When my daughter and I go for the eggs

My daughter and I go together for the eggs on our farm just about every day about mid-morning. We cross the yard to the lane, walk out the lane to the pasture, open the gate, and then cut across the pasture to the henhouse. Quetzal carries the egg basket, swings it back and forth, and she talks and talks and oftentimes sings. When the chickens come running, which they always do, she acknowledges them by name—Diaper, Chicken McNugget, Butterscotch, Jitters—and I watch and make sure to listen. Once at the henhouse, we open the door and step inside.

Pig Skull

A skull turned up one morning at our house during an extended Sunday brunch we were hosting for our neighbors. Dave, who lives on the next farm over, had taken the kids for a walk in the woods, and when they returned, they had a skull, a medium-sized, off-white animal skull that, while broken distinctly into three pieces (cranium, mandible and single tooth), fit together perfectly.