I remember buying my two rocking chairs, my red and yellow ones and hauling them from my cabin to Bedlam Farm and now back to this farm. Since moving here, I have not sat in either one of them, except to cuddle with a barn cat for a few minutes, there always seems to be a chicken or a barn cat in them. It seems there might be something wrong with that, are the chickens and cats supposed to drive the humans off of their own porch. Still, the porch has become a famous porch, people travel long distances to come and photograph it, it is a riot of life, and the gray hen is not worried about my sensibilities and priorities. When Flo got up to stretch, the gray hen hopped right up and herself comfortable and out of the rain.

When I came out to take a photo, she gave me a withering look, annoyed at my disturbing her.