It’s a myth that goats will eat anything. In the winter, when there’s nothing left in the meadow to eat, hay is their main food source. Hay is basically dried grass, but not any grass. Farmers devote fields to growing this stuff. Some farmers seed timothy, others seed alfalfa. Some don’t seed at all, and simply cut what’s there. The first mowing of the year is aptly named, “first cutting hay.” The stems are thick, the tops mature. If the hay has been baled and brought in before it gets rained on or baked by the sun, it’s green and smells grassy. Good to me. Not to my goats. My boys won’t eat first cutting hay.

Note their hay rack. The stuff it’s stuffed with all looks the same, right? But note that the boys are munching on the right side.

First cutting is on the left. “Second cutting” hay is on the right. Late summer hay is also known as “goat candy.” I still have two bales of the first cutting – bought when that was all that was available. It was 19 degrees this morning. Cold. The goats need to eat hay to keep warm. And yet, when I came into the barn, there they were, telling me they were starving. The hay rack was full. With first cutting. Even hungry, they won’t deign to eat it. It’s going to be some expensive bedding.

The book signing at the Concord Museum was about as much fun as an author can have. I got to spend the day with my friend, Ben Fink, who shot the photos for Tillie Lays an Egg.

Behind him is our tree. Those long brown decorations are rubber worms. I think our tree was the only one of the thirty at the museum that had worms on it. Every child declared that they wanted worms on their trees, too. A few stopped to read my book.

We were in the same room as the Martha Speaks tree, and I was thrilled to pieces that Susan Meddaugh, the author, was there to sign books! I was star struck!

We chatted about how important it is to have our characters be true to the nature of the animals that they are. When the Martha books became a PBS series, Susan insisted that Martha still be dog – which means no flying or other superpowers. Susan really does know dogs, and it comes through in her writing.

(BTW, note the necklace I’m wearing – it’s a 1950’s lucite chicken with green rhinestone eyes. I love that my job lets me get away with wearing such things.)

I got to meet other authors, too. Ed Emberley was right next door. And Clare Beaton came all the way from England with a suitcase filled with her handmade decorations that filled the large tree in the center entrance.

Each tree had details to ooh and ahh over. There were garlands made from feathers and from dog leashes, there were owl babies, fairies in flowers, and sailboats. There were jellyfish with pearl stingers, a tree skirt that looked like apple pie, and another like thick and twisted tree roots.

In my home we celebrate Chanukah. We keep the gift-giving modest. One present a night. Years ago, even before we had children, my husband would give me one children’s picture book a night. If you’re stuck on your holiday gift list, you might consider doing the same. There continues to be no better way to spread creativity and joy.

Every year the Concord Museum selects over thirty children’s books, both classic and recent. A volunteer decorator is matched to each book and the fun begins. Ornaments are crafted and clever details designed. In December, trees are set up throughout the museum, amidst 18th century highboys and the lantern made famous from “one if by land, two if by sea.” The decorators decorate. Charming, whimsical, funny, poignant. It’s all there on these trees. If you love Christmas trees, childrens’ books, history, or crafts, you have to visit. If you want a charming and whimsical holiday tradition (not crass and commercial) you have to visit.

I am thrilled to pieces that this year, Tillie Lays an Egg was chosen to be a tree at the Concord Museum. A family that I’ve never met, and have had no contact with, decorated the tree. I got a peek at it today. It’s perfect. First of all, they must be a 4-H family. There are 4-H ribbons on the tree! How clever is that? Go ahead, use the idea! There are  rubber worms! (Tillie approves.) To top it all off (or should I say bottom?) look at this tree skirt. Sewn out of feed bags! You can use that idea, too! (If you do, please send a photo.)

This Saturday, December 4, from 1 to 4, I will be sitting by my tree signing books. I won’t be alone – Ben Fink, the book’s photographer, will be here from NYC. This is the first time we’ve signed books together. Come and say hello.

My excessive baking week left me with few leftovers, but I did have a bowl of 15 egg whites in the refrigerator. In the summer, when I have a bounty of eggs, those whites might, lazily, be fed to the dogs. But nearing winter, every egg is precious.  So, I pulled out a recipe from my 1,ooo Lowfat Recipes cookbook. Tried and true and easy.

Egg whites are magic. They go from this:

to this:

Whipping egg whites is immediate gratification.

The chocolate and nuts (I used walnuts, not almonds as called for in the recipe – I had some leftover from the pie party cooking) were gently folded in.

Dollops of meringue were dropped onto cookie sheets lined with parchment, and baked until dry and crisp. I used both of my wall ovens, and 8 cookie sheets. By the way, the cookies bake up better on traditional thin sheets, not the insulated ones. Here they are.

Egg whites are pure protein. Even with the addition of cocoa and ground nuts, these cookies are only 57 calories each. Just what I need after a week of eating custard pies!

When I go into the coop in the morning, all of the hens are on the floor, waiting at the pop door, eager to go out. All except Petunia. She is still on the top roost, fluffed up. Hopping up the roosts to her sleeping spot isn’t too hard, but getting down is difficult for this old hen. I pick her up and gently put her on the coop’s floor. She doesn’t hurry outside with the others. I worry.

Her eyes are bright. Her wattles red and flexible. Her feathers luxurious. She’s eating. But, her body language tells me that she is uncomfortable. Possibly not here for much longer.

See how she holds her shoulders hunched? And how her bottom is low to the ground? And, she is facing out, with her back to the other hens. That’s a protective stance. Old hens get arthritis and tumors, cancer and liver disease. Their ovaries become enlarged. I don’t know what’s going on inside of Petunia. She doesn’t have a fearful look in her eye that animals in pain have. Eleanor, the barred rock in the big barn, has been walking around like this, old and creaky and slow, for over a year. Somehow, though, I think that Petunia is not going to be able to keep going.

Petunia is one of twenty-five chicks that a friend got in a shipment from Murray McMurray Hatchery. They hatched on October 6, 2004. I got five chicks from her a few weeks later. Amazingly, three remain. Ginger, who laid beautiful blue eggs, died two years ago. Cause unknown. Petunia’s sister New Hampshire Red, Marge, died this past summer  after a week of internal laying. Maybe that’s Petunia’s problem, too.

Six is old, really old, for a hen. I’ll do my best to keep Petunia and the other elderly residents comfortable. But, I expect losses this winter. I’ll miss these old birds that I’ve gotten to know so well, but it’s okay. It’s what happens. I’m planning on getting chicks in the spring. I’m looking forward to that. And, who knows, maybe these old hens will keep on going. Eleanor and Buffy have certainly surprised me. I was sure that neither would make it through last winter and here they are!

It’s a lovely day. I think I’ll let the old girls out for a walk around a sun bath in the leaves.