Breaking the Law Never Tasted So Good

A work friend of Matt’s and his wife are harboring three illegals on their property.  They’ve got them sleeping in a shed at night, subsisting on grain, water, and whatever vegetal/grub matter they can scrounge in their little fenced-in area during the day. We get to meet them soon, and I can’t wait, because before they arrived we spent an sunny afternoon building them a nesting box out of scrap wood and sheer luck and the Pythagorean theorem. (I promise you will use math after high school.  But only when your smart phone battery dies).

In reality, raising chickens in your backyard in JP isn’t illegal, just “forbidden.” But our friends made sure all their neighbors were agreeable to a new brood in the vicinity, and confirmed before purchasing that there wouldn’t be any surprise roosters greeting the dawn’s early light. They constructed the most beautiful little hen house out of an old shed. (And in that shed is housed our first and only masterpiece of DIY projects, that mathematically-correct nesting box).

It made sense to give a nod to the illicit nature of owning chickens in Boston city limits by naming one after the half-smile handsomest Law-avoider of them all: The Fugitive.

World, meet Dr. Richard Kimble:

Just like her film star counterpart, Dr. Kimble doesn’t waste no time.  She laid two eggs within 48 hours of arriving at her new home.  Unlike her film star counterpart, Dr. Kimble doesn’t have blend-in-with-the-crowd skills, unless the crowd is composed of lots of brown feather dusters. She’s a bearded black silkie, and if you really want to have an awesome Friday, spend a few times looking at her distant relatives here.

We’re excited for our friends and their new trio of forbidden chickens, who are obviously right at home in their awesome custom-built coop and run. Can’t wait to taste those eggies!

Spring Has Sprung

It always seems to me that spring calls for fresh starts much more than January 1, that hangover holiday with its sideways sleet and jean cuffs ringed with crusts of snow-melting salt. Somehow making a resolution to do or be better comes easily when lush, green newness is sprouting up everywhere. There are about a million shades of the color right outside our window, including the shoots and buds and leaves taking over the garden/cluster of potted plants squatting on the fire escape.  There’s new animal life in early progress too, thanks to the parcel of pigeons rutting away on said fire escape who leisurely snip off chunks of our pea vines for refreshment in between their bouts of  lovemaking. Iced coffee is back, and welcome. (To be fair, this is a Dunkin Donuts town and for most, iced coffee never left. But it’s seasonal for me).

Not as inspiring but definitely a sign of spring, the South End ice cream truck has begun its rounds. In a modern day Inferno you might find this thing driving loops around one of the milder circles of hell, plaguing the lecherous politicians or convenience store thieves in that circle bonkers with its classic ice cream truck songs blaring on repeat, “punctuated by car horns and a crazy woman’s voice yelling “HELLO!?!” as one Chowhound commenter aptly wrote.

So where are we with spring resolutions? Besides the usual sprucing and cleaning and trimming down, this season we’re aiming for more homemade projects including but not limited to: sprouts from seed, the most ideal and pleasant chicken partnership you’ve ever heard of, stocks and sauces from scratch, a canning extravaganza, denim cutoffs, family oral histories, and a romantic date attending a welding workshop. We’re looking to incorporate more and varied vegetables into the ol’ weeknight meals. We’re going to travel to a few new places, hike more often, watch the new season of Sherlock, and, come hell or high water, buy a new bedspread.

Sounds like a pretty good spring to me.