The Fragility of a Single Egg

When you have five hens, and it is winter, and cloudy days stack up one on top of the other until they reach 10 in a row, eggs are a rarity.

On some days, I find no eggs. On others, I find one, never two or three or four.

Protecting that single egg seems so much harder than a clutch of eggs.

In the summertime, when eggs are plentiful, I place them in a coffee can that also serves as my vessel for carrying scratch grain, horse feed and sheep minerals.

But a single egg gets lost in a coffee can. It's easily overlooked and, if lucky, left on the counter in the barn or a fence post. If unlucky, it's knocked over or covered in grain.

A single egg fits neatly in a winter coat pocket, where it's forgotten until hit with firewood or a flake of hay.

When I find a single egg, I cup it in my palm and carry it to the barn where I look for a safe spot to place it while I finish evening chores.

I don't place it on the counter in the barn where a slightly bored and always hungry cat would bat it around, until it fell to the ground and became cat food.

Instead, I nestle it in a bird's nest that I found in the yard and kept because it was lined with pony hair, and I found it charming.

A chicken egg looks ridiculous in the tiny nest.

But I always notice it as I'm turning out the barn lights in the evening. I carry it into the house and place it in the egg carton.

I have six single eggs now--enough for an omelet.

Preparing for Act 2

The snow gave way to mud today, and I prepared for Winter: Act 2.

The only certainty about Ohio winters is that just when you think you can't stand another day of mud, or snow, or freezing temperatures, it gives you something else.

So, after a few weeks of below freezing temperatures, it gave overcast skies, 53-degree temperatures, and mud.

I spent the day cleaning up from The Freeze and preparing for The Snowstorm.

That involved moving more hay from the storage barn to the sheep and horse barn.

And removing 2+ weeks of manure from the horse stalls and loafing shed.

And musing at the chickens. The Buckeyes ventured out and about during The Freeze. The Silver Laced Wyandottes opted to hang out in the hen house until the snow melted.

I moved more firewood indoors and cleaned out the wood-burning stove. And, of course, I worked the Border  collies, who think The Freeze or The Snowstorm is a silly excuse to spend time indoors.

Controlling the Wind

We live in areas where flat fields stretch for miles, with few fence rows and trees.

The wind can really get rolling, picking up speed, as it rushes across those fields.

Years ago, we planted trees on the west side of the house. As they grew they provided shade and slowed the wind.

They also provided an extra helping of snow in the driveway.

The west winds hit the trees and fence, drop their snow and carry on, leaving car-stopping drifts.

The husband has grown tired of digging through drifts. So, he bought the ugly orange snow fence, drove posts in the ground, and installed a line of fence 100 feet from the driveway.

Between that and new skis, it should guarantee a gray winter with little snow.

Maple Syrup Time

Sap keeps its own schedule.

When the days warm in late winter, it runs. When temperatures dip below freezing, it doesn't. When the buds emerge on the maple trees, maple syrup season is over.

The sap is running in the sugar maple trees in western Ohio.

One morning, I went to nearby Maple Ridge Park to collect sap from about 30 trees. Officially, the overnight temperature was 29 degrees.

But the collection buckets showed the variation in temperatures. In some, the sap was slushy. In others, it was nearly frozen. But in some -- those with the most sap -- it was pure liquid.

Inside the sugar shack, though, the sap was in full boil. By day's end, it will be thick and sweet maple syrup.