OmG OmG OmG
I am ridiculously excited. The most amazing thing has happened to me.
As you all know I am a strong, independent woman. But you probably don’t know that more than anything else I value looking after my family by my own hard work and determined effort.
To that end, I have taken one more important step towards my matriarchal autonomy.
I have adopted a chicken. A heritage chicken. A chicken of my ancestors.
- The garden my husband built for me, where I grow my tomatoes and peppers and lettuce.
- My mini fruit orchard in which I nurture my Evans Cherry, Saskatoon bush, grape vine, black berry bush, and next year – a gooseberry.
- My beautiful Daisy la Bicyclette with her womanly saddle bags, who I ride in my fashionable summer chapeau’s to and from our local farmer’s markets.
Now I can provide eggs for my hungry family. Heritage eggs. Eggs that hearken back to a simpler time, before our food was wrapped in plastic.
My chicken’s name is Sugar – because calling her breakfast felt wrong, and because the name fits in with my folksy grassroots.
I expect my chicken to be a leader among chicks, a source of inspiration, and obviously a creative poultry wonder in the fashion of her adoptive mother. I will by proxy raise her to be a strong, independent layer.
I’d write more but I need to get on Pinterest ASAP and learn how to knit a chicken sweater for my Sugar.