Supermarket eggs are all uniform in size and shape because they’ve been laid by hens that have been carefully bred to lay eggs that look identical. Not only are their genetics narrowly defined, but production chickens are all the same age, and eat a uniform ration. Despite that, since chickens are animals, not machines, there are variations. You never see those odd eggs in supermarket cartons because they are sorted out and used in “processed egg products.”

Certainly, the factory egg facilities don’t have chickens that looks like this:

Siouxsie is a Polish hen, turning four years old this spring. She’s a breed that sporadically lays medium-sized white eggs. After a break for the molt and for winter, she’s begun laying again. Siouxsie is rather dramatic about it. She huffs up, tail down, and looks miserable for hours. Sometimes she lays in the nesting box. Sometimes she gets into a trance and lays on the ground. The other day she laid an egg without the coating of the bloom. Yesterday she laid a huge egg, pointy at both ends, which is the egg on the left in this photo. The egg on the right is a more typical size and shape for a Polish hen.

It was a double-yolker.

Creating an egg from the start in the ovary, until it’s release out of the vent, takes more than 25 hours. A lot happens as the egg moves down the hen’s reproductive tract; for some hens the process goes smoothly day after day, for others, like Siouxsie, there’s a glitch here, an imperfection there. In this case, her ovary released two yolks at the same time. I ate this egg for breakfast. It was delicious.

Last night it rained the the next town over, but it snowed here, and so when my son walked to the school bus stop at 6:45 this morning, the road looked like this.

Each branch, each leaf, was defined by a coating of snow.

These early morning moments of beauty are not uncommon here in the winter. But somehow the transformation to a clean, new snowscape never fails to make me stop in my tracks.

My backyard, a view that I take for granted, comes sharply into focus.

At first glance the colors seem to be reduced to black and white, but there are warm colors in the trunks of the trees, brown curlings of leaves, and pink in the sky. Still, one reason to paint a barn door red is to have this pop of color on a snowy day.

What’s colorful in your world this morning?

Dust bathing is essential for chicken health. It’s how a chicken keeps external parasites at bay. It’s good for feather maintenance. It’s also essential for chicken happiness. If you don’t have your own flock then you probably haven’t seen the pleasure that hens get from wallowing in the earth. You can see that joy on this video.

Chickens prefer to take dust baths in shallow pits of earth that they’ve scratched up. They prefer it dry, hot and sunny. Here in New England, those optimal conditions are rarely met. So, I provide my hens with a dust bath indoors. I fill it halfway with coarse sand and add a cup of food-grade diatomaceous earth. These two materials both desiccate and shred parasites, and my hens love the feel of them under their feathers. Sometimes I add fireplace ashes (wood only, not burned trash.)

This is a bird in bliss.

Recently, a reader brought to my attention that bags of builders sand had health warnings on them. This is because sand is crystalline silica, a basic component of rocks such as quartz, and sand on the beach, which are certainly not dangerous materials. However, on construction sites with jackhammers and blasters, or in quarries where rock is mined, the crystalline silica becomes a fine airborne dust. Breathed in it can damage lungs. Years of inhaling it can cause disabling diseases. Years. Like 15 to 20 (this according to OSHA.) Because of this danger, bags of sand have warning labels.

If I were a stone mason, I’d wear a mask on the job. But, my chickens don’t need to. The value of dirt baths far outweighs the minimal risk of kicking up some dust.

The molt is over. Daylight lengthens. The young chickens lay.

Seven eggs from twelve hens today!

My thoughts turn to baking. Or custards. Or egg salad. How to celebrate this abundance? What would you like to see me cook?

So many of you have emailed me about Buffy, that I thought I’d fill everyone in on how she’s doing.

Buffy hatched seven years ago this spring. Over the long span of her life she has had a multitude of illnesses, which she rather miraculously recovered from.  But, Buffy can’t beat old age. She’s been ailing for months, and in all honesty, I’m surprised that she’s still alive. What’s even more surprising is that she is still bright-eyed and has her appetite! Can you see in this photo how it looks like her pantaloons are drooping? She’s very weak in the legs, and so cannot get around much. Neither can she roost. When a hen stops roosting, it’s usually a sign that she is going to die within days. Not so, Buffy.

I keep a close eye on her to make sure that she isn’t suffering. I pick her up to judge whether she’s eating. Trust me, Buffy remains hefty! I watch to make sure that she is steady enough on her feet to get around the coop. I observe the interactions with the other hens; no one is bullying her. When it is sunny, I take her outside to sit in a warm patch. I dust her with louse powder so that she isn’t bothered by external parasites. But, mostly, I leave her alone. Buffy has never been an outgoing, friendly hen. Rather, she’s been a placid, calm presence. She’d prefer if I don’t fuss with her. And so I don’t. I don’t expect her to live through the winter. But maybe she’ll surprise me again.

You’ve also asked for a post-blizzrd report. It’s rained. It’s been warm. It’s been freezing. The two feet of dry, light snow that fell during the storm has shrunk, but it has also absorbed the added moisture, and become a dense mass. Some days Scooter can traipse along the top of it, sometimes he falls in and disappears. The shoveled paths are becoming worn. There are days that they’re muddy, and others that they’re slick with ice. The dead-end path on the left is Scooter’s bathroom area, which he only deigns to use when it’s warm and the snow surface can’t hold his weight.

On other news, the Gail Damerow book contest is over, and Ruth won. I’m delighted, because she’ll be sharing it with her 4-H club.

Lastly, you’ll notice that there’s a Tractor Supply ad on this page. In an effort to justify the full-time job that this website has become, I’m trying to earn revenue from it. TS has an affiliate program, so that I’m rewarded if you click through this site and shop there. FYI, the other ads on the page are through Google Adsense. I have no say in what you see, but they also bring in a (very) small bit of income. I appreciate your support!