Eggy blog

This morning my friend P and I set off to buy some eggs for her to hatch - some for her and some for me. Rather guiltily I left Ian dealing with the fact that our water supply had failed last night to the not very great delight of the guests in the cottage. We have a pump house in one of the farmer's field from where mains water is pumped up to the house and then on to cottage. No pumping, no water. The man who worked on it last year had turned up at ten past seven this morning so, feeling very glad that Ian was here today, we drove off into the sun.

It was a beautiful drive towards Oswestry and then through Chirk and out into deepest country. The lanes became narrower and steeper as we carefully followed directions: the ruined house, the farm buildings, the blue spot on the tree. Then over two cattle grids and bumping down a track, wondering if we should have brought the four by four.

The farm sat at the bottom of a quiet valley by a stream. The woman who ran it was welcoming and friendly, drying her hands as we arrived, two little terriers bouncing at her feet. Over the stepping stones on the other side of the stream were large pens with different breeds of hen and turkeys and cockerels wandering free. One of P's Buff Orpingtons has just become very broody so the original plan was for us to buy about twelve eggs and let her sit.

"Well" said the egg lady as we oohed and aahed and wanted everything, "you could take twelve for the hen and twelve for the incubator."

We were off! Six Welsomer eggs, dark brown, the perfect boiled egg. Six Rhode Island Reds for the handsome glossy birds with their shiny chestnut feathers. Six cream Legbars for the lovely blue green eggs, magic eggs to delight children, and six little Dutch bantams, Freesians I think she said although don't believe my spelling, for the dainty birds with their beautiful cream and fawn feathers and delicate markings.

So we shall see how we get on. I only want four and P only half a dozen but it seems that eggs produce more cockerels than hens and it is the hens we want. The cockerels will be for the pot. In seven days time P will candle the eggs in the incubator checking for life and I will go up to watch. Three weeks to hatching. How exciting.

As we arrived back, the eggs cradled in their boxes on my lap, the pump man was preparing to leave, water restored after what sounded like a hairy morning. We ate bread and cheese and the last of last year's chutney outside under the yew tree.

Tonight is Welsh class and no home work done as yet and tomorrow is another journey to London, eight hours travel all together for a three hour meeting so need to stop blogging and start welshing.

Thank you so much for your comments and thoughts yesterday.