So my chicken addiction has taken a turn for the worse lately.  Turns out when I’m tired, soaking in the bathtub, and scouring the internet late at night, I get easily get distracted by chickens.

This is a crazy question, but did you know you can buy chickens online?  I know, right?!?  I’m serious as a heart attack.  What is this world coming to?

Anyway, I have found a fabulous chicken producer, Murray McMurray Hatchery, and I have a tendency to order chickens in the middle of the night from them.

I know, I know….sounds like a problem, you say.  And my husband would TOTALLY agree with you.  But they are beautiful, healthy chickens, and they are delivered via the US Postal Service.

Many people criticize their local post office, but not me.  Those people are fabulous.  And they don’t even blink at eye when my chickens are delivered.  Well, anyway, they don’t treat me like a complete maniac because I get chickens in the mail.  They are probably laughing behind my back, but I’m cool with that.

At the end of one particularly stressful day, I was doing a little “chicken browsing,” and I spotted her….the most beautiful chicken in the world.  Seriously.  I heard angels sing (or maybe the fatigue and glass of wine were singing).  Regardless, I immediately named her “Lola” and got busy putting her in my online shopping cart.

She arrived a few days later, packaged carefully with fruit for her one-day journey.  I could tell she loved me as much as I loved her the minute our eyes met.  Ok, our eyes didn’t really meet because she is a Polish hen, and therefore, her eyes are covered with feathers.  She did love me, though.  I could just tell.  I named her Lola.  There really was no other name for her.  She was destined to be “Lola.”

I transferred her carefully to a dog crate to begin her transition process to “The Coop.”  As I think I’ve mentioned before, the transition process is extremely stressful for the chicken moving into the coop, the chickens already in the coop, and me.

Lola did just fine in the dog crate, except for the giant black lab, Rosie, and the tiny poodle, Sallie, who loved to sneak into the garage and torment her.  Oh, and there was also my husband.  He seemed to have this strange belief system that made him think chickens are better in a chicken coop rather than a dog crate.  Whatever.  He just could never see this chicken’s beauty.

I finally decided to try the chicken transplant.  I placed Lola outside of the coop, in the dog crate, during the days.  The other chickens could see her, but not get her.  All things seemed to be progressing well.  That is….things were progressing well, until the day I decided to put her in the coop.

The moment I dropped her in with the others, they began their attack.  It was evident that these ladies had been plotting from the moment they laid eyes on my beautiful girl.  She ran to me like a scared child.  Of course, I scooped her up in my arms and back to the dog crate we went.  It was like a remake of “Mean Girls,” with chickens in the starring roles, of course…so maybe “Mean Chicks” instead.  Anyway.

Day after day, we went through the same motions.  Lola and I against the world.  I left her in a little longer one day, and within fifteen minutes, she was crying in the corner of the coop.  Well, I think she was crying.  Again, I can’t see her eyes, but I know she was VERY emotional over the ordeal.  No amount of me yelling at the other chickens to “BE NICE!!!” seemed to make a difference.  However, it did entertain my family for hours.

Then, we had another “Chicken Incident.”  Somebody, who shall remain nameless (but does closely resemble my husband), accidentally left the chicken coop open at night.  I have recreated the scene in my head, and here’s what I think happened.  One of my younger chickens (she was extremely docile and playful), got out.  She probably ran right up to a hawk or raccoon, all the while thinking she was setting up a play date.  However, a chicken horror movie ensued.

And then there was Big Red, my Rhode Island Red, the leader of the coop.  She, of course, went after the baby and couldn’t get back to the coop.  I will tell you that there were moments that morning that I shed a hysterical tear.  I love that girl.  I started calling, ok screaming, her name after I noticed they were missing.  Within a few minutes, she came running from the woods, bloody but safe.  I hugged her like no chicken has even been hugged before!

While sad, this chicken coop shake-up seemed the perfect opportunity to put Lola in the coop.  I held my breath, and let nature take its course.  It was a bit rocky, but after a few hours, she seemed to be fitting in better.  Once she survived her first night, I knew we were golden.

As of today, I have concluded that Lola has now risen to second-in-command.  She plays Vice-President to Big Red’s unfailing leadership.  So I guess beauty does have a place in this world, because, trust me when I say she is a little light on the “brain” side of the equation.

And for me, Lola’s successful integration only gave me more incentive to chicken shop.  A few weeks later, I ordered four more chickens at about midnight, after a long day.  I went with the story that I had no idea where the chickens came from.  Very smart tactic.  I instructed my girls that if my husband asked, the response was, “What extra chickens?!?”  That went well.

I think that as I write this blog, he is finding a way to block my browser from Murray McMurray Chicken Hatchery.  But he totally wasn’t thinking when he took me to the farm supply store last Saturday, and they were bringing in their first chick shipment for Spring.  Surely, I can sneak back and slip in just a few.  I really don’t think he’ll notice……

Hugs and Blessings Always,

LITTLE JEN IN THE BIG WOODS

On the list of things I never thought could happen when raising chickens, the number one spot goes to…..drumroll, please….yep, you guessed it….a chicken who eats her own eggs!

“That’s crazy!” you say.  To which I say, “Yes, yes it is.”  But worse than crazy, it was a bit unexpected for me.  And any of you who know me know that “unexpected” is not my forte.

At first, I thought it was just an accident.  As I give them a few treats everyday (ok, more than a few…but they always act so darn hungry), I thought maybe one of the ladies had overindulged and surpassed the egg-sitting weight limit.  (As a side question:  Is there an egg-sitting weight limit?)

I felt bad for her and discretely tossed the cracked egg aside, so as not to embarrass her in front of her friends.  I mean, chickens have feelings, too.

But then, a couple of days later, I found ANOTHER broken egg.  Soon it became evident that it was a pattern and a problem.  And I had no idea whatsoever how to solve it.  My husband was a ton of help.  Our conversation went something like this…..

Me:  I think we have an egg-eating chicken.

Him:  Ok, we should just kill the chicken that’s doing it.

Me (horrified face): YOU WOULD KILL ONE OF MY CHICKENS?!?

Him:  Well, yea.  That’s probably the only thing you can do once it’s a pattern.

Me:  But she’s not hurting anyone!!!!  I will find another solution!

And then the conversation ended as many of ours do regarding the chickens….he shook his head, smiled and walked away.  That’s the sign of a good husband, by the way.

So how do you stop a chicken from eating eggs?  Well, that’s a great question.  And, as

usual, there are many suggestions.  And most of them are just plain nutty.  I, however, am willing to look like a total fool over and over again just to prove it can be done.  Because that’s the kind of girl I am.  If there were a test for stubborn, I would score in the genius range.  Oh that doesn’t mean I’m smart, just incredibly pig-headed.  So here’s where the fun began…..

Suggestion 1:  Give your chickens milk.

Outcome 1:  Chickens love milk.  But then again, CHICKENS LOVE

EVERYTHING!  Seriously, try to feed them straight buttermilk (blech), and they will love you forever.  I get that they may be lacking calcium and milk would help, but in my case, it did not.

Suggestion 2:  Put a couple of golf balls in the laying boxes so they will try to peck them.  When they experience the fact that the golf balls can’t be broken, they will be cured.

Outcome 2:  Not so much.  I know chickens are not smart, but I think they are on to me with the old golf ball trick.  The only thing that happens is the golf balls end up covered in poop.  Ick.

Suggestion 3:  Remove the insides of an egg through a pinhole, and

then insert mustard into the egg.  Place it back in the nest and wait for the fun.  Apparently, chickens hate mustard.  But I’m skeptical.

Outcome 3:  Ok, if you really think I could get the egg’s insides out through a PINHOLE, you’ve got as many issues as an egg-eating chicken.  No way could I accomplish this.

Finally, I found the voice of reason on the internet.  Her blog is “The Chicken Chick,” and unlike me, she really is a chicken expert.  She had some pretty simple ideas regarding diet, egg collection times, and identifying the guilty party.  I will begin to work down her list of suggestions and report back when something works.

In her words, “Egg eating need not be cause for culling a chicken from a backyard flock.  With some minor coop revisions and changes in routine, even the most avid egg connoisseur can be rehabilitated.”

So hear that, all you chicken giver-uppers.  We will prevail.  But seriously, in the likely event we don’t, I will never, ever, never reveal the culprit I uncover.  Just in case my husband is lurking around the coop with fried chicken on the brain… 

Hugs and blessings always,

LITTLE JEN in the BIG WOODS

Once the chickens begin to look like chickens and not cute, fluffy babies, you begin to wonder, “When will my chickens start laying eggs?”  There is a super-simple answer to that question:  When they get darn good and ready (and not a minute before).

 My research told me that the girls should starting laying between 6-8 months.  Well, 6-8 months came and went, and there was nothing……….notta.  Every day I headed out to the coop, anticipating a beautiful egg.  And every day I found the same thing:  the golf ball I had placed in the laying box to give the chickens a brilliant idea.  Apparently, they didn’t agree.

I did more research.  I followed every suggestion you can imagine, including placing lavender potpourri in the laying boxes.  Yes, I really did.  I read that the chickens need aromatherapy to relax enough to pop out an egg.  My family thought I was losing it.  The coop smelled nice for about 3.5 seconds.  And then someone pooped…again.

So, I did what every farming book tells you not to do…I gave up.  I was determined to just be happy with my sweet little friends.  I was a chicken farmer whose destiny did not include eggs, except at the grocery store.  I’ll have to admit, I was deep into thoughts of what the chickens would taste like on the grill when….yes….you guessed it…..I got AN EGG!!!!!

I honestly can’t even remember being as excited on Christmas morning as a child.  As I’ve said before, I’m a little pathetic.  There is, however, a huge satisfaction that comes from growing something you eat.  You know where everything originated that went into the production of the food.  It just feels amazing.  However, one egg does not a dozen make.  Oh, and it was a rubber egg.  I mean, it actually had no shell.  Eww.

Turns out that sometimes the first eggs can be without a shell if the chicken’s reproductive organs haven’t quite matured yet.  It took that chicken about four eggs until it all came out correctly.  They are actually fine to eat, I tried the ones that made it from the coop to the house without getting squished.

It seemed that after the first chicken started laying, they all began to catch on.  From four chickens, I was getting between two and four eggs per day.  I had no more rubber eggs, but my other chickens laid teeny, tiny eggs for a while.  It’s like anything, I suppose. It takes a bit to get it all together.

In retrospect, there was only one reliable sign that egg laying was going to happen in the near future.  My chickens started doing this really weird squatting thing every time I started to pet them.  (Yes, I pet my chickens.  I also hug them.  They absolutely hate it, but somehow it is meaningful to me.  Once again, pathetic.)  This squatting is, apparently, the mating position for the rooster.  I know…too much information. But it was a few days after they started doing this weird thing that I got eggs.

So the moral of the story is:  Hug your chickens today!

Ok…actually, the moral of the story is:  Don’t rush nature.  It will do its own thing on its own sweet timeline.  To quote a very reliable source, “To every season, there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the Heaven…” (Ecclesiastes 3:1).  Probably a little deep for the chickens, but great guidance for the rest of us.

Hugs and blessings always,

LITTLE JEN in the BIG WOODS

Remember that chicken at the fair that could pick out the Queen of Hearts from a deck of cards?  Or the one that could kick your booty at Tic Tac Toe?  Well, it was on a dark, cold night, as I’m crawling around on the floor of the chicken coop, smearing chicken poop all over myself, that these visions came to me.  I’m out in the freezing temperatures, stretched out on the bottom of the coop.  I was trying to coax the chickens up into the roost (i.e., I’m grabbing each one and hurling it into the roost), when it occurred to me:  Maybe the chickens have trained me instead of me training the chickens.

It was at that moment I decided to TAKE BACK THE FARM!  Ok…well, take back the chicken coop at least.  But someday I’ll take back the farm.  I hope.  Anyway, for today, I decided to train them to go into the roost at night.  It’s warm in the roost, and I can lock them up there so nothing can dig under the coop at night and get them.  It’s been a good anti-predator strategy for me.

So the next evening, before it got very dark, I went out to the coop with cracked corn.  Cracked corn is the nectar of the gods to my chickens.  They will do just about anything for it.  So while they were out rambling around the coop, I made a path of the golden treat all the way up the little ladder from the bottom chicken run into the coop.  And then I went inside and waited.

When I went out later to assess my plan’s success, I was shocked and amazed to see every chicken sitting quietly in the roost.  They were staring at me like it was totally their idea to come in out of the cold.  I decided not to burst their little bubbles and just went with it.  I also added a warming light in the roost for winter to give them some extra incentive.  And for the most part, it worked.  I had fewer chicken wrestling matches every evening, which is a good thing.

The other chicken behavior that I have worked to modify is that of “egg dropping.”  So sometimes, when a chicken decides it’s time to lay an egg, she just plops it out.  And I mean, she plops it out.…whenever or wherever she might be at the time.  This can result in eggs getting broken, stepped on, pooped on, and it can also require you, once again, to have to crawl inside the coop to recover them.  The inside of a chicken coop is just not a place anyone wants to crawl.  Ick.

So I grabbed one of my husband’s golf balls (it looks a little like an egg) and put it in the nesting box.  Once again, while it’s not a perfect science, it does seem to eventually do the trick.  After a while, they begin to understand that eggs are better placed in a bed of straw.

I’ve done a ton of reading on the subject of chicken training.  I know, my life is really kind of sad.  There are many who will argue that chickens are little geniuses.  While I love my chickens dearly, I tend to side with the “chickens are not so smart” camp.  Doesn’t brain size somewhat affect cognitive ability?  There are multiple opinions on the topic, but it seems to make sense to my simple mind.

It also tracks for me that the less complex the brain, the easier it is to train.  My reasoning is that chickens have ways fewer arguments going on up there to stop them from following the corn…or the golf ball…or the light.

Don’t look for my chickens and I anytime soon on the Tic Tac Toe circuit.  I’ll be sticking with simple, meaningful tasks.  And if anyone out there has training tips for pre-teens, please give me a call.  I doubt the cracked corn is going to hold much clout with these complex creatures….but cell phones, on the other hand….

Hugs and blessings always,

LITTLE JEN in the BIG WOODS

Yes, I said “chicken toys.”  I know.  It’s ridiculous.  However, it seems to be a growing industry.  Why didn’t I think of it?  I ask myself this question every day. As your chickens stabilize (which for me means they stop dying), I guess it’s time for us to climb Maslow’s hierarchy of needs (see Mom, I did learn something in college).  Chickens begin to need “things.”  Ok, somebody’s chickens need things anyway.  I don’t think mine are that smart.

The first chicken accessory I saw was a chicken sweater.  Uh huh….a sweater for your chicken.  It popped up on an advertisement while I was on Facebook as an “item you might like.”

I do like it.  But I’m not paying $14 for one.   Or rather $112 for eight of them.  I mean, how could you single out one chicken with a sweater?  That’s like saying, “Hey? You up there, Mr. Hawk!  Please eat ME!  I’m wearing a really cute, bright sweater.”  Not the best plan.

Next, I read about cabbage toys.  Apparently, chickens get really bored in the winter.  This was a HUGE news flash to me.  First of all, I’m really curious about the people that sit around and watch their chickens all day and determine they’re bored.  I peek at my chickens occasionally during the day, and never have I seen one twiddling her thumbs….or claws…or whatever.  They eat, drink, poop, lay eggs and roost.  That pretty much sums it up.

But after I read it over and over, I started to feel guilty.  Maybe they’re out there in the coop just praying for a little fun.  So I did what the books said:  I went to the grocery store, bought some cabbage, chopped it in half and hung it from the top of the chicken coop with a string.  Sounds like something a chicken would like, right?  Well….not my chickens.  They just sat, stared at me and blinked.  That’s all I got.  And I tried it twice.

Sounds like I’m pretty negative on the chicken toys, doesn’t it?  I was a total non-believer until I saw….the Chicken Swing, the best chicken toy EVER  No matter how silly it sounds, I swear that in every advertisement I’ve ever seen with a chicken in a swing, that chicken looks ecstatic. If a chicken could smile, it would be doing just that while swinging happily back and forth.  Seriously…Google it.  You’ll see the look of pure joy.  I will be investing in one of these very soon.  Do you think the eggs taste better when they get a daily ride on the swing?  Can’t hurt, right?

So to summarize my thoughts on chicken toys:  they are totally adorable but they are totally for you, not the chicken.  As long as you realize that, go crazy.  Buy eight chicken sweaters.  Knock yourself out.  And if you do, would you please, please, PLEASE send me a video of you putting the sweater on the chicken?  That, my friends, would be entertaining.

Hugs and blessings always,

LITTLE JEN in the BIG WOODS

In the twenty-something years I spent in the corporate finance world,  I experienced all kinds of integration.  People, numbers, ideas…all are very complex to integrate.  Such integration requires a plan, a committee, a timeline and maybe even an incentive.  Bottom line:  it is a real drag to combine things sometimes.  Change is difficult.

But nothing in all my years of integrating things prepared me for “chicken integration.”  Wow.  What a nightmare.

I thought (very stupidly), “Let’s get a couple more cute little chickens and toss them in the coop with the others.”   Thank goodness I sought advice before I did that.  Apparently, those little chicks wouldn’t have make it out alive.  The big ones are brutal!  They will tear the babies up with their beaks.  Yikes!  As if I didn’t already have enough death and destruction in the chicken coop.  All I needed was a couple of mutilated baby chicks to top it off.

And so began the birth of my Chicken Integration Plan.  Unfortunately, the only people I could get to serve on the Committee for Chicken Integration were my daughters and my husband, and they were not what you’d call enthusiastic.

I like to call my oldest daughter The Strategist as she has strategized her way out of trouble many, many times.  The Strategist had a brilliant idea.  She thought that the chickens were so intellectually challenged that if we snuck the babies into the coop at night, in the dark, that when everyone woke up in the morning, nobody would even notice there were new chicks.

Actually, not a terrible idea.  Chickens are really, really not smart.  I researched it a bit myself, and I read that in some cases, it can work.  There were a couple of instances, however, where it seemed like it was working, and then two weeks later…..BAM….death and destruction.

It cracks me up that two weeks after the babies get snuck into the coop, in the dark, one chicken looks at another chicken and says, “Hey, wait a minute.  Does something seem different to you?”  And then they go all Charles Manson on the babies.  Given the risk, the committee voted this approach down.  On to Plan B.

Wait a minute.  We have no Plan B.

Finally, the brains of the operation stepped up.  My husband came up with a separate, smaller coop that we could attach to the big coop.  The babies could exist for a while, in full site of the big ladies, but they were safe out of pecking distance.  Brilliant!  Not the easiest thing to construct, but we…okay, he…figured it out.

One of the most nerve-wracking days of my life was the day we put them all together, about two weeks after they saw first each other through chicken wire.  It was a little tenuous for a bit, but soon they were all doing the “Chicken Dance” together like one big, happy family.  Now there’s mental picture you’ll carry for the rest of the day.  You’re welcome.

So for all you chicken people out there….the lesson of this post:  Do not put baby chickens in a coop with unfamiliar grown chickens, or you will get chickens nuggets.  Unless, of course, you want chicken nuggets.  Then go for it.  But for the rest of you, introduce them first, and give them time to think they’ve known each other for years.

On another note, I’m getting ready to start my giant pumpkin growing escapade.  Stay tuned for what is sure to be a complete disaster.  I’d love any tips you have on the topic….pumpkins, not disasters.

Hugs and blessings always,

LITTLE JEN in the BIG WOODS

Ok, so I must first give you some background on how my chicken infatuation started.  It may be a little boring but it will help you understand how something that is so simple for most people has been a FREAKING NIGHTMARE for me.  I just don’t give up easily.  So here goes:

Once upon a time, I ran to Orscheln farming supply store to buy some plants for my garden.  It turned out to be a fateful trip, as I had an encounter with baby chicks.  And I mean BABY CHICKS…hundreds of them!  There were yellow ones, black ones, yellow and black ones. They were adorable.

I knew I wanted to start raising chickens, I just hadn’t planned to come home that day with three of them.  But I did.

My kids and I left Orsheln’s with medicated chick starter feed, a chick waterer (more appropriately named, “a place for chicks to poop”), a chick feeding tray, and three sweet baby chicks.  We also had to snag a heating light, a big plastic tub and some cedar bedding.

As I am a nuturer by nature (ironic, isn’t it?), taking care of the baby chicks was a piece of cake.  I fed, watered, cleaned up poo-poo and gave them tons of playtime.  I also made the terrible mistake of naming them:  Lilly, Bailey, and Miss Kaye.

At about eight weeks, the chicks were fully feathered and roosting regularly in their big blue tub house.  We decided it was time to move outside for two reasons:  they were pooping everywhere and our dog, Sallie, was trying to make them into chicken nuggets daily.

Back to Orsheln’s we went to get a chicken coop.  We finally settled on a small, cute coop with an attachable run to give them some exercise space.  We also decided it was time to switch to layer feed (much less expensive) and to upgrade to a larger watering container.  Chickens need A LOT of water.  And it pretty much just runs right through them.  Exactly like food.  Nice.

My little chickens loved their new home.  In fact, it was all running like clockwork until….our first predator attack.  Ugh.  It was brutal…feathers and feet everywhere.  Lilly, Bailey and Miss Kaye went to the Great Chicken Palace in the sky.  RIP girls.

After a good cry, I went on a rampage. It was like an episode of Chicken CSI.  Unnoticed by me, something had been digging around the chicken coop, with a yummy chicken dinner on the brain. After several attempts and apparently an all-nighter, this monster managed to get into the chicken coop and pull the chickens out.

I took pictures of tracks around the coop.  I compared the tracks to every internet source on predators, determined to seek revenge.  I did everything except send the prints to a crime lab.  My final conclusion was that a monstrous raccoon, probably 30 pounds or more (yes, they get that big), was our culprit.  I bought chicken wire, rope, rocks, anything to reinforce the coop.  I recruited my husband (Mr. Survivalist) to help build a fortress.  When completed, it looked like something out of The Walking Dead…or the Beverly Hillbillies…anyway, one of the two. However, it did look like it could deter creatures that eat chickens.

Since I had not told my daughters yet about the chicken fatalities, I did what every insanely overprotective parent would do:  I went to find replacements!  This day shall always be known as “The Great Chicken Adventure.”

My husband and I searched low and high.  We searched far and wide.  And all we could come up with were two, newly hatched Black Australorps.  At 3 bucks each, we boxed them up and drove them home from Lebanon.

Then I did the unthinkable, the thing every chicken resource under the sun tells you NEVER, EVER to do.  I looked on Craigslist.  I called a number on Craigslist.  And I drove out into the middle of nowhere to buy three 20-week-old chickens from a fourteen-year-old girl, Sara.

Thank God Sara turned out to be a sweet chicken farmer and not a serial killer. Honest to goodness, Sara told me more that afternoon than anybody else had ever told me about raising chickens.  She’s a chicken genius….a prodigy.  I left her place with a Rhode Island Red (Big Red), an Americauna, and a Plymouth Barred Rock.

Big Red was an amendment to my earlier rule to never name another chicken.  She was an exception from the minute I met her.  If anything takes out Big Red, I will come out shooting.  I love that girl.

Stay tuned for the next chapter…..we’ll talk about my chicken integration plan.  It is actually a complex topic, considering the birds themselves have the IQ of an earthworm.

Oh, I did tell my girls about the death and destruction in the chicken coop.  My oldest daughter’s reply?  “Well, good grief, Mom!  They’re chickens.”

Well, alrighty then.

Hugs and blessings always,

LITTLE JEN in the BIG WOODS

Well….here I am.  Getting ready to start something I NEVER thought in a million years I would EVER do.  I’m going to write about chickens.

Yep, you heard me right.  I’m starting a blog about chickens.

You may be saying in your head (or even out loud), “What a nut job.”

It’s true.  I admit it.  I may not be in my right mind, but it sounds like so much fun.  And I can’t resist any longer.

Chickens have become a hilarious part of my day.  I have eight….currently.  It can vary by two or more pretty regularly.  I love them but have learned to accept they are not brilliant animals (hello, my name is Jennifer and I know chickens are NOT smart).  It’s taken months of hands on therapy for me to get to this point.  I get it.

But…they are so sweet.  Each chicken has it’s own distinct personality.  They’re easy to please.  They are uncomplicated.  And best of all, they are always ecstatic to see me walking towards them.  Does it get much better than that?!?!

On a down note, they do poop a lot.  And I mean A LOT!  It’s an awful smell.  Trust me, I’ve crawled around in it.  Not good.

I can’t wait to tell my stories.  I’ve had many people say to me, “You should write these stories down!  You can’t make this stuff up.”  It’s true.  You truly can’t make it up.  It’s too ridiculous.  And even though I know I should know better (I grew up in a VERY small town), I am a believer in the concept that it never really sticks until you go through it (true of life lessons and chicken poop, ironically).

So….come along and follow me….I’ll give you a smile for your day and if you are interested in getting chickens, I’ll give you hope that even the lamest farmer (I realize that’s a strong word for what I am) can do it.  You can learn from my mistakes and even ask me your craziest chicken question.  I may not know, but as it turns out, I have a wealth of chicken resources in my family.  Who knew?!?!

And if chickens are not your thing, I’ll throw in some other topics that might be.  One of my goals for the summer is to grow a giant pumpkin.  Not sure why.  It just sounds like all kinds of fun.

Here’s to new adventures!  And laughter.  Where would we be without either? 

Hugs and blessings always,

LITTLE JEN in the BIG WOODS