Well, it’s time for my second attempt at blogging and I am hoping this number-two edition will be the….well…the best I can do! Sorry, people who were anxiously awaiting a poop-inspired reference to this blog’s greatness! After dropping the f-bomb in my last blog (albeit with a cute little asterisk to protect your fragile sensibilities, and some of my dignity) I am trying to avoid any bleep-able phrases in this edition. The poop talk, though, I can’t promise to avoid. (But I’m jumping ahead now and, I sense, losing some sensitive readers!)
So, I have had my little list of topics that I wanted to blog about since the beginning of this thing. You remember? I’m blogging about things are considered ‘cool’ or ‘hip’ that frankly, surprise me, since they aren’t super fashionable or even underground-chic; they are everyday things that just fit into life these days, and I think it’s kind of funny. So, if you HAVEN’T read the first post, you may want to go back and start there so you aren’t lost. (Also, so you can be reminded NOT to get offended, since this thing is kind of all about ME and my grand one-sided opinions!) If you HAVE read the first post and have still chosen to come back for more, I say, SWEET! The 13 people who read my first blog were super-nice with their ‘Way to go, Jenny’ comments and I got to go to sleep with sweet, fluttering ‘I did it!’ feelings coursing through my creative little head : ) Awhh…
Anyway, I was discussing my new blog endeavor with my husband after my first posting and he helped me realize that my second blog topic may be very polarizing to my readers. In fact, it was such a heated 3-minute debate while he was hanging up some clothes in his closet (he’s a keeper!) that he suggested he would start a counter-blog to my blog, just so he could defend the coolness of my next topic! I told him to bring it on, so we’ll see if ‘Dave’s Anti-Jenny’s-Blog-o-rama’ will have the gumption to get off the ground! Is there a 10-foot painting (by my husband) of a rooster in my house? Yep. Does the man also have a rooster tattoo that stretches from his elbow to his wrist? Uh huh. Why I was taken aback at his defense of chickens, I now see as a bit thickheaded. The man has kind of a history with them. Duh.
So let’s get to it! This time I am going to be focusing on a new-ish phenomenon that has not only swept through my neighborhood and apparently, my husband heart, but through some of the yards of many of my favorite friends. People, I’m talking CHICKENS!
It seems having your own chicken coop and raising chickens for your family’s immediate egg-needs is the newest double-play in awesomeness. Not only are you a super-mom for providing a new pet-like animal into your child’s life, but you are also an eco-warrior for saving gas on those now non-existent grocery store trips for eggs. You are also not throwing out all those evil egg cartons that have long been known to plague our stinky landfills. (Although, I think a few elementary teachers may be sad when they send out the ‘We need your old, empty egg cartons’ request. I’m not sure what they end up doing with them when they get them, but perhaps they will have to re-think their lesson plans as we embark upon this new pro-chicken future.) And let’s not forget the ‘I’m saving grocery money’ badge you can also claim, although, something tells me that the chickens, the coop and all their chicken feed costs a little more than my Costco 24-pack. But then again, we all know my math skills are bogus, so…
Did you ever see ‘owning your own poultry’ as a fact that could earn you so many cool points?! I will freely admit that I did not! Again, if you don’t live in the semi-ag-centered region of Chico (and it’s surrounding communities) you may be reading this and thinking, ‘What the devil are those people doing there?! Chickens? How frickin’ weird!’ They make noise, they are kind of stinky, and friends, I’m going to be honest with you, sometimes there is chicken poop on the eggs!!! GROSS! When I attempted to make this argument with my husband he replied, “You don’t actually EAT the shells! “ and “Where do you think your store-eggs come from?!” To which I countered, “Whatever…my eggs are clean, shiny white and chicken-poop free.” So yes, I understand that you don’t actually eat the shells, but what if some falls off into the pan when you are cracking them? Plus, the fact that they sat out in the coop without being refrigerated, kind of gives me the willies too. My sister, who is much more a world traveler than I am, once told me that the eggs in Jordan are sold in a plain old, un-refrigerated section of their grocery store. Weird.
I will wholly own that I am in complete ignorance regarding how to keep, store and enjoy fresh eggs. I know it can be done without getting poo in your eggs, and without accidentally cracking open an egg and getting a baby chicken instead (I just gave myself the shivers when I typed that! That would send me over the edge, people!) I will also admit that I not only have a fresh-egg induced queasiness, but that it probably spreads to brown colored eggs, too. Oh, my gosh! I swear I could just HEAR your eyes rolling through cyber-space as you digested that little nugget of my freakiness!
I think my brown egg intolerance started one day when I was younger and having breakfast at a friend’s house. I was told that brown eggs tasted JUST LIKE white eggs and to chill out. I chilled, and tasted the brown-shelled eggs and they were WRONG! They tasted different to me, and ever since, I’ve been a bit leery of their muddy little shells. Now, my husband is a vegetarian (no, not when we met or got married; he decided to pull that little dietary-switcheroo on me during year two of our married bliss. But I digress…) He had purchased brown eggs one time, and I told myself to stop being a baby and try them (or maybe that was him) and so I did. I can’t remember tasting a difference at that time, but still, when I shop, I grab the white eggs. Period. Well, ‘period’ may not be quite accurate either. My husband goes through his fair share of Costco’s liquid eggs too, but who knows what kind of shell those came from. I don’t really like those eggs either, because they come out too yellow when they are scrambled. I certainly hope that no one thinks my egg tendencies are not a reflection on my racial ones! If you’re thinking that, you’re super-wrong.
So here’s where I get to try and talk my chicken-owning friends off the ‘How could you bash my chickens, Jenny!’ ledge. People, who am I kidding, ladies…it’s fine to own chickens and eat all their eggs! In fact, I’m sure you’re avoiding all sorts of random un-organic thingies that I ingest by not following suit. Is giving your kids a pet-like animal to hold and chase good? Yes. Is it good to instill a sense of ‘why it’s good to take care of things so they give back to you’ in your family? Yep. Like I said earlier, bringing chickens into your life is a super-awesome double play in your coolness, I am just trying to express how I think that is kind of weird. Perhaps it’s my background of not growing up on a farm, and being surrounded by tumbleweeds and people who insisted on calling where we lived ‘LA county’ instead of ‘Lancaster, the High Desert, where sometimes it seems like we are trying to be as much like Santa Clarita or Valencia as possible because where we are, is kind of normal and plain’ (Although, I’m NOT bashing you, A.V. I think growing up there was just fine. I’m kind of bummed that my family has since moved away to Arizona, so now I have no family pulling me back to your dry conditions and perfectly north/south-aligned streets and avenues. But perhaps I will write of the wonders of the High Desert in another edition at another time.) Back to making sure my chicken farmer friends aren’t getting their feelings hurt!
I’m not kidding, people will post pictures of their new baby chicks or their children playing with the poultry online, and their hip-ness goes through the roof as if they just posted a new music video of themselves singing a completely original song while wearing all hand-made local clothing! Oh wait, my friends probably would do that too, so perhaps, the coolness factor was there all along and the chickens only topped the coolness sundae. Could I farm and raise my own food? Despite my apparent past dairy-farmer family connections, no. HECK, no! My debilitating fear of stepping in poop would probably put a stop to all farm plans that we’d ever consider. (You should have seen me in animal science class in college; I named my university farm sheep “Sheepy-Sheep-Sheep” to the annoyed-dismay of my booted, wrangler-wearing classmates! I wore sandals (with my farm-appropriate overalls) to our first university farm visit. That was dumb. So perhaps my chicken-feelings simply stem, once again, from the reality that I could N E V E R compete with you chicken-raising folks, therefore, I’ve added your area of coolness to my blog-list.) See? Victory for you, loss for me. I will not be able to compete in this coolness arena and therefore, you are automatically awesome. I will settle for surrounding myself with friends who can cover the cool-farming bases and I will cover the, um…well, I’m not sure what coolness bases I cover at the moment, besides being married to one of the COOLEST people I’ve ever met. I am always hoping his coolness will ‘become one’ with my nerdiness, but every time we go out or meet up with our friends, I am reminded that I am but a spectator to his coolness-glory, which really is ok with me, since I know that deep down, I am his favorite. This is a fact, which blows my mind all the time. It’s like some great practical joke will one day be revealed to me. “You thought THAT cool guy could think you were the BEST?! Ha ha ha…the longest joke in history is on you, Jenny!” That would be really mean, so I’m hoping to avoid that at all costs by ‘wowing’ my husband in the meantime with my other redeeming qualities, like doing the dishes sometimes and avoiding any more overdraft bank fees and speeding tickets. I also consider myself proficient in vacuuming and occasionally adept at cleaning the bathroom; now I just have to work on my frustrated sighs I mutter out when I do those things and he doesn’t notice.
So, in conclusion, (I always think people who write that are so lame in their closings, but I hear that it’s lunch time, so I’m anxious to wrap this thing up!) I think it’s funny that owning chickens has gotten so popular and cool, but yes, I am proud of those super-humans/super-moms who can make that work. Way to go, cool, people!