That’s me some years ago, feeding the chickens on the farm where my family and I lived in Tennessee. And yes, that’s a smile of pride brightening my aging visage. The truth is, I loved those chickens. We had 200 of them, eight or ten different breeds that laid eggs in seven different colors: white, brown, blue, green, olive, pink, and a deep mahogany the color of a CEO’s desk. We sold them at a local organic food place in Nashville called the Turnip Truck. Our eggs flew off the shelves, we learned, because parents snapped them up so their kids would pick out their own special eggs from the gorgeous variety our hens laid when the parents were trying to feed them breakfast in the morning. Plus, they were actually good for you.
Just loved this wonderful story and the fine pictures. It’s the most rewarding and touching of all I’ve read today. Feels like a gift, so thank you Lucien.
Simply lovely, Lucian. For every birth, there is death. Some sooner than others. Somehow, we and our wonderful animals seem to go on, survive which whatever meets us. I loved this reflection of yours. Thank you.
Oh Lucien, this speaks to me, and breaks my heart. My own flock is down from the 10 I had in Raleigh, to just 4 here in Hendersonville NC-because I am retired, and can no longer sell my eggs to co-workers, I can’t keep more than enough to feed my dogs and me.
I have one “old” hen aged 4-5 named Io, after the adorable, bright little girl who lived next door to me in Raleigh. She loved my hends, was thrilled that I named Io after her, and insisted I not take her with me when I moved (I left half my flock with the buyer of my house). Well, I took Io, but there was another red hen there and human-Io didn’t know the difference. I took chicken-Io with me because I love her. She’s smart, curious, friendly--was different from the others from day one. She continues to lay an egg most days, though they are getting small and pointy.
I give my old hens to farmers or people with free-range flocks and ask no questions--but can’t justify feeding a flock that doesn’t make eggs, because... I’m a farmer! LOL
But Io... I will let her get old and die with me.
BTW I use electric poultry netting. Great stuff. I’ve only had one predator casualty in 20 years--I saw from my kitchen a clever fox who vaulted off a pine tree into the chicken yard and nailed one of my hens in the head as I ran yelling out the door, and she vaulted back out the way she came. (It was kit season for foxes, so I suspect she was desperate to feed her babies.) The hen was paralyzed, and though I put her in a sling in a cage, and she continued to eat and drink, I knew she wasn’t going to make it so I killed her with a hatchet. Because I’m a farmer. But it’s really, really hard to do.
My family may have eaten a lot of those eggs—Turnip Truck has been a long time habit of mine. I’d pick up my youngest daughter from soccer practice at Miegs Middle School (she’s 24 now) and go to Turnip Truck for post soccer treat and groceries. Lou liked to make scrambled eggs for her breakfasts.
Downsized to Old Hickory Village north of Nashville, so Turnip Truck’s new store isn’t too far away.
Wonderful remembrance. When I was in my 20's I had a job unrelated to the chickens on the property, but I was given the responsibility for daily egg collection. Oh, how those girls fussed over my invading their space! We had to have a relaxed chat until everyone calmed down.
Lovely story about befriending a bird, or a bird befriending you. There's an alien marble in a chicken's eye, seeing a different dimension of life than yours.
So nice! My son had a snake once that I swear knew what was going on. I know it’s ridiculous, it was a small snake that ate crickets. But it knew when it would be fed and who was feeding it…
Somewhere, on the internet tubes, there’s a video of a flock of chickens marching down a drive and waiting at the end of it. A couple of minutes later, a school bus pulls up, the doors whoosh open, and the children of the house scramble out. The chickens greet them and then follow the kids back to the house. Every day.
Reminds me of a red hen we had when I fancied myself a gentleman farmer. Never really farmed, but we had a few animals and the kids did 4H. Cluck Cluck came to us with a horse we bought for our daughter. She had the run of the place, bossing the cats and doing whatever she liked. And, yes, she ate most anything, including mice the farm cats were playing with. She used to "fly" up to my wife's shoulder for protection if she thought one of the dogs was after her -- One sad day she wandered beyond the wrong fence and one of the dogs she rightly feared got her. My wife wasn't there to intervene that day.
Thanks for the story and reminding me of our own experience.
I have a friend for whom I used to house/pet sit on occasion. My friend's pets used to include a very small flock of six chickens, each of which had a name and was treated like a child of the family.
My favorite memories of these pet-sitting adventures was of sitting in a pool of sunshine next to the screen door of the kitchen ell...just outside was a sunny corner of the back patio where all six chickens (they were free range and had the run of about an acre) would gather after their dust baths and preen and talk to me. I'm not kidding, two of the six chickens would sit on that granite stoop, croon and cluck to me and to each other...telling chicken stories, I swear. After a bit they would take a short nap and then, after the sun had slid around to the other side of the house, they'd troop off to scratch and search out more ticks and other bugs. Eventually they'd march up the henhouse ramp and I'd do a head count and they would cluck a goodnight and I'd shut them in for the night.
Just loved this wonderful story and the fine pictures. It’s the most rewarding and touching of all I’ve read today. Feels like a gift, so thank you Lucien.
A sweet story. Nice diversion from the clusterfuck that our daily existence has become
Never underestimate what a bird understands, thinks, or feels. Big Chicken is one of my favorite stories. Thank you!
Simply lovely, Lucian. For every birth, there is death. Some sooner than others. Somehow, we and our wonderful animals seem to go on, survive which whatever meets us. I loved this reflection of yours. Thank you.
Oh Lucien, this speaks to me, and breaks my heart. My own flock is down from the 10 I had in Raleigh, to just 4 here in Hendersonville NC-because I am retired, and can no longer sell my eggs to co-workers, I can’t keep more than enough to feed my dogs and me.
I have one “old” hen aged 4-5 named Io, after the adorable, bright little girl who lived next door to me in Raleigh. She loved my hends, was thrilled that I named Io after her, and insisted I not take her with me when I moved (I left half my flock with the buyer of my house). Well, I took Io, but there was another red hen there and human-Io didn’t know the difference. I took chicken-Io with me because I love her. She’s smart, curious, friendly--was different from the others from day one. She continues to lay an egg most days, though they are getting small and pointy.
I give my old hens to farmers or people with free-range flocks and ask no questions--but can’t justify feeding a flock that doesn’t make eggs, because... I’m a farmer! LOL
But Io... I will let her get old and die with me.
BTW I use electric poultry netting. Great stuff. I’ve only had one predator casualty in 20 years--I saw from my kitchen a clever fox who vaulted off a pine tree into the chicken yard and nailed one of my hens in the head as I ran yelling out the door, and she vaulted back out the way she came. (It was kit season for foxes, so I suspect she was desperate to feed her babies.) The hen was paralyzed, and though I put her in a sling in a cage, and she continued to eat and drink, I knew she wasn’t going to make it so I killed her with a hatchet. Because I’m a farmer. But it’s really, really hard to do.
My family may have eaten a lot of those eggs—Turnip Truck has been a long time habit of mine. I’d pick up my youngest daughter from soccer practice at Miegs Middle School (she’s 24 now) and go to Turnip Truck for post soccer treat and groceries. Lou liked to make scrambled eggs for her breakfasts.
Downsized to Old Hickory Village north of Nashville, so Turnip Truck’s new store isn’t too far away.
Thanks for the daughter and egg memories.
www.publishersweekly.com/9780880642545
^^^^^
The Secret Language of Life: How Animals and Plants Feel and Communicate, by Brian J. Ford
--- review.
Thank you, Richard. I have been waiting for a book like this to come into my life! Excited to read it!
Wonderful remembrance. When I was in my 20's I had a job unrelated to the chickens on the property, but I was given the responsibility for daily egg collection. Oh, how those girls fussed over my invading their space! We had to have a relaxed chat until everyone calmed down.
Lovely story about befriending a bird, or a bird befriending you. There's an alien marble in a chicken's eye, seeing a different dimension of life than yours.
So nice! My son had a snake once that I swear knew what was going on. I know it’s ridiculous, it was a small snake that ate crickets. But it knew when it would be fed and who was feeding it…
Somewhere, on the internet tubes, there’s a video of a flock of chickens marching down a drive and waiting at the end of it. A couple of minutes later, a school bus pulls up, the doors whoosh open, and the children of the house scramble out. The chickens greet them and then follow the kids back to the house. Every day.
Found it! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9_lkVzzd6rE
Thanks! I think it’s so perfect an example of the best in animals.
Your story is a light in the darkness today Lucian. Thank You. ✨✨
I miss the days of a TV purring the news in contrast to the toxic shrill of today.
Reminds me of a red hen we had when I fancied myself a gentleman farmer. Never really farmed, but we had a few animals and the kids did 4H. Cluck Cluck came to us with a horse we bought for our daughter. She had the run of the place, bossing the cats and doing whatever she liked. And, yes, she ate most anything, including mice the farm cats were playing with. She used to "fly" up to my wife's shoulder for protection if she thought one of the dogs was after her -- One sad day she wandered beyond the wrong fence and one of the dogs she rightly feared got her. My wife wasn't there to intervene that day.
Thanks for the story and reminding me of our own experience.
Somehow farming is closer to what we are meant to be - caretakers of the garden and all the things that grow and all creatures who live there.
That is such a wonderful story.
I have a friend for whom I used to house/pet sit on occasion. My friend's pets used to include a very small flock of six chickens, each of which had a name and was treated like a child of the family.
My favorite memories of these pet-sitting adventures was of sitting in a pool of sunshine next to the screen door of the kitchen ell...just outside was a sunny corner of the back patio where all six chickens (they were free range and had the run of about an acre) would gather after their dust baths and preen and talk to me. I'm not kidding, two of the six chickens would sit on that granite stoop, croon and cluck to me and to each other...telling chicken stories, I swear. After a bit they would take a short nap and then, after the sun had slid around to the other side of the house, they'd troop off to scratch and search out more ticks and other bugs. Eventually they'd march up the henhouse ramp and I'd do a head count and they would cluck a goodnight and I'd shut them in for the night.
Good times.
Very poignant, but still so sad.