Marmalade's last eggs

by June

Hearts are sore here. August usually brings Grandpa Hickory for a good, long visit. It brings sun-ripe tomatoes. It brings long days that ease into nighttime while we're telling stories in the swing. But not this year. Instead, we have late blight, many worries, and worst, another lost chicken.

Marmalade in her favorite ride

Marmalade died. Blossom and Fern thought they had nursed her back into the pink after she looked a little pale on Sunday. But, alas, just as Birch slid our supper into the pizza oven Tuesday evening, Blossom cried for help from the chicken coop. She had found the little hen in her final moments. It's hard enough to be ten years old and lose your favorite chicken. But to watch her die? It's unspeakable. Supper burned. We spent the night crying.

Marmalade's eggs on the windowsill shrine

All the trouble has kept us away from all our friends' blogs. We apologize. We miss you. We'll be back soon. Right now, we're trying to get balance back in our lives. The girls blew the innards out of Marmalade's last two eggs, which fortunately were still in the fridge. They made a little shrine on their windowsill. And since she was the last of their cuddly chickens, they're nurturing a new love...the rooster.

Daisy Roo gets promoted to snuggle buddy (whether he likes it or not)

Oh, and there are brighter posts in the future, we promise. We may not have many tomatoes to sauce this year, but did you catch it up there when I mentioned that Birch slid supper into the pizza oven...? Yep! The pizza oven is roaring, and what's coming out of it is enough to perk us up even during this bleak August.