What I remember most vividly about having chickens as a kid are the smells: the dry hay, the poop, the heat of the coop in the California sun, and the sweet, cool dirt scratched up by our four hens. And most delicious: the smell of eggs before they’ve seen the inside of a refrigerator.
Popping my head into the barn of a local farm to snap these photos last weekend, I was slapped by the smell, all old and familiar.
1 comment:
Those look a lot nicer than the mutant eggs we had at home last week. At least half of the dozen eggs from the carton were double-yolks. I stopped eating them after my 3rd arm started to get in the way of cracking the shells.
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