At dusk, the hens retreat to the hen house and murmur as they settle in for the night.
I'm not sure what they're saying, but this fall, I suspect the conversation is going something like this.
Old Hen 1: Did you see what that young one did today? She went and laid an egg.
Old Hen 2: Drat! That means no eight-week holiday from egg laying for us.
Old Hen 1: Guess we'll have to produce a few eggs each day... It'll save us from the stew pot.
And a few weeks later...
Old Hen 1: Those young ones keep laying eggs.
Old Hen 2: Yeah, but they're itty-bitty eggs.
Old Hen 1: We could do better.
Old Hen 2: Yeah, we'll show them.
Yesterday, on the first day of December, this is what we collected from the hen house.