07 March 2011

Here a Chick, There a Chick...

...Everywhere a Chick Chick....


This old picture from my cell phone reminds me of when we had our chickens. (Obviously.) I guess it also reminds me of when we lived in town like true "city folk," but it mostly just reminds me of the chickens.

Does it seem odd to anyone else that we had the farm lifestyle with chickens and eggs while living in town? That's how we roll.

Backwards.

I kind of miss the old brood. Look at all those eggs! I never had to buy eggs. We were always well-stocked. I can't wait until we have chickens again at the farm. The farm has been lacking in chickens for far too long!

B's great uncle was the facilitator of the chicken wave around our house. He, too, has a love for chickens...and chicken magazines, as a matter of fact. That's how it started: "Here...take this magazine to read." Before I knew it, there were magazines with pictures of Rhode Island Reds and baby chicks on the covers strewn from the bathroom (ahem...tub reading, people!) to the living room coffee table to the desk in the kitchen. (And may I weigh in that I much prefer happening upon magazines with a rooster on the front as opposed to Angelina Jolie or some other statue? It did wonders for my self esteem. Thank you.) I thought it was all innocent reading and cultivating a shared interest with a beloved uncle.

I. Was. Wrong.

And I so should have known better. I've only known this man for six hundred years...ever since we both walked the playgrounds as babes.

Before long, there was a hot box in our garage for the chicks. Then, there was a bag of mush or feed or something in the laundry room. Then, a heat lamp appeared, borrowed from his dad's shop. And somewhere in the middle of all this setting up, feathers began to fly, dogs began to bark, and we officially hillbillied the neighborhood.

Uncle was happy, B was excited, and I pretended not to see them. Until the eggs started showing up in the fridge. Then? I named them.

Just don't tell B how much I miss the chickens and the sound of their clucking filling the background and all the eggs...I'll be so excited about having them again, but if he finds out I miss them, we'll have them TOMORROW. And tomorrow is a touch too soon. The carpet's not down in the chicken coop, the storm door still doesn't stay closed, and I'm sure I'll come home one day to find that the birds have used the wood scraps on the front porch to construct The Biggest Birdhouse Evah. Suffice it to say: we're not quite ready.

We're barely ready for the horses and the barn cats that already live with us. Wouldn't it be swell if they could provide food for the family like the chickens did? And I don't mean mice, thanks. I mean...I don't know...pancakes? Bread? Bacon? Wait...that would be pigs. I hope B didn't hear that.

I think I'll let the horses know when I get home that they're in charge from this point forward of bread...white or wheat, I don't much care. They can leave the loaf on the back stoop, or I'll gladly come out and get it. And the barn cats are in charge of condiments...I don't care how. Ketchup, mustard, jam, jelly, A-1...you get the idea. I can picture Bossy now, rollin' a jar of Miracle Whip our way....

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