
If you add up our meat birds, our old layers, and the new generation of layers we have 119 chickens at our house. We needed another chicken like I needed another hernia.

On our property, the clucking of the hens harmonizes with the bleating of the goats beautifully but we felt it needed one little touch to complete the aural composition. And besides, what’s a flock without a rooster?

Saturday morning we called our friends over at
Quill’s End Farm and inquired about extra roosters “in stock”. They told us they had more than enough roosters and offered one to us. When we stopped over there Alexander skillfully wrestled an elegant Silver Laced Wyandotte and placed it in our travel crate. (If you are not sure why I said “skillfully” then you’ve never tried to catch a chicken before. Try it and you’ll understand.)

I am not sure that we are totally settled on his name yet. Eden wants “Garlic” and Julia and I vote “Tertullian”. We are not ones for naming all our chickens but there is something so distinctively personal about a rooster that they seem to need some sort of dignified designation. In past years we’ve went with names of preachers (eg. “Spurgeon”, “Sproul”) or of early/biblical church fathers (“Polycarp”, “Barnabas”, “Timothy”). What do you think this dapper fella should be called? Any ideas?

We’ve got 2.5 – 3 cords stacked finally. This is very close to what we need to heat our little house through the Maine winter. I bought 6 cords of log length this year so that we’d have enough for campfires, the earth oven, and maple syrup tapping in spring. Since open sunny/windy space is kind of a premium on this side of the house, we decided to try a Holz Hausen. This is apparently a German design for a wood pile. It is built round with the walls always tilted down into the center. Then the middle is filled with verticals leaning slightly out to counteract the pressure of the walls. When these principals are paid attention to, the structure is very stable. The theory goes that the verticals create a chimney effect, drawing air in, thereby increasing the speed of drying. The truth of this claim is dubious but it sure is nice to look at. (Not to mention saving us space!)


I just completed this fall front desk in the studio. Lid was cracked into pieces, drawers busted and warped, finish water damaged, feet broken, mold growth on secondary wood, screws stripped, lopers stuck, etc. This was a pretty comprehensive job. I wish I didn’t have it so long in my studio but I have to admit I was a little intimidated by it before starting. These kind of projects are always one step at a time. Needless to say I am pretty happy with the way it came out.


Speaking of intimidating projects, I’ve just begun this 19th century sea captain’s lap desk. Disaster of disasters. The roll top canvas is shot and things are warped. The whole mechanism is jammed and stuck. This is sort of a puzzle to figure out the most intelligent and sound repairs.

Eden’s been working on his letters. The long one that looks like a caterpillar is an extended/expanded ‘E’.

We feel the brisk fall air coming upon us quickly. Nights are chilly now. Sweater weather for sure. This time of the year is always so bittersweet for us: The seasonals and tourists with their conspicuous presence have all gone home. Gardens are slowing down. Daylight diminishes noticeably everyday. Cleaning out the wood stove, you begin thinking about picking up your poetry again.
It’s funny when you begin to see your breath again. I believe that some years I am convinced I’ve been holding my breath since spring. The whirlwind of spring/ summer is so overwhelming that it’s easy to work, work, work until you crash. Fall is for crashing. Fall is for breathing again. I am always relieved when these fall nights remind me to breathe again.
The heavens are glad.