Snods Eggs, Brexeggs and a brighter 2019 ........

Well the hens have settled.

Poor bedraggled things rescued from a Battery Farm after a life of sheltered, serial laying, they have taken to Vicarage life a treat for them and a treat for us.

On the pre inspection visit with the Archdeacon, as we looked into an out house, he enquired about the large cartons, it's a Hen Coop, I replied, A hen coop, he queried, and where's that going?

In the Orchard I replied. The Orchard? He asked, why isn't this the Archdeacons House?

Diocesan policy? I thought.

But now the hens are in their element, fine feathers, an Orchard of their own and two bird tables.

The bird count does get  longer.

Christmas guests were as keen to see the Greater Spotted Woodpecker as we were to show him off, but over Christmas he stayed away.

They drove away on the day after Boxing Day and we sat down for our morning coffee, enjoying the peace before the next visitors arrived and Woody the Woodpecker was there again enjoying his food as much as we enjoyed welcoming him.

Then after the holidays a Buzzard came to visit sitting on a fence post eyeing the world, at first we thought he was a hen, then a Pheasant until he dropped dramatically to catch his prey in the paddock and then return to his post.

The finally treat was later that night walking the dogs around the Vicarage Gardens we disturbed a Barn Owl who flew silently into the night. Awesome!

So now we have eggs.

Snods Eggs is the the first fundraiser for the parish, launched on the first Sunday of Christmas and the eggs were sold and the funds banked.

Self funding, self raising Chickens, the Coop blessed ( I was awarded a NVQ in Coop Building) and now highly productive.

Man cannot live on boiled eggs and Marmite Soldiers, or maybe he can?

If we rescued the Chickens maybe they will rescue us? After the Armageddon of Brexit, maybe just maybe, our self sufficiency ratios will have to increase and breakfast will become brexeggs.

Followed by Omelette, followed by scrambled, poached and fried and on the days we are fortunate enough to find bread, eggy bread?

There was a rare moment of delight when I offered the final blessing after the service yesterday a real sense of the warmth of blessing being returned to me from the congregation. I had thought that I was simply too old and too out of touch to be enabled to undertake the privilege of Ministry again.

But here I am.

So I count my blessings. I count the eggs. And I count the Woodpecker's visits.

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