People sometimes ask us if we live on a farm. We don’t, but we do have some of the things people on farms have. For example, we have chickens and guinea hens and a shed where the chickens and guinea hens live. We almost always have fresh eggs, whose yolks aren’t so much yellow as they are blood orange, and they’re spectacular. The chickens were my husband’s idea. He brought them home one night in the dead of winter, crowded in a shoebox as little chicks. I was deeply skeptical about this back-to-the-land plan; in Haiti, where my family is from, animals are often associated with disease, and as soon as Brian mentioned chickens, the first thought that popped into my head was chicken shit. But he was right: On a regular basis, I get to watch three exuberant little bodies hunting around for eggs in our backyard, and now I associate that blood-orange color with pure joy.