Blogging has been slowish the last few days, but I have a very good excuse. The Man and I were stealth married.
You heard me.
What is stealth married, you might ask? Well, gentle reader, stealth married is when you decide that you would like an experience that is as intimate, personal, and unrehearsed as possible, with a minimum of external input and wasteful spending, and a maximum of “that was fun“. Stealth married is when you only tell the best man and the celebrant, and you only tell the Stepdaughters three hours before the event itself, and they jump up and down screaming with excitement. Then you tell everyone AFTER.
So, my chickens are no longer bastards, and what a difference that has made!!
I tell you what has made a difference, though, is this freaky weather. The Man and I had had a gloriously sunny day with just a touch of breeze for our wedding. When we headed into the church at 5, it was 78 degrees. In mid-March. In the Northeast.
There is a price for this heaven, of course. The tick situation has already reached Hitchcockian proportions. The cats are in lockdown until I get some Frontline, and Billie is on leash-only walks. Even at that, we have to carefully inspect her before bringing her into the house.
I know that chickens are man’s best natural weapon against ticks, and I’m thrilled we have them. I’m sure they’re eating ticks by the cupful. And, yet…it’s still nightmarish.
But the grass is suddenly green and the girls feast on worms when I first let them out of the coop, pulling them like spaghetti out of the ground. They spend the warm afternoons under the big pine tree by the furnace, digging deep dustbath holes…I love having free range girls…
So, now that the wedding is accomplished, I can turn my full attention to preparing the coop for babies. The Man and I have been having some second thoughts about the poults, but only in terms of our approach.
But, THAT’S…another story.