The Coop Keeper Post: Part 1. Flowers and chickens.
We laughed. We ate. We laughed some more. We ate some more. We stared at chickens. We laughed even more. We ate even more. Rinse and repeat. And yes, there was bacon. Yes there was.
Her garden, ladies, simply cannot be captured via digital photos. But I will try to give you an idea of what it's like to pull up to this idyllic space in NW Indiana:
Um. Yeah. And that's just the front folks. Wait till I add some chickens to the mix. This is Buddy and his harem. I'll get to him later. He deserves an entire post of his own. That's just how dandy he is.
Ok, I can't wait. I have to talk about Buddy. I must admit I'm smitten. I mean, he's got a crow that makes all the females swoon, including the occupants of vintage trailers called The Squirrel. You doubt? Here, take a listen.....and note that this began at 4am, repeated every hour on the hour until the sun made it's debut. At which time he chased the hens 'round the yard. I now understand what a cocky strut really looks like. I had to fan myself.
Here he is in the morning daylight, King of his castle. Be still my heart.
This would be the shrine I created to Buddy....may he live long and prosper. Swoon.
Ok, enough of the dude. Onward...
I must say, it was such fun to chat with the girls again. They asked about my kids, blogging, soaping.....the usual. Then mentioned how Fifi had gone broody and stopped smoking, which made her somewhat more neurotic, though all were anxious to see some new faces in the coop. (Unfortunately, Jayme discovered soon after I left that there were no babies on the way.)
Jayme was trying to encourage Fifi, the same way I do with my doula clients...talking her down from the epidural ledge....
Helen was sorely missed. I kept looking for her, then with a pang of remembrance, I'd move on. But there was good ole Stubs, gossiping with Mrs. Puffington (or is it Mother Plumtree???) who was taking a break from knitting booties for the new chicks...
Stubs paused to pose for me. (She's still working on projects for the eminent opening of an Etsy shop.)
A newcomer was this banty, who definitely belongs on a catwalk in France. "I'm...too sexy for my flappies."
Then there was this gal....I totally wanted to call her Phyllis, as in Diller, and need to get the name of her hairdresser, cause that 'do is Sas.Say. I do wonder if the beard makes her self-conscious, though.
So anyway.... here's a collection of eggs that couldn't be eaten due to a round of antibiotics. Love that wire basket-y thing they're in. Just plunked down on the ground amidst roaming chickens and tangled flowers.....
And the first 'good egg' being carried inside. Who needs an apron I ask you?
Yes. I love her too.
Tomorrow, I will continue the report with a trip thru her 'outpost', plastic decor, shoes in the street, Dr. Suess, and of course....The Squirrel.