A Persistent Rhythmic Clucking

I’ve never raised chickens. In fact, the closest I’ve come to governing domestic fowl was an antagonistic relationship with a nasty parrot in a rented room in Miami. But I do know a lot of people who keep chickens, or lich fowl, or ornamental heritage whatevers. And when you ask them why, their eyes grow distant, their lips part, and a dry speech issues forth about all the benefits of chicken-rearing.

But, for the ones who have been at it a while, there’s no hiding the raw, seething hatred. Lines form around their eyes when they talk about predator safety. Nostrils flare slightly if you ask about the mess and the noise. I have never – in my life – seen more unhinged contempt then after suggesting “hey, at least you have a lot of eggs!”

And yet, year after year, flocks grow. Litter is raked. Floodlights are installed to scare away the coyotes and weasels and racoons. And the clucking continues.

When I made the decision to walk away from my career as a trial attorney, the foundations of that shift were settled deep in the desire for a better life. To turn my effort and attention to the things that mattered most.

I knew the stresses wouldn’t be fewer, or less serious, but at least they would be mine.

And so, for the last year, we here at the 10Chickens ranch have been attending to those very things. To new school years, to in-home plumbing floods, to new jobs and new friends. And now, our full-bore return to this little blog.

In the coming days we’ll have some new recipes, some new adventures on the mountain, and probably a little more sentimentality. At the end of the day, we all raise chickens.

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