I couldn’t find my robe. I’d left it on the back of the couch.

Scooter needed it.

It is Spring. We are a few days away from April.

This is what my backyard looks like:

There will be no cool-weather crops for me. No lettuce, kale and spinach planted in the raised beds. Possibly no peas. I still can’t open the gate to the vegetable garden.

It’s official. Not only has this been the snowiest winter on record (the measurements have been kept since the mid-1800s) but we’ve also had the most snow pack. There were no thaws between the storms. The snow kept piling up.

Recently, though, the temps have risen and rain has fallen. The snow is receding. This allows me to assess the damage.

The vintage children’s Adirondack chair is broken beyond repair.

The 1970s laboratory sink that is outside of the Big Barn filled with snow, and then ice, and cracked into pieces.

The hawk netting above the Little Barn’s pen has sagged and ripped and will need repair and possibly replacement. The fence around that run has buckled.

This fence will need to be rebuilt. That can’t happen until the ground is totally free of snow. Unfortunately, this is the fence that keeps stray dogs off the property, and our own dogs (as well as free-ranging chickens and goats) in.

All of these things can be replaced and repaired. What I’m grateful for is that all of my animals have come through the winter. The hens have been doing social feather-picking, but that’s not causing any real harm. Even Opal, who was poorly for awhile, is back to her robust self.

Now, if only the sun would shine. But this is Monday. It’s snowing, of course.

This is a good news post.

All winter, the Beast, the humungous 12-year old koi that lives in the water feature, has lived in a state of suspended animation. Late in the fall, when the water temperature drops to around 40° F, she slows down and stops eating. As the pond freezes over, she stations herself in her cave and waits out the winter. She swims just enough to stay upright.

The pond has a pump that moves water through the gravel on the far side, up through the hole in the 17-ton rock, and down into the pool where the fish swim. Then the water is pulled into the pump and is circulated again. This keeps the water under the top layer of ice from freezing and adds oxygen to the mix.

There were times, this winter, when Steve had to go out and break the ice from the top of the rock in order to keep the water flowing. There were times when we couldn’t even see the top of the rock! (It’s there, to the right of my son.)

At one point during this winter’s deep freeze, the pump broke. Removing the broken part and replacing it was difficult. It took Steve a couple of days. We worried.

The snow finally began to recede. The surface of the pond became visible. I looked through the ice and could see the smaller goldfish – I call them the Beast’s minions. But no Beast. I worried. Had she grown so large that the cave was now too small for her to safely wait out the winter? Predators can take a slow moving fish, but there were no tracks in the snow around the pond. Neither was there a dead body visible (a terrible thought, but one that of course comes to mind.)

It rained yesterday and is raining today. Rain. Not snow, not sleet. This morning the ice was gone from the pond. And there she was.

The Beast has emerged from her winter slumber, with her minions at her side.

This remains a white springtime, but there’s a hint of gold and peach in my backyard. Beautiful.

For the last twenty years, I’ve used the same material in my chickens’ nesting boxes – pine shavings. They’re inexpensive, soft, absorbent and easily cleaned. The chickens can move them about to create the sort of depression that they like to settle down on. I once tried paper from my office shredding machine, but it stuck to the damp eggs. I don’t like straw because a) I don’t want to have to buy a bale and store it, and b) chicken manure gets stuck to it, and then the eggs get dirty. The same with hay.

However, just because I’ve done something for two decades, doesn’t mean that I’m not open to doing things differently when my animals tell me that a change is necessary.

Phoebe’s den is underneath the nesting boxes in the Little Barn. It’s where she sleeps at night and naps during the day. It’s her haven away from the antics of the chickens and their big feet. Her rabbit pellets are there, and her hay, which she fashions into a soft cushion, and nibbles on as well (yes, she eats in bed!) There are granite blocks that allow her access, but keep the chickens  out. This set-up has worked perfectly for three years.

During this winter of the deep snow and the deep freeze, I provided Phoebe with extra hay. The hens noticed. Come February, when laying resumed, I found Phoebe in a corner of the coop, and Nancy Drew busily rearranging the rabbit’s den and turning it into her nesting box. I extracted the chicken and rearranged the blocks, thinking that I could keep a large, fat hen out of Phoebe’s place. Not so. Nancy squeezed back in.

I thought this through. What did the hen want? I guessed that it was the hay. I put some in one of the nesting boxes. Nancy, delighted not to have to deal with Phoebe, or wiggle her way into that den, hopped up and proceeded to lay where I wanted her to. Phoebe, with relief, had her place back.

Do you see Phoebe ensconced underneath? All is right with her world again.

So I tried an experiment in the Big Barn. There are five nesting boxes. I put hay in one. This is what I found the next day. Obviously, hens prefer hay.

I still believe in using pine shavings, and if I didn’t have a rabbit’s den of hay to protect, I wouldn’t use hay for the chickens. But, if you have difficulty getting your hens to lay in your nesting boxes, (perhaps you have one that lays on the floor, or hides her eggs in the run) try hay. Let me know how your girls like the change.

The Marans is a French breed known for its brown eggs. I’ve seen Marans eggs at poultry shows as dark as chocolate bars. I decided that such eggs would be pretty in my basket and so a couple of years ago, when I placed a chick order, I added a Marans to the list. They come in a number of feather variations. The Cuckoo Marans was available, so I got that. These birds are patterned rather like the Dominique. I named the chick Veronica. True to type, she is a friendly and docile bird.

However, the truth is that her eggs have been a disappointment. Shell color is added at the end of the egg-making process. Imagine the egg passing through a car wash, and the dye is the rinse at the end. Sometimes your car isn’t as thoroughly cleaned off as you’d like. Sometimes the spray is uneven. It’s like that in the hen’s reproductive tract, too. (For more about how egg shell color is determined, read this post.) Veronica has always had a glitch in her color-making apparatus.

Veronica has laid pale brown eggs with freckles. She’s laid eggs the color of a brown paper bag. Most hens lay the same color egg day in and day out. Not Veronica. I know which one is hers because she is one of six hens in the Little Barn, and hers is clearly different that the others. Hers isn’t the blue egg laid by Owly or Beatrix, it’s not the white egg laid by Twiggy, and it’s not the smoothly beige eggs laid by the two Red Stars. Hers is the odd brown one. What a surprise, then, that the other day she laid a dark brown egg!

I’ve put it in this bowl so that you can see it in comparison to other eggs. The white one is from the Andalusian, Misty. The spotted one is from Jasper, the Welsummer. The light brown eggs are from Nancy Drew and Beulah. The dark egg – that’s Veronica’s!

It’s dappled instead of being uniformly brown. But that’s okay. Thanks, Veronica!