State of the Farmlet, Part III

Paisley is wonderful. I never loved him as much as I do now, at the beginning of his 10th year of life. Clover, also wonderful, uses him as her living rug, and when the fire dies down she retreats to curl up on the high ground of his gently-rising flanks.

The chickens are laying again—four eggs a day, or sometimes five. Most of our hens are between three and nine years of age, so four eggs a day is all we can expect. It works, and when our girls no longer lay they can continue to work as manure-sorters and parasite police. 

The children are wonderful. We've enlarged their playground, adding a slide and sandbox to last year's swingset, and they're finally coming out of hibernation to enjoy daily outdoor play without a fight. Two will have birthdays in the coming months, and the third lost her first incisor last night. In the back of her mouth, like Mounts Baker and Shuksan, two huge permanent molars are erupting with volcanic strength. 

And then there's me—happy, grateful, and living in paradise.

M