Renewing Magic.

I remember when I was very small and my parents had first obtained our own little flock of chickens just how magical t was, as a small child, to go into the coop to collect the eggs.

The rational mind knows this is a natural, normal part of living, but for a small child it is still a magical event. Long after the magic had worn off for me, my cousin still had that magic when she came to visit and would often ask to go out to check for the eggs.

That was decades ago. Half a lifetime ago. For herself and I, the first eggs fro our is flock were a new kind of magic and if you've read the early postings on this blog, I am sure you've read about the excruciating wait we went through followed by the sheer elation of those first eggs from our hand raised babies.

Yesterday, the seven year old daughter of a friend was visiting  and she asked if she could go visit the chickens. I hadn't collected the eggs yet, so I asked her if she'd like to help me do that.

Out we strode to the coop, and with the hens and particularly the rooster momentarily distracted by a fresh handful of cracked corn, I opened the nesting boxes for our young guest to check. She was delighted to find the eggs and collect them herself. She proudly brought the eggs inside to show her mother and beamed as if she had laid them herself! The eggs were cartooned and sent home with them to enjoy.

Children raised with chickens may not quite understand this thrill, nor children raised in the city with no exposure to these experiences at all. But for a young child, old enough to know what's going on, this first experience is positively magical.

Moreover, it is a reaffirmation of the magic of my own long past experiences and makes me feel utterly refreshed to seethe wonder on the face of a child.

Had an odd thought concerning the yearly ritual of children hunting for Easter eggs. Some chickens will lay eggs in random places if they're not used to laying in a box. The spring is when they start laying again after a brief winter shut-down. I wonder if some frustrated ancient farmer in northern Europe had a flock of hens laying 'willy nilly' and decided to make a game of it by sending his children out to hunt for the hens' best 'hiding' places around the farmstead.

Silly thoughts for a Sunday morning.