The news from When Pigs Fly Farm 3.0

The news is -- there is no news. Nada. Zip. Nein. Well, actually there is, but for the single-dimension vegetable gardener like me, there is no news.

L to R: Cress, dirt, radishes. You're welcome.

We're in that odd seasonal netherworld where cold weather vegetables (greens, radishes, carrots, beets etc) are in, and plunking along, but we're still a week or two away from planting the fun stuff -- heirloom tomatoes, cukes, beans, eggplant and, oh, the bazillion annual flower seeds Farma-natrix Kate and I picked out last December to help with pollination.

The weather pundits warn us to wait till after May 15 here Bermtopia before doing any of the "fun stuff ." That's historically when we have our last frost. Personally, I don't think anything REALLy big starts happening at the Farm until the nights sustain an average temperature of 55 degrees. Which generally occurs in August. For about 45 minutes.

And so it goes.

BUT I did stop by the Farm this weekend to deposit the contents of our compost bin -- and four bags of pine needles, which Farma-natrix Kate assures me they can use for mulch with their strawberries. That's a lot o' mulch, FK. . . .

But here is the big news:

Team Chicken is now residing in a quite elegant coop Farmer Sam built with his very own hands from reclaimed lumber. No more nights on newsprint in the basement, ladies! Your crib is stylin'! It's a two-story -- food, drink and a romper room on the ground floor, nests on the second.

The dining room.

I could hear the team's muffled clucking on the second floor so I took a peek, hoping against hope the ladies wouldn't try to make a run for it. Chicken wrangling wasn't on my to-do list that particular day, if you know what I mean.

The clucking escalated as I raised the nesting door. I lowered it cautiously. The natives were restless.

I tentatively lifted up the nesting door again -- just a titch -- the ladies seeming to calm. Then a little more, and a little more. Team Chicken was gathered toward the back of the nesting box, peering out expectantly at me, but in no way inclined to bolt so I a took a group portrait.

They appear to have stopped leaping at each other's heads
 and instead lay eggs. I'm thinking that's a good thing.

More than satisfied with my inaugural Team Chicken bonding time, it was time to move on.

Later, sistahs!

O.M.G.

One other magnificent addition to WPFF caught my eye -- a glorious contraption of trash can, bicycle tire rim and bright, shiny chains. My head exploded with its farming potential.

"What's the doo-hickey with all the chain?" I texted Farma-natrix Kate, my mind awash with its gardening applications. Combination trellis-compost bin? Zero-gravity drip system? Heavy metal scarecrow?

"Oh! That's a frisbee golf bin! Haha." she texted back.

The Great Cultural Divide bites me in the butt.

Once again.

And that's the report fromWhen Pigs Fly Farm.