I am sitting on my bed watching a bevy of chickens as they strut across the lawn of my next door neighbors. The
first thought that comes to mind when I hear the word “chicken” is my grandfather, my paternal grandfather. He was a character. In addition to the numerous children that he fathered during his life (It was in excess of 20!), he also had chickens. We would go across the river, which from the city of New Orleans was the Mississippi, to visit him and the rest of the family.
The chickens were kept in a coop beside the shot-gun house and you could hear them making their chicken sounds and watch them pecking at feed and one another. I never had the slightest desire to go near them or harvest their eggs. I was more than comfortable watching them from afar. Our relationship involved them staying in their place and I in mine.
So, it has come as a surprise to me, that I have entertained the idea of adding chickens to our family. (My husband thinks I am losing my mind.) I know, I know, it’s weird, but you see, I am surrounded by chickens. Day after day, I hear roosters crowing from the neighbors on either side of us. We live in an area in which each household has a fair amount of land (at least an acre); so, it is not uncommon to see or hear lambs, goats, mules, deer, and of course, chickens. For reasons that I am not altogether sure of, the sight and sound of nature’s animals instills in me a sense of peace and comfort. I think back to the time when families lived close to the earth and the pace of life was slower. Nevertheless, I don’t envision chickens in my future, so I’ll have to live vicariously through my neighbors. Wait, there they go running past my window. I have to go to revel in my daily dose of “chicken” peace.