BENT MOUNTAIN WOMAN GIVES UP URBAN COFFEE SCENE FOR CHICKEN $$%#

Those of you who know me well, know that I am somewhat of a poser.  I've spent the last 53 years of my life pretty much avoiding manual labor...especially the kind that involves yucky disgusting stuff.  I am way more at home in the coffee shop or the wine bar than the stable.

But I may be branching out.  Today my Bottom Creek walking partner blew me off.  I suppose that I could have gone it alone, but 8:00AM's 34 blustery degrees sent me back into my warm, cozy, wood-stovy house.  Absolutely content to put in a load of laundry, grab a cup of fresh ground Kona and fire up my Kindle.  Only problem was that I finished up The Paris Wife just last night.   That could be a story in itself.  This poser farm woman is a Hemingway freak and Francophile, throw in the mention of A Moveable Feast and I'm a goner.  So...sob...my book is done.  Hate those mornings.

Larry was waiting on Ed the Poor Mountain bartering guy to help him clean the chicken coop.  One of the reasons I was hesitant to take on chicken farming was, of course, the poop factor.  The other argument was that I grow way too attached to little creatures and didn't think I could handle 17 feathered pulls on my heartstrings.  I do, however, love farm eggs.  They are not only amazingly tastier than the store bought variety, they are also incredibly beautiful.  Just this morning I gathered up a light robins egg blue, a dark speckled brown and a couple of cafe au lait tinted beauties.  Of course, I have just the right basket that makes the whole thing much more romantic.

Well, Ed called and said he could be here at 2PM  to help with the coop clean-up.  Ed wanted the poop and shavings (our luck!) to winter fertilize his delicious and prolific vegetable garden.  But, if you know my husband, you will also realize that once he has something (especially manual labor) on his mind, he's doing it THAT MOMENT.  So guess whom he enlisted.  Hmmmm.......not even the excuse of The Paris Wife waiting was going to help me.   

I like to make him think I'm not really capable of effective farm management, a little too dainty to haul bails of shavings and muck out coops.  I do have all the right accessories and outfits for egg collection, and since I like to cook I'm always trying to find a new tarte in which to showcase Alice and Company's offerings.  Well, today none of my lame excuses were working, so I was quickly signed on as farm hand.

Got my exercise a different way this morning.  Not quite as fun as Zumba, but pretty rewarding nonetheless.  Only problem is that once he's seen me do something, all my "I don't know how" excuses seem to quickly stop working.

So for today, anyway,  I'm a genuine Floyd County farm girl.  And I'm pretty sure Ernest would approve.