top of page


  • Julie


Hello. Writing to you from The Home for Wayward Hens and Eggs in Peril. Here the babe of the homestead doles out regrettably expensive chicken feed to his 20-some chickens; meanwhile his mother inexplicably has the privilege of feeding Some Other Farm’s eggs to herself and her family. It is a thing beyond reason. And thus being, we set a friendly trap for the little imp called Skunk two days ago, baiting the thing with eggs we’d rather have eaten. Our thinking was that while there’s little to be done for pullets unmoved by their purpose, at least we could provide a line of defense for our freewheeling old girls who insist on laying in far-flung corners of the homestead. Only, when we stole a peek at our catchings, we were the proud trappers of a well known and, I suppose, loved barn cat who, while waiting to be released, had enjoyed a morning breakfast of eggs. I imagine at this point in the story it would come as no surprise that I recently relinquished an entire morning’s milking after finding the plump backend of that same cat sticking out of my pail. His head and equally plump belly were working to balance and lap in unison, a thing he had not quite mastered and that looked something more like determined bobbing and dunking. No, thank you, I thought. I’ll take the loss. To prevent more of The Drowning Game, the fresh milk was poured into the community scrap and milk bowl by the well and I imagine that was likely the old cat’s plan all along.



Welcome to this humble journal.

Grab a strong cuppa and settle in.

I'm so glad you're here.

bottom of page