Although we still provide coop accommodations of assorted size and sturdiness, our flocks over the years have increasingly chosen to roost more conveniently in the tall, thick juniper that shades a corner of our deck. (The effect of this on treated boards is best left undescribed.) From its berried limbs they are able to choose when they will commence their search for breakfast foods without dependence on the morning vagaries within which we remember (or not) to open their small wooden coop doors.

The original country purpose, I discern, of Easter egg hunts is to teach children the perplexing game of uncovering nesting spots chosen by hens left to the mysterious caprices of nature. Happily, my spouse, farm-raised, has an unerring instinct for the location of eggs. Only the most timid and tame of hens will lay in the cozy boxes I created from scrap plywood and then nailed to the coop sides. One hen laid from a large branch of our front yard cherry tree and was never deterred by the height from which her eggs fell or the fact that our dogs soon ate them. A more popular spot has been the flower boxes adorning our house. Due to a chicken's love of scratching in loose dirt for worms and beetles and of laying in enclosed areas close to potential food sources, we have never managed the charming appearance of flowering annuals hugging the sides of our home. (For related reasons, having to do with cats and claws, we have never been able to maintain intact screens on our windows or doors either.)

We soon learned to check under the truck hood before driving off to town, as the dark intricacy of mechanisms designed to move a vehicle lured many a hen and her potential children to an uncertain fate. One of our puppies, unfond apparently of a fresh egg's crunchy flavor, nearly hatched a brood of turkens (chickens with turkey-like necks) before we discovered the precarious pyramid in a corner of his doghouse. Other popular spots have included: under the arches of honeysuckle bushes entwined in fence rows, under the house, under the coops, in the jumbled shelf of a sawhorse, under our antique outhouse, under canoes overturned against the elements, and under the shed. Under is the operative word here. Egg hunts require a lot of stooping. Occasionally, a hen will just lay an egg in the middle of our yard. I always assume that she was off on an adventure with her perchmates and hadn't time really for the tedious task of finding a proper nesting area.

Born to "waste not, want not" families, we are challenged for a few months each spring with a surfeit of eggs (the Heart Association having been quite clear on the subject of eating, say, a dozen a day). Eggs, especially when they are naturally colored pink, blue and green, have limited potential as friendly gifts. For an edible egg the color green, in particular, has turned out to have unpleasant connotations. Fortunately, we discovered that our bounty, cracked free and stirred slightly, may be stored frozen in small containers for use later when the hens, undriven by procreation's untidy demands, have turned to less overwhelming pursuits. We are left then to address the problem of fish: namely, finding more freezer space.

Quick and Easy Snack Recipe: EGGS AND CHEESE -- In small skillet, warm 1/4 cup milk, add 1/4 pound shredded cheddar cheese and stir until melted; add 4 eggs and stir again until cooked.
(Recipe courtesy of John Somaka, Jr., whose prose and poetry will appear soon in upcoming Country Rag sections.)