Mad chickens. "You must stay in until I get some eggs!!" Chicken slavery, they think, I'm sure. A friend is delivering a few guineas this weekend, so everyone will have to stay in until the guineas get used to their new home anyway.

It's cool, rainy, and the autumnal equinox has come and gone. We are rising to dark mornings, and the day is slow dawning, much slower than in the summer. Daylight savings doesn't end until November 1, which is much too late. I would rather see dawn creeping over the eastern horizon when I rise.

The garden is ratty, and my enthusiasm is waning. Green beans, pears, tomatoes, and zucchini are all demanding, "Pick me!" "Can me." Freeze me!" "Preserve me with honey and spices!"

The duties of the harvest season call me. Perhaps I will find inspiration in the kitchen.

It's been raining softly on and off all day. The new pasture south of the house is coming in emerald green and thick. I think Cory and Jim both found a few artifacts in the turned earth.

Chickens are traveling all over the farm now, but I find very few eggs in the nests. I might have to lock them up in the chicken yard again until they get in habit of laying in the chicken house. One adventurous hen stayed out all night for the last two nights--she must have roosted in the spruce tree next to the coop.

A black capped chickadee and a red breasted nuthatch are feeding in the tulip poplar out my window. I guess it's time to join them and take Seamus and Sadie for a walk.