Baby's First Day Out

With the heat lamp, and the closed doors, and three baby chicks in a box, walking through our laundry room is like taking a sauna.

Trying to keep the chick’s box clean is like trying to keep a human baby dry. And I guess making a chicken watering trough that doesn’t leak is beyond engineer’s capabilities. I out-foxed them though—or rather some chicken expert on the Internet did. I placed a shallow dish with water into the box, and filled it with rocks to hold it down and to keep the baby chicks from drowning.

I’m tickled to get chickens. A couple of weeks ago I bought a cute self-contained chicken house, and the day before yesterday I painted its trim, covering their white with my forest green. I had been intending to order chicks when the hatchery had the chicks I wanted.

And then lo and behold, yesterday I wandered into Coastal Farm Store and they had baby Ameraucana pullets—just what I wanted. The Ameraucana hens lay blue eggs, and are the breed of chicken I became familiar with in California.

In the space beside the house—prepared for RV parking, and hidden from the street, we have a 6 X 6 foot garden, and now a 6 X 3 foot chicken house. You know what they say, “You can take the girl away from the farm, but you can’t take the farm out of the girl.”

 

Regarding the book I’ve been talking about probably more than you wanted to hear:

Two days ago, September 4, Don’t Tell Mommy’s publishers notified me saying they would make the changes I requested, but to give them 10 business days to do it. I know a couple of people are reading the book now, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the errors won’t be too distracting.

Mom’s letters ought to get top billing in this book—they are sweeter than mine. I stalled, procrastinated, feared making my statements known for years, and thus didn’t get this book published until now. Now, is perfect. Now is the time. Yes, the title Don’t Tell Mommy, tells you something else doesn’t it?