Some days I just don’t want to cook. Despite having worked as a sous chef and as a food writer, and having knife skills that make quick work of most recipes, there are days when I want someone else to do the food planning and prep, so that I can ignore the kitchen until I’m called in to eat. In this house, however, that doesn’t happen. I’m the only cook (although my son makes a mean grilled cheese sandwich.) If we lived in the city, I’d have take-out menus by the phone, but no one delivers to our little town. Not even pizza.

So, yesterday I proposed that we go out to dinner. The idea was greeted with looks of dismay. They’re spoiled. Why eat out when they have a professional private cook? Actually, I didn’t want to eat out either. I wanted a quick meal and then time before dark for another half-hour in the garden pruning the spirea.

So, reluctantly, at 5:30 I looked into the refrigerator. Not much there. No leftovers. But there were eggs (every one of the 12 Gems laid an egg yesterday!) I could have scrambled some up with smoked salmon, but I wanted a meal that looked more like dinner. I pulled Italian sausage out of the freezer and put it in a skillet to thaw and brown. (The sausage is amazing. I buy it at a farmer’s market from these very nice, conscientious farmers.) I poured some excellent marinara sauce into a small pot and set it to a low simmer. I carefully cracked in four eggs and set the browned sausage next to them. (That’s two eggs per person, my son wanted scrambled eggs.)

I covered the pot and let the eggs poach gently for fifteen minutes. Meanwhile, I toasted a few slices of bread.

To serve this meal, which I’ll call “Poached Eggs in Marinara with Sausage,” I set the toast on our plates, and then, using a slotted spoon, set two eggs on a slice of bread. Next I ladled some sauce on top, and dusted it all with Parmesan Reggiano. I cut the sausage into a few large pieces and placed them to the side. I filled out the meal with something light – romaine lettuce and cantaloupe.

Twenty-five minutes after looking in the refrigerator, we were on the screened porch, eating dinner. It was almost as if I hadn’t cooked at all. I only had to use a knife once, to cut the sausage. Steve actually did more work – he cleaned up the kitchen.

I think that the next time I don’t feel like cooking, I’ll do a version of this called “Eggs in Hell,” in which the eggs are poached in salsa and it’s served up on cornbread with beans on the side. But not tonight. Tonight we’re all going out for spicy Chinese food.

It’s March. I live in New England. Last year at this time there was a pile of snow at the end of the driveway. Today the temperature is going to rise past 80º F. As disconcerting as it is, I’m enjoying this unseasonably warm spring. This morning I walked out to the mailbox, barefoot. I’m wearing a t-shirt and capri pants. But, I worry about my animals.

The goats still have their winter coats on. They can handle very hot temperatures in the summer just fine (after all, this goat breed originated in Africa,) but they’re not designed to sit in the sun cloaked in layers of fur. I’ll be checking their water bucket a couple of times today to make sure it’s fresh and clean. A goat, even a thirsty one, will refuse water if it is even the littlest bit contaminated with a speck of dust. I’ll also go out and give the boys a good rub with the curry comb, too. This heat makes them so itchy!

Pip enjoys the morning sun, but later today you’ll be seeing him in the barn, where it’s shady and the concrete floor keeps things cool.

The Beast has emerged from her winter slumber. Koi can’t digest food when the water is cold, so in the spring Steve uses his digital thermometer to check the temperature. (If you’ve got the gadget, use it!)

It’s now safe to feed the fish. The Beast eagerly scarfed down her first meal of 2012. I don’t know if the heat will affect the toads that lay eggs in the shallow end. I hope it’s not too hot for them.

The hens have no difficulties coping with cold temperatures, but heat is another story. My barns are sited and designed to handle hot weather. They have excellent ventilation, cool concrete floors, and their backs are in the shade.It’ll be warm today, but not in the dangerous numbers, it won’t be humid, and the ground remains cool in the shade, so I’m not too concerned. However, if you have one of those small, prefab coops, with the wooden nesting boxes that jut out of the side, do keep an eye on your hens. A hen might sit in the box of upwards of a half hour before laying. A broody hen will stay in there all day. It can become deathly hot.

Topaz is thinking about going broody. She huffs up and stays put for an hour. Eventually, she lays an egg and leaves the nest. She’s got an Orpington’s thick coat of both downy and glossy feathers. Add to that the rise of her internal temp with broodiness, and she could have problems. I’ll be checking on her today.

Candy still has on her thick winter coat – she’s only just begun to shed – and rabbits die from heat stroke, so she’s the one that I’ll keep the closest eye on today. Steve has already taken down the wooden sides on the hutch that keep the snow out of her house in the winter. Now a cool breeze can blow through. We’ll be putting the shade tarp up soon. Meanwhile, she’s a smart old bunny, and knows to hunker down on the cool dirt in the shade.

The other animal to worry about is Scooter. He is a sun worshipper. He likes nothing better than sprawling out and baking every inch of his little body. He has no sense about it. When he starts to pant I shoo him inside.

The garden needs attention, too. Over the last two weeks, I planted cool-weather vegetables – parsley, greens, carrots and spinach. Unusually for this time of year, the bright sun has dried out the soil and I have to water. But, there’s still a danger of freezing and burst pipes, so I have a very, very long hose snaked out to the garden from the house.

It’s worth it, though, look a parsley sprout!

That’s not the only thing that’s green and growing. The peach tree is filled with buds.

Daffodils are blooming in the sheltered path along the stone wall.

But, beauty always comes with a price. The warm weather has spurred the first crop of pests. I’ve hung up the fly strips, which are a surprisingly effective, low-cost, low-tech, no-chemical control.

I’m ready for today’s sun and heat. A friend is coming for a visit this afternoon. I think we’ll have iced tea, while sitting with our bare feet in the pond.

The Boston Flower Show used to be a prestigious event that filled a cavernous convention hall. Things changed, the organizers had financial difficulties, and it disappeared for awhile. Last week the The Flower Show returned to Boston, and although it was in a smaller space, with far fewer exhibitors, it was still worth the drive into the city.

It’s a place to take note of plants that I’m not familiar with – which is a good many of them! I’m not much of a plantsman, (don’t ask me to name what I’ve planted a year after they’re in the ground) but I do have a good eye for texture and color. I think that this shiny fern would fit nicely into my shade garden.

The garden show is always a source of inspiration for my patio. Just look at these garden poufs. I think I need to learn how to knit with very big needles!

I enjoyed browsing through the vendors’ stalls. I bought some seeds and gardening gloves. I did not buy these pricey soaps, but I did stop to admire the packaging.

The Boston Flower Show used to be a highlight of the social season, and the “ladies who lunch” would dress up and spend a day strolling the aisles. There was still fashion to be seen, but this time the hats needed watering.

There were a few grand garden displays, but this twee exhibit was my favorite. There’s even a chick tractor. Charming, isn’t it?

It’s a miniature!

The Flower Show is always held in March. I’ve driven home from the show in sleet, and in snow, and bundled up in a winter coat. This year I drove home with the windows down, went right out to the garden and planted the braising mix seed pack that I bought at the show. Gardening season is officially here. Early.

Only two weeks after my cochlear implant surgery, the swelling had subsided enough that I could be “activated.” Last Thursday I spent a couple of hours with my audiologist getting the device turned on. There’s a tiny string of electrodes coiled inside my cochlea. It’s powered by a small, battery-powered device that I wear propped behind my ear, and that is connected to my head with a magnet. It looks like a hearing aid. An external microphone picks up sounds and sends signals through the magnet, to the electrodes which zap my auditory nerve. The nerve sends a message to the brain. Sound! But, it’s nothing like the sound that comes naturally through the eardrum. The brain has to learn what these signals mean. It’s different for everyone.

I’ve worked with my audiologist, Nancy, for the last year. She’s an attractive woman, my age, with a clear and steady voice. I could immediately understand what she was saying! However, with the CI turned on, she sounded like Minnie Mouse. This was to be expected, but still disconcerting! With time, voices become more natural. By the next day, Steve was sounding like Miss Piggy, which was, if you can believe it, an improvement. It can take months for voices to become normal. I went through this with my left ear, and am now hearing full, rich sound through that CI. Each ear is different, and success on one side doesn’t guarantee success on the other. However, I’m confident that in a short time, weeks, maybe, I’ll no longer be hearing cartoon characters. My work is to listen, listen, listen. I’m watching captioned movies, I’m listening to the radio – it’s astounding that I can hear the radio at all, let alone understand the voices. And I must say, that I find it rather amusing that the sonorous and serious talking heads on NPR sound like Kermit the Frog talking to Alvin and the Chipmunks.

The CI is bringing in a lot of input that my brain has yet to make sense of. There’s a constant background noise of what sounds like a whiny bathroom fan. But, yesterday, walking across the yard, I heard a cluck. A definite, low-pitched cluck. I’m not sure who was talking.

When I turned around and looked, their beaks were closed.

On the other hand, the goats have decided to be very helpful with my auditory rehab.

Thanks, Caper.

I’m heading out to the Boston Flower and Garden Show this morning. I’m looking forward to seeing the display of flower arrangement “hats” that were inspired by the royal wedding. I’m looking forward to the pristine garden displays with every plant fully and perfectly in bloom. But, I have to confess that I really go for the vendor area. The last time there I found socks embroidered with chickens. And I’m hoping to buy interesting seeds for the vegetable garden. But not too many. Really.

Meanwhile, I have a few miscellaneous things to share with you.

The winner of The Chicken Encyclopedia is Stephenie (she blogs about homeschooling in Cajun country and has been giving lots of TLC to a blind hen.) Thanks to everyone for entering. It was very interesting to hear your questions.

I know that some of you are filling Easter baskets. Please consider adding Tillie Lays An Egg to the Easter bunny’s gifts. It lasts longer than chocolate!

There are still a few opening for the March 31 Chicken Keeping Workshop here at Little Pond Farm. I’d love to meet you!

Remember my post about the best way to hard-cook eggs and how steaming is THE way if you are using very fresh eggs? I use a pot and a steamer basket, but check out how cute this is! Looks just like Tillie, doesn’t she?