie who provided the inspiration for this:

It has holes for hanging, but it’s on my kitchen counter, already useful as a spoon rest.

Thank you, Julia! To see more of her work, go to her etsy store.

Yesterday was the opening day of the Fryeburg Fair, which is one of the classic New England fairs. Sure, there’s fried food and a midway, but the real show is in the barns, where there are 4-H kids dressed in white, tired looking parents, grandparents in overalls wielding pitchforks, and stalls full of animals.

Piglets are cute.

But they grow up to be this big, so I didn’t bring one home.

Speaking of big, look at these gorgeous spotted steers.

Even bigger, was this oxen team. I think they were the gentlest animals at the fair. The owner says they work for cheese doodles and head scratches.

I’d rather be around those massive oxen with their sharp horns, than this llama with her annoyed expression.

There were also border collies herding sheep, ginormous draft horses, goats, chickens, ducks, geese, pheasants, and a whole barnful of rabbits! I thought about taking this Harlequin bunny home.

But I didn’t. I did come home with maple sugar sprinkles and goat milk soap in the shape of a tractor, which was enough.

Pip:  Peanuts?

Yes, Pip, you can have two.

Pip:  Just two?

Yes, it’s not good for goat boys to eat too much rich food.

Pip:  But I can look even cuter. Please?

No.

Caper:  She’s just keeping them for herself. I bet there’s more in here.

Let go of the zipper.

Caper:  It won’t hurt to have three peanuts. Just three.

No.

Pip:  Oh so sad and hungry! See, I’m not wagging my tail anymore.

Okay, okay. But this is the last one.

Thanks, Goat Maid. You can have one too.

The summer that I was five years old, my brothers went to sleep-away camp. My mother, worried that I would be lonely, got me a guinea pig. His name was Chester and he had belonged to a family who no longer wanted him. He was full-grown and a chestnut brown and I thought him the most beautiful animal in the world. I didn’t miss my brothers at all. A few weeks later, when told that my brothers would be coming home soon, I howled and cried, thinking that their return meant that I had to give Chester back. Given a choice between siblings and Chester, I much preferred the piggy. As it turned out, I got to have both.

Chester lived in a plastic baby bathtub in my room that was layered with newspaper and bedded with hay. Hay at the pet store was expensive so we went to a feed store. It was an old building next to a railroad track. I was allowed to go into the loft and fill a paper bag with loose hay and it didn’t cost a thing. I remember the slants of light on the wooden floor, the quiet, and the green of the bales, a color unique to hay. It was timothy, and I recall it’s ticklish feel. Mostly, though, I remember the smell. There is nothing like the smell of hay.  It speaks of meadows and grazing animals, and of animals closed up in fragrant barns in winter. Later in my life, I would know what it was like to throw bales into a moving wagon, and the itchiness of sweat mixed with hay dust after a long day of working on a farm. I’d know about waking at five am to feed a barn full of hungry horses, and of opening bale after bale and tossing flakes to the animals. But, even at the age of seven, before I’d experienced any of that, the hay spoke of it, and I knew.

I bought hay for the goats today.

I bought two bales. I could buy more and have it delivered, but it makes me happy to go to Erikson Grain. The guy who loaded my car asked, a bit incredulous, “in here?” I drive a BMW. “Yes,” I said. The BMW smells just right now.

A light mist has been falling all day. This is welcome rain. I’m glad it’s soft – a downpour in early autumn strips the trees of leaves and ruins the foliage show. But, this drizzle makes everything more beautiful. I thought that the planters on the front porch were done, the flowers were wilted and I wasn’t bothering to water. But look at them this afternoon!

Even an old spider web near the coop is dazzling.

The last of the summer’s lettuce has revived, but it won’t last long. I’ll have salad every night from now on.

However, not everything looks better in the rain.