In chicken news, Drogo is now growing his wattle and when I fed them their grapes, he tid-bitted. Yep. He's a boy.
I can't wait to hear his first attempts at adolescent, voice-cracking crowing. When Lis and I were at River Lily, one of the ladies working there and I got into a discussion about our chickens. She has babies about the same age as mine and as Lis said, we got into a chicken mind-meld. We were ALL about it. I resisted temptation fiercely and did not show her pictures of my birds. It's funny. I can totally get the fact that strangers really don't need to see pictures of my grand children but for some reason, it seems more acceptable to show them pictures of my chickens.
I picked some kale and some baby collards that have not yet bolted. And get this- I am going to motherfucking massage that shit for a salad. I can't believe this. And yet, well, get out the olive oil and salt. Stand back. Greens massaging will now begin.
Lord. What have I become? Next thing you know, I'll be making raw nut butters and making my own tempah from organic non-GMO soybeans I grow myself.
Don't hold your breath though. Seriously. I'll let you know how much the collards and kale enjoy the massage.
Yours truly...Ms. Moon