What falls to the ground, what is missed after the initial picking, what is leftover after harvest, goes to the chickens, who await the fallen tomato, the half-buried potato that I find as I clean the garden.
In the overgrown grass, I find a rotting squash. The lawnmower slices a hiding watermelon. I offer both to the chickens who gobble up the flesh and seeds.
But what those birds really love are the overgrown beets. They eat the greens and peck out the flash, leaving only the tough, sun-burned skin.
Will the evidence of their beet indulgence show up in their eggs? I remind myself to check for pink-tinged eggs in the coming days.
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