It’s been a while since I wrote about my feathery babies. I swore I wouldn’t become a crazy chicken lady who only talks about my chickens, but now I fear I don’t talk about them enough.

There’s a sensible peace that comes from backyard chicken farming.

It draws me to leave behind my phone and even ignore my fancy schmancy new pro camera (that I bought used on Ebay, cuz… who can afford to pretend to be a REAL photographer without snagging a deal?)

I’ve always enjoyed just sitting with my birds.

In my late teens/early twenties, I became a bird specialist and helped raise baby parrots while working at Petco. Raising little chicks draws a new spirit of trust and friendship out of life. It gave my nurturing side a lot of practice before becoming a mother to my own kids, and sharing the quiet of the natural world with the next generation is something I truly cherish.

Every child deserves to know the joy of chasing a chicken. It should be a requirement before adulthood.

I’m not much of a sentimental person. I live life face first, and maybe that’s why chickens suit me. They’re loud. They’re messy. They’re always fighting or eating or chasing something, unless they’re sleepy or scared. Then they’re seeking comfort and rest.

Since we got the first egg last fall life has been different. Instead of waiting and wondering if all our work would pay off, it does everyday. Each chicken has their own ways about it too.

Anubis, our big black baby follows me when I collect eggs. She growls and throws a fit. She’s not broody after laying eggs, but she does brood once the eggs are gone.

One of our chickens lays eggs so big they look like they’ve come from an ostrich, but we still haven’t figured out who is giving us giant yummies. I suspect it may be our production Red, who our youngest boy named Brown, because he loves the color brown, and naming a red chicken “Brown,” made him laugh.

And then there’s Chika. This bird once ran to me when I came out to feed the flock, and after I threw her a crust of bread, she ran to the dog house and pooped out an egg mid run. No joke.

I didn’t even know chickens could do that, but she has been known to drop an egg while running since then, and I am baffled by it.

Boredom doesn’t exist in a home full of kids and animals.

There is always something new to see and do. Sometimes it’s exhausting. Sometimes it’s the only thing that reminds me why I am alive.

It’s a good chicken life.