A. and I spent some time yesterday covering the potatoes with sheep-shit straw. And yes, I did actually engage in some of the activity this time, with a pitchfork and everything. Besides the suitably covered and shitty--I mean, fertilized--potatoes, which I must assume will grow and then reward me ultimately with my beloved french fries, I got a bonus reward.
The pile of straw was partially covering a pallet A. had propped up against the stone wall to protect the newly-planted grapevine there from the avalanche of manure. As I forked the straw away, I uncovered the leaning pallet. And what did I discover in that little cave of shit-straw-covered pallet? Only a new chicken nest holding a full dozen eggs.
I knew those hens had been stealing away somewhere new to lay their eggs. Those tricky chickies.
The bad news is that now that I've found and disturbed this nest, they will be wandering around to find another place to lay. Another place that I must then discover, probably by accident in this way. Unless the dogs get there first.
Oh well. At least I got my dozen eggs yesterday. Who knows what surprises today might hold? You just never do know at Blackrock.
3 comments:
How do you know how long they have been there? How do you know they are still good? Just wondering.
Sandy Shoes
If you put an egg in a cup of water, if it sinks to the bottom, it is still good. If it floats, it should be tossed. Or did I get that backwards?
And with your dozen eggs you made...?
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