I got another small pointy egg today and whether it came from the same young hen who laid the first one or perhaps a different hen, I do not know. If it was from a different hen, I feel certain that the hens in question would be Viv and Vera who look so much alike that I can't begin to tell them apart.
I took my phone outside just now to take pictures of the chickens which I have not done for quite awhile, not really, and although the pictures are not good, please be aware of the fact that I got so bit up by mosquitoes and perhaps yellow flies that I am in a sort of special itchy agony.
I suffered for my (not) art.
Here are Viv and Vera and also Ringo, their brother.
The fourth jungle fowl is Dearie who always rushes up to be the first to greet me which actually means that she's the most optimistic that I will have food to give her.
I love the way she's looking at me so intently as if by sheer force of her mind she can will me into delivering biscuit crumbs or watermelon. I really am fond of these four jungle fowl. They are quite different from the rest of the chickens. They seem at once more independent and yet, have a friendly vibe. They do not seem to be timid at all, as some of the hens are. Their beauty is more subtle, except for Ringo's of course. He comes in all of the colors and all of his feathers shine with jeweled iridescence.
He looks nothing like his rooster brother, Liberace.
They are both crowing with great gusto these days although I think that the Buff rooster has some maturing to do yet. His tail feathers are still growing and his drape, that lovely curtain of feathers which falls over his chest and sides, isn't finished yet either. The two boys seem to be bros. They hang out together all day and appear to enjoy doing call and response crowing. I have a feeling that we are in a bit of an Edenic era right now which will not last. Quite frankly, I haven't seen either one of them top a hen and when that starts happening, things will probably not be as peaceable in my little kingdom.
Here's the lovely Dottie.
And here's her sister Darla,
Those two, along with Violet, are my two oldest hens.
Here's the rather gorgeous Big Momma.
She is one fine looking hen.
And here's one of my very shy Americaunas, Miss Eggy Tina II (or is she the third?)
And her even shyer sister, Pansy.
These are the two ladies who will give me colored eggs.
And those ten and Violet who is not sitting for photos these days because she is sitting on eggs, make up my plucky little flock.
Thank you for indulging me.
And of course you know what today is! First day of school!
Do we not all remember the lovely, scary anticipation of it? The new clothes, the new stuff, the new teacher, the new classmates, the annual optimistic hope that this year, this year, will be the one with no blots on our copy book as Louisa May Alcott may have said.
My Gibson! First grade! I hear he has a very young teacher. I hope he falls in love with her and listens to her carefully. Mostly, of course, I hope she falls in love with him.
My Owen. Third grade!
My little prince. My first-born grandchild, as he never tires of reminding me, especially when I'm a bit peeved with something he may or may not have done and I have threatened to put him in chicken jail. I wonder if he's the only boy at his school to have a man bun? Remember last year when he had a rat tail? I secretly like to think that he got his rebellious fashion sense from his Mer.
Oh. I guess that's not really a secret.
Note the cool sunglasses, too.
When they were here yesterday I told Gibson that I loved his new handsome man haircut.
"Miss Melissa gave it to me," he said.
I knew that but I wanted to hear him say it.
And tomorrow Mr. Moon leaves for nine nights of gator hunting. I made him two gallon ziplock bags worth of oatmeal/raisin/pecan/chocolate chip cookies to sustain him throughout the long nights of river travel. I also started Maggie's dress today. I got it cut out and have done the very first part of the sewing and already wish I had done something differently.
The words I've had in my ears almost all day are from another series of the Mormon Stories podcast about a man who, despite a lifetime of being Mormon, of being a descendent of some of the most important Mormon leaders, of being a Bishop, broke away from the church in a process that began when his thirteen year old son told him he was gay.
What a journey.
His name is David Eccles Hardy.
And now he's gone on to make this his life work.
Y'all, there are some brave people on this planet who, when confronted with the truth versus the very, very familiar and comfortable lie, choose love.
Oh. Wait. I meant truth.
No I didn't. Well, I meant both. Love and truth. The truth of love. The love of truth.
I wish I was that brave.
And that is the truth.