Egg-cellent

Dearest Daughters,

We have four layers! (I still suspect one is a rooster...)

It's become such an exciting part of our day to go check on the "Chickydoodles," feeding them our kitchen scraps and collecting our eggs.

Babybel is starting to make her own sense about the whole chicken and egg thing.

"There's baby chickens in there!" she's told me. (In fact, she may be right, given the whole rooster scenario.) And I've explained that if we don't collect the eggs and cook them, they'll grow into baby chicks. We crack them and see that instead of fluffy or furry creatures (as this sweet Margaret Wise Brown book has led us to believe) there are delicious yellow yolks inside.

"Chickens poop eggs." So, I've shown you what they REALLY poop. BIG DIFFERENCE.

I asked you the other day what you wanted for dinner.

"Chicken! Chicken is my favorite dinner."

I asked, "Like Gold Rush? Or Hickety? Or Pickety? Or Four? Or Katsu?"

"NO!" you declared, "They are NOT dinner chickens! Those are egg chickens!"

I took a road trip with Lolopop this weekend. We always have good conversations on our road trips. About parenting philosophies and business ideas and dreams--neglected and hoped for.

One dream we often discuss is our hope to one day "own a little piece of earth." His goals are in line with mine, simply to:

1) put some space between him and his neighbors

and

2) keep a connection to the earth

Given the age of my children, my subsequent lack of time and, hmmm, the fact that I know nothing about operating even the tiniest ranchette, I will probably have to be content with our limited chicken operation and salad garden.

And yet, a girl can dream. Of goats. And pigs. A riding lawnmower. A wide porch from which to watch my children playing, exploring the earth, making mud pies, pulling weeds, picking berries.

Besides having fresh eggs, this was always my reasoning for having chickens. And a little garden. So that you girls can learn about where our food comes from--cucumbers, chickens, eggs or otherwise. You can appreciate the earth, labor and love that goes into growing our own things as well as have an smidgen of an understanding of ALL that goes into the food we pick up at the grocery store.

So, "Thank you, Chickydoodles!" as you say when we bring our still-warm eggs into the house each day.

Really, thank you.

Love,

Comments

[Auntie Katherine]

I'm glad you're teaching her proper chicken science.