We stopped shopping at a certain grocery chain a while back, not merely because our regional store made global headlines for its sketchy sales tactics, but mainly because they couldn’t stop rearranging the entire contents of the store. If I had more confidence in the government, I’d claim this grocery’s regular determination to disorient in-person shoppers is some kind of psychological experiment paid for by the CIA — though that questionable era of scientific investigation feels long behind us now.

Today, in what I must imagine is the height of desperation, the store sent me a notification through their app for a free cinnamon roll. I accidentally clicked the link while I was trying to swipe away the notification. I haven’t claimed my free cinnamon roll yet, but they aren’t wrong to think that would get some in this household back through their doors. (Perhaps the CIA should take notes.)

Along those lines, I recently picked up a copy of “Sweet Tooth” by Sarah Fennel at my public library, and it’s going to be difficult to choose where to start baking. The young hens have just started laying, along with my daughter’s Old English Game bantams, which means we have a plethora of tiny little eggs to use. Luckily, the weather has cooled off just in time to fire up the oven.

I’m thinking about the farm and what business model will yield the most profit and feed people. My operation is intentionally small and profit-making is balanced with the comfort of our hens. Having laying hens ready to go during the seasons people want to buy them (Feburary, June, October?), while keeping enough of our favorite layers to supply ourselves and the regular customers with eggs most of the year, is the direction I’m leaning right now.

I want more short stories to round out my budding collection, which means I need to start a couple more. I like to start on short stories by having a general idea, principle, or feeling I want to evoke, and then get to know the story and its characters as I go along. Sometimes this happens more or less in a flash (flashier, of course, when there’s a deadline), and sometimes this takes a year or more to develop. Currently I’m expanding on a short scene I wrote years ago, then two years ago workshopped into a longer scene, and now starting to frame with the characters themselves. Plot is a ways off still.

What I’m reading: I just wrapped up “Adopting Grace” by my friend Anna Jinja. It’s an entertaining romp through a tumultuous mid-life divorce not of the protagonist’s choosing. The dialogue jumps off the page and the absurdity of the tension that naturally accompanies these scenes is often hilarious.

Time to turn on the lights: With waning daylight comes decreased egg production, meaning we focus our egg sales seasonally, selling the most eggs January through early October. The big layer pen does get lights over the dark winter hours, to generate the 12+ hours of daylight hens need to continue laying (as they would if we lived closer to the equator, where chickens originated). We do this both for predator protection and to keep enough hens in production to feed the family. And, it’s the right time of year for us humans to think about adding lights, too.

A small scene: The poodle has one button she can mash to speak a request: “Outside.” Last week, she repeatedly hit the button while cattle dog Beatrix was standing outside the glass door, looking in. When I opened the door, Bea came in but the poodle didn’t go out. “Oh!” I said to the little dog. “You didn’t want to go out, you wanted me to let Bea in from outside.” The poodle leaped for joy and mouthed my hand in confirmation. Humans can be extraordinarily difficult to train.

More soon,

Sarah