It didn’t rain yesterday! No snow, no slush, no drizzle. Not even strong winds. Despite the clouds and the overall grey (oh, how I wish for some cheering sun,) snow melted and the chickens spied grass through the fence. They insisted on an outing. I checked the skies for hawks. All clear.

Buffy strides right out. I haven’t seen her move this fast for ages.

The ice around the goat’s paddock gate finally melted, so they got an outing, too.

Why stand on one chair, when you can try out two?

But, the boys don’t go too far without checking back in with me.

Everyone likes a different perspective on their home. Philomena gets up high. Caper tastes the door handle. Life is just so interesting!

This morning wet snow flurries are coming down. Leaves are blowing and treetops swaying – it’s exactly how March winds are supposed to be. But, it’s a springtime blow, we can all feel it. Smell it, too. The mint in the goat’s paddock is coming up, and when I raked there yesterday, the air smelled green.

My bedroom window looks out into the backyard. When I woke this morning, delighted to see the sun (a brief respite before more snow and rain) I lucked out and saw Pip at the very moment that my husband opened his stall door to let him out. I think that Pip was as surprised to see the sun as I was. Instead of a inch of standing water on top of ice, there was bare ground underfoot. Pip leapt. He ran. He bounced. In short, he gamboled. I grinned. And I thought, how often does a person get to use the word gambol? It’s a good life when that’s the first thing one thinks of in the morning.

gambol |ˈgambəl|verb ( -boled , -boling ; Brit. -bolled, -bolling) [ intrans. ]run or jump about playfully

The goats are shedding. They have itches. If you scratch Pip between his forelegs he goes into a happy goat trance. See the smile?

More than 150 people came out yesterday to the Westford Farmer’s Market Backyard Chicken Program. This is a good-sized crowd by any measure, but even more so considering that it was a gorgeous sunny above-freezing day, the sort of afternoon meant for walks and outdoor chores, not being cooped up in a church hall (pun unintended but noted.) But, there they were, people of all ages, interested in keeping poultry.

I’d be delighted to bring my presentation to your town. Email me at terry@terrygolson.com for details.

For the first two years of Petunia’s life she laid eggs all spring and summer, about 400 of them. In her third year, she laid an egg every couple of days. She’s now six and I don’t know how often she’ll produce eggs this year. Maybe none. I got Marge at the same time that I got Petunia. She’s still as noisy as ever, but also not laying.

Buffy is five years old. Two years ago she was quite ill. I nursed her back to health – it took months – she now looks fine, but hasn’t laid an egg since she got sick.

Eleanor is six years old, and she spends her days basking in sunbeams. Her sister, Edwina is more active, but probably not going to lay many eggs this summer.

I’ve been thinking about my old hens, and it’s dawned on me that these are the first elderly chickens I’ve ever had. I don’t cull for productivity, and if a hen gets sick, I try to save her (even though it doesn’t make economic sense.) This morning, I went back through my records. I even made a chart to make sense of what has happened to my hens. I’ve had chickens since 1996. I’ve  lost chickens to a vicious raccoon attack, to hawks and to disease. I was surprised to see that Eleanor and Edwina, Petunia and Marge are the most long-lived hens that I’ve ever had.

I like having old hens.

I like that I can recognize Marge’s buk-buk-clucking. I like seeing Eleanor laze about, her beady eye cocked up at me, clearly saying, I’m here and I’m not moving. So there. I like seeing how Buffy puts up with Lulu’s attempts at friendship. I know these hens. The chickens give me more than eggs. There’s something inexplicably satisfying about standing in the coop, early on a cold morning, tossing corn to the girls. They talk to me. I talk back. They go about their busy chicken day. I go back inside to mine, having gotten to a good start with the community in the coop.