Eleven degrees outside. Over leftover New Year's corn beef and a spot of eggs, Harry tells me about rabbits, hunting, Amish, the WPA having men build a brick road in downtown Winamac that's still there, how their folks lost their farm but came back, truck gardening, and heavy hens. Driving'
around, he came across a farm sale, friends of his, where the daughter was just selling off everything, including the animals. So six heavy hens he bought, and they threw the two roosters in, too. He knows how to cook them. A heavy hen is a hen that has stopped laying and in farm life, you know what's next. In the preparing, some had very soft eggs in them. This gave me pause but snapped me back to the moment. Here I am, still cluckin' around, accumulating ideas and dreams and aiming to get out from under the cluckin' clutter. Picture: stolen from the ether.