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I know this may come as a shock to a lot of you who “know” me (and those of you who know me IRL)…..but I’ve always wanted to be a farm girl.
My parents looked into moving several times when I was growing up. All of the houses I recall had acreage, and my mother always talked about where she would put her kitchen garden, and where I could have horses.
I love horses. Wanted to be one of those 4H girls who showed horses….ANYWAY.
But my favorite part of pretending we would actually move into one of these houses was the promise of chickens.
I have no idea why. Maybe because I love eggs, and I love to bake and would totally use those eggs in my baking. Nothing tastes quite as lovely as a farm-fresh egg. Maybe now, it’s the idea of having a creature who doesn’t scream at me when I won’t let them watch Curious George 2 for the 800th time, yet relies on me to care for it.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my adolescent daydreams of chickens. I’ve been watching YouTube videos on the Derveas family, and reading books about homesteading. I’ve been plotting out new garden beds for our backyard for next season, before the plants from this season have even taken root.
I am, at heart, a girl who needs to have her hands in the dirt. Who needs to feed her family with her own two hands and not with a paper bag from a fast food joint. I feel better when I open my pantry and see it’s mostly full of canned goods I made, not peaches in heavy sugar syrup in a tin can.
I’m the girl who will put on the fake lashes and heels and go out, and then come home and feed the chickens. I can do this.
Now to convince The Overlord we should have chickens.
Bruises in the Frosting 