Chickens love hay. They sit on the hay  bales, lay eggs on them, cluck and gossip there. We moved a hay  bale out behind the farmhouse to cover the ground near where the frost free water line goes from the basement to the barn. In last year’s awful winter, the line froze. We put the bale on to keep it warmer, although that doesn’t appear to be a problem this year.

The chickens have discovered the hay bale, and in the sun, they love to perch on it and gaze at the world. Chickens always look very serious and officious to me, I imagine they are talking about Donald Trump and the sometimes hateful things that come out of his mouth. Or maybe that thing on the top of his head, which is said to nest baby raccoons.

A farm is an eco-system really. Soon, this farm will change. We’ll have a cow grazing in the pasture this summer, and in May, a half dozen purple guinea hens. The landscape will change once again, but the chickens are a sweet and enduring part of it all.