I’m baking granola this morning and my cozy tiny house smells of cinnamon. I don’t have particularly high expectations for how this granola is going to turn out, because the Best By date on my oats was sometime in 2020, I didn’t have any vanilla, and I’m experimenting with the temperatures on my air fryer, but even if it is inedible in the end, it sure smells nice now.

Plus, it’s a Monday morning, not yet 9:30, and I’ve already started with the experimental cooking, so go, me. Shine on, self. It’s always satisfying to start off a new week feeling productive. Although I guess if my granola is truly inedible, my accomplishment won’t feel like much.

That said, nothing is inedible for chickens. If I decide I can’t eat my granola, I will feed it to their royal majesties and the other ladies of the chicken coop and they will be thrilled. Then I will get to have eggs, which is win-win.

Of course, I actually get to have eggs whether or not I feed my granola to the ladies. Egg season is definitely in full swing right now. The chickens pretty much stop laying in December and then in February they start up again. If I’m the person to collect the eggs, I generally bring them into Suzanne’s kitchen where they get washed, put into egg cartons, and stashed on top of the refrigerator until a neighbor or some random passerby knocks on the door and says, “Hey, I see your sign says Eggs.” (Actually, the neighbors say something more like, “Any eggs today?”)

Last week, when Suzanne was away, I had three pleasant egg-related interactions. One was a college-age kid, so young, who was really pleased to get cheap eggs. $4 a dozen is a bargain in Arcata right now. He told me that at the farmer’s market they were $10/dozen. Ouch.

The second was from a nice woman who wanted to know if they were organic. Um, nope, not in the least. They eat our table scraps and we don’t eat exclusively organic, so they don’t either. Also, I’m going to guess that if the chickens started getting sick, and a vet said it was bacterial and antibiotics would help them feel better and save their lives, Suzanne would vote for saving their lives. They are happy chickens, however — they’ve got lots of space, friendly relationships, and regular treats. The woman didn’t wind up buying any eggs, but it was still a pleasant conversation.

The third was from a regular, delighted that eggs were back in season. He told me  we had the best eggs in town. I used to be of the belief that an egg was an egg, although I bought expensive eggs because I hoped my extra dollar would mean a better life for the chickens laying them. But now I’m pretty convinced that the ladies of the chicken coop do, in fact, lay really superior eggs, more delicious than your average egg.

Also, they lay very pretty eggs. I have many more than usual in the tiny house today, because Suzanne’s kitchen is in the process of being as disrupted as mine was last week, and I looked at them this morning and thought of Easter. Their royal majesties lay the ones with the greenish tint, while last summer’s new hens must be laying the speckled brown ones. But I wouldn’t even have to dye them to have a nice Easter collection.

My oven timer just beeped, so I think I’ll go check on my granola. And then move on to other things, specifically, writing my next book. I didn’t think this blog post was going to be about eggs and chickens — I thought it was going to be about self-publishing — but you know, eggs and chickens will probably be just as interesting to Future Me. Maybe even more interesting.

Goals for today: 1000 words on A Gift of Sight (possibly to be called A Gift of Touch); a walk with my writing buddy and Sophie; and a delicious meal that might include eggs. May all your Mondays be equally satisfying!