We were gone for part of the holidays, and were lucky to have an expert photographer, Evan Harrar, as a house sitter. He took some photos of the yard and chickens (as well as some stunning bridge and city photos which he will offer for sale).
The garden is full of greens, potatoes, garlic, and fennel, with morning-glory doing what it does (that is, getting out of hand):
We had breakfast this morning right from the garden: Continue reading “Update”
All week my neighbors have been asking what happened to the rooster. They all liked hearing his crow and notice its absence. The silence has been very loud. I found this wonderful poem by the Brazilian, João Cabral de Melo Neto, a poet I don’t know, translated by Galway Kinnell, a poet I admire greatly.
Weaving the Morning
One rooster does not weave a morning,
he will always need the other roosters, Continue reading “What is the sound of no rooster crowing?”
After letting the rooster rest in the refrigerator for a couple of days, I turned him into stock and used the stock and some of the breast meat to make a memorial dinner. I was going to use just his meat, but most of it was too tough, so I added some commercial chicken breasts.
I used paprika to get that red color–matching his feathers, with spinach standing in for his iridescent green tail. Lots of chopped, sautéed veges to thicken the broth. We drank a toast, lit candles, and said a few words commemorating his bravery and loyalty. On her way home, one of the guests saw a fox crossing the road!
I had spent two days doing my best to fox-proof the chicken run, stapling bird net in a looping arc from the top of the fence outward. We’ll see. Now it’s time to wait to see if we get a rooster offspring from the eggs under the broody hen.
On another note, a reader sent this link to a Public Television biography of Robinson Jeffers. She titled it “Ascots and Creakiness,” which aptly describes it!