goodrichard.com

Our laying ladies have been popping out eggs for almost two months now. And, as we have three, we should have had at least three eggs some days – one from each of Barbara, Gerry, and Margot. But, we’ve always had two, and though we think they’re all laying now, we suspect Gerry took her time, and was a late starter.

So, imagine our surprise when four eggs were waiting for us on Tuesday morning; the first proper cold snap day of the winter. As two were fleshy white in colour, we’re guessing that Barbara was the busy bird, popping out two reasonably sized eggs in less than 12 hours.

We’ve had 40% larger eggs, barren days with none, and we rarely have two eggs to collect at the same time, so how all four ended up being laid in the same space of time (and overnight, too, it would seem), we just don’t know.

In egg related news, I am now the proud owner of four novelty VW camper van egg cups. Bought for me in celebration of our second year together, they’re bright in colour, have different registration numbers, and are by far the most faithful to the real thing of all the designs on offer from the various internet retailers.

Never before will egg eating have been so much fun, as we can now make traffic jams on our plates (using toasted soldiers as roadblocks), and pretend that any over-running yolk is a serious oil leak, just like the egg cups’ real life counterparts. Egg-citing and egg-stra cute special egg cups indeed. Happy Anniversary!

The first home-laid eggs had both rich-tasting yolks and whites

Up until Wednesday the chickens had laid eight eggs. Varying in size from creme egg small ones, to proper shop-bought large ones, we’re now getting two most days. Sometimes they’re large, and sometimes, not so, but the laying ladies are making good progress, although we still think Gerry has to actually lay anything. Maybe her ongoing cold is holding her up, although she seems to be suffering less, with her sneeze now almost undetectable.

And so it was on Wednesday that we decided to eat the first home-laid eggs, before we get overrun with the things. We though that soft-boiling them for only a few minutes was the way to go, as with no condiments and just toasted bread for dipping, we could really appreciate how they tasted.

We weren’t wrong. Rich in both colour and taste, the yolk was runny, and even the whites tasted better than shop-bought free-range eggs. How much was psychological? I don’t know, but as we’ll soon have egg boxes stacking up in the kitchen, I hope the neighbours will find them tasty, too.

The unseasonably fine weather over the last two days has helped us enjoy a busy, but relaxed weekend. It all started on Friday night, when we went to Mark T’s to watch the 1981 Eurovision Song Contest. We giggled at the fashions, gawped in horror at the temperamental scoreboard that kept dropping points, and the hopeless presenter, who appeared to have been one of the TV company’s secretaries by day. (In case you were wondering, our favourites were Belgium, Denmark, and Germany. Bucks Fizz would have come higher in our list had their musical arrangement been better, though their victory was the reason why we were watching the show.) Much fun.

Saturday saw me ride the train back to Ipswich to fetch the tickets for Sunday’s Saint Etienne show in London, and upon arriving home, do the weekly clean chicken clean out. (In other chicken news, they’re still laying. We found two eggs today, suggesting that either Margot or Gerry has joined Barbara, and started to lay, too. One of the eggs was a little darker and was covered in faint brown speckles, which we think may belong to Margot. She is a darker hen you see, and with darker ears than Gerry, who we expect to pop out lighter, almost white eggs.)

Elsewhere in the garden, Nik cleared the plot ready for the onset of winter, collecting 4kg of runner beans in the process. The rest of the summer-like warm afternoon was spent in an inner tube-mending, cycling, milkshake and coffee-drinking blur, before we headed out to the station to hop on a train in order to celebrate Mark P’s birthday in Ingatestone. Once there, we enjoyed a delicious, if noisy, curry.

And today has been both equally busy, but relaxing. An early alarm woke us in time for breakfast in Galleywood, after which I enjoyed tea and cake with a friend at Hylands House (while much hedgerow brambling was being done elsewhere). Arriving home just after lunch, but in time for a couple of computery jobs – while much crab apple jelly-making was going on downstairs – it was soon time for us to pack our bags this afternoon and head out for our night in London.

We don’t really know why the last two days have been as relaxing as they have been action-packed, but we’re not complaining. At least non-stop weekends mean there’s no time for being bored.

Chu(ck)dunnit? The second egg: did Barbara lay it?

She must have been listening to our egg-stra (I will run out of these egg-related puns, I promise) special requests after her first egg yesterday, because as I arrived home tonight, there was egg number two. Sitting neatly in the nesting box of the Eglu, and covered with a sprinkling of sawdust, we think it’s Barbara’s. But as no-one was around when it popped out, maybe Gerry or Margot have been busy today…

Barbara has beaten Margot and Gerry in the race to lay the first egg

No prizes for guessing which it was. We thought we may have been bound for our first egg for a few days now, as Barbara has been acting very strangely. She’s been in and out of the Eglu in daylight, jumping around the run and talking a different kind of chicken language to what we’re used to.

And this morning, just after I’d gone to work leaving Nik at home, out it popped. And there was us thinking that Margot may have been the first to hatch an egg, as she was acting even more oddly than Barbara, clucking loudly and going up the ladder to the coop more often than is normal.

Gerry’s still showing no sign of anything, and she still has her cold, which started a couple of weeks ago. Still sneezing the tiniest sneeze, they are at least less frequent than they were. We keep adding citricidal to the laying ladies’ water, in the hope that it will give them a tonic pick-me-up. Who knows? We like to think it’s doing something.

Maybe Barbara’s egg-sploits will spur her and Margot into egg-laying action now. They have a lot to live up to.

It’s all very egg-citing.