I'm late I'm late with my Monday blog, because I added urban mini-farming to my list of arts education activities this past week. With my husband out of town I took on the care of our 4 chickens, organic apple department and tomato patch. Yes, this is an arts education activity!
At 8:00 am each morning I let them out of the nesting area. Ricky rushes out first, clucking gratefully, staggers around, then rushes back inside to get his hens, who have to emerge in the correct pecking order. That's right, if they're not in the correct order, they get pecked. Patriarchy! Can we get a Gloria Steinem for the Poultry Population?
Next I break up pieces of bread, egg shells, apples, into bits and scatter then in the chicken "run." It's gratifying to receive their soothing, clucking appreciations as they rush around examining the menu and discussing it. As I return to the house for my coffee, Ricky utters a mournful crow. How dare I leave them unaccompanied?
I can't see any ears on the chickens, but their hearing doesn't suffer. If they detect that I'm in the house mid-day, they call me in a loud chorus of crying cackles. I emerge from the back door and there they are, lined up shoulder to shoulder (do chickens have shoulders?), peering through the grating that's closest to the house. What do they want? I could pick some grass ("green salad") or even better, sit on a chair next to them and talk to them. This is a wonderful thing to do, because they agree with everything I have to say. I practice my monologues, complain, ask them questions about the meaning of life, and enjoy the free therapy. If we're lucky and Labor was successful, the four of them might call me in a different sounding chorus, a more triumphant trumpeting sound, announcing the birth of an egg. Ricky always supervises me while I collect the warm, pink orb.
Before dark, I scatter more bread crumbs and table scraps for our enthusiastic chicken children, so they will sleep in and not wake the neighbors at 6:00 AM. Of course I'm exhausted from my Farmer's Wife activities and my blogging has suffered. But never fear, the Farmer has returned and I can resume my restful former life as an artist.
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