The hens were not idle that morning. They had plans. Six of them marched to the garden gate, single file, like they had rehearsed it. The lettuce never stood a chance. When I finally shooed them out, the oldest hen…

Some mornings announce themselves. This one tiptoed in. For the first time in nine years, our rooster Big Red slept past sunrise. The hens stood around the coop door like neighbors waiting for a store to open. I poured my…