Why?
Chickens!
Imagine the culture shock of a kid moving from very urban Newark, NJ, to a farm in Michigan that included not just an outhouse, but chickens. Chickens who pecked at my skinny little nine-year-old legs every time I walked through the yard on the way to said outhouse. It was terrifying.Chickens seem to be the current must-have item for many people I know. A friend in northern New Jersey built a palace for her new brood. Another acquaintance ordered 50 baby chicks through the mail. At the assisted living where I work, we joined a farm project where we borrowed an incubator and hatched 12 baby chickens. We had to turn the eggs every 90 minutes. Do mother chickens do this? When do they sleep
I recently read a book called HOW TO SEDUCE A TEXAN by Karen Kelley about an out-of-her element city girl reporter who goes undercover to a dude ranch to do an exposé on the hero, who is on to her and puts her in the most primitive accommodations imaginable. And that included not only chickens but a psychotic rooster. I felt her pain.
Now I’m not only reading about chickens but I’ve acquired four grand-chickens with the names Checkers, Siren-head, Cupcake, and another one I can never remember because who names their chickens? At least these chickens are safely confined in a lovely chicken coop—isn’t that what you call the houses chickens live in? Because this isn’t really my area of expertise. But I don’t want to think about the possibility of eating a creature I’ve been introduced to by name.My grand-chickens aren’t about to become anyone’s dinner anytime soon, as far as I know. Their function seems to be wandering around making strange little sounds and laying multicolored eggs at an alarming rate.
I’ve been sent home with many, many eggs every time I visit. So although I don’t want to make a meal of a creature I know on a first name basis, it seems I have no compunction about munching on my…potential great-grand-chickens. Is that a thing?
In self defense I learned how to make something called a frittata, in a big old iron frying pan, which again reminds me of country living, but what couldI do? My world has gone so chicken-crazy that my husband started talking about whether we could have a few chickens on the little balcony of our tiny two bedroom condo. If that ever happens, I’m flying the coop.
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What a fun post, Hannah! There are sooo many cute chicken houses out there these days! My SO and I were talking about that the other night, and I've bantered about the "getting a few chickens" thing for a while now. I'm in the country, basically, with farm land all around. Why not? There is only one thing holding me back...cleaning the coop!
ReplyDeleteChickens are limited here to only 4 per household in city limits. And NO roosters to save the neighbours’ sanity I believe. But they are not everywhere and often they’re only kept for a short time. Like a few months. I prefer watching wild birds. But I’d like farm fresh eggs!
ReplyDeleteHilarious! Hope you don't fly the coop! I love chickens and would like to have some, but I might not be thinking that through very well after reading your post. Ha!
ReplyDeleteWhat a fun post! I remember visiting my grandmother before she moved into town. She let me help feed her chickens. Now our daughter wants to add chickens to her menagerie. I agree with Maddie--cleaning the coop doesn't sound like fun!
ReplyDeleteYou sound like Pioneer Woman, only funnier. Good luck with the grandchicks. Sounds like your fun has just begun.
ReplyDeleteI buy farm-fresh eggs and enjoy having them because I grew up with them and think they're better. The best part is never having to meet the chickens face-to-face.
ReplyDeletePrairie boy convinced me we should put in a small vegetable garden, which I am enjoying more than I thought I would. But if he starts talking chickens, I'm out of here. I buy my eggs from a farm where I am not on a first-name basis with the hens.
ReplyDeleteOh, see, now Maddie has added another component. You have to clean the coop? No! Just no!!!!
ReplyDeleteI'm still laughing, Hannah. I think all roosters are psychotic. I remember when my brother and I were kids, a psycho rooster chased us onto the porch. The crazy bird kept pecking the spaced in front of our feet and each peck sounded like a hammer hitting a nail. Scary childhood trauma. I didn't eat eggs until I was in my twenties. Never thought about it before but maybe it was because of that. *LOL*
ReplyDeleteOh my gosh that's too funny! My husband really wants chickens. Like, he really wants them lol
ReplyDeleteLove it! Great post! 🐔🥚😁
ReplyDeleteOh my, I love eggs, ahaha!
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