I still want chickens. Sort of.

I keep telling Steve I want to raise chickens, and he keeps telling me I can't have any.

I think the reasons have changed over the years, but they have all been valid. When I asked him recently to tell me again why I can't have chickens he said, "for the same reason you're not planting a garden this year."

Ouch.

He also reminded me that we have all sorts of wild critters around here, including raccoons and coyotes, that would love to eat chickens. And it would be pretty easy for the wild critters to get at them because I would want our chickens to be free range. Laugh if you must, but I would love to be able to sit with my coffee in the morning and watch the chickens cluck and peck their way around the yard. I think it would be relaxing. They eat bugs, too, which would be quite helpful.

Oh well. Raising chickens just isn't meant to be in this season of our lives.

It's all good, though, because I get to live vicariously through our neighbors who do have chickens.

And bonus! They give us fresh eggs.

Beautiful, aren't they?

I should note that originally we (read: Steve) struck a deal with the neighbors to trade something fresh from the kitchen for eggs, and I have been pretty lax in keeping up our end of the bargain while Steve is gone. I willingly admit Steve is the better (read: more adventurous) cook in this house, and he likes to share the wealth with others. I? Can cook well enough to keep us alive. I can't shop in the pantry and throw things together like Steve can. But since I'd like the steady stream of fresh eggs to continue, and since my dear sweet husband keeps telling me I can't have hens of my own, I think I'll whip up some granola today and have it ready for the next time Mr. Neighbor stops by with a dozen eggs.

Granola I can do. Because I have a recipe.

Maybe I'll share the recipe tomorrow.

With pictures! Because that's about as adventurous as I get in the kitchen.

Happy Monday!