A Mobile Hen House

Dear Diary,

I love chickens...there, I've said it.  Their low cluck-clucking is very restful to me.  I wish I could have them here but it would tie me down too much.  But I love to see how others house their chickens.  This mobile hen house is just a few miles from my house.  They hitch up their tractor and move it from spot to spot to catch the best light and spread the droppings around.  Quite clever I thought.

When I was very young we had chickens.  My father would drive into Boston and sell them from the back of the station wagon.  (There's a term we don't hear anymore!)  I would collect eggs and try to outsmart the rooster, a mean, terrifying guy to six year old!  I was, however, stealing his hen's eggs so no wonder he was cranky.  Later, after the chickens were gone, the large hen houses were a fascinating place to play.

My extra photograph is of my great-grandfather on his farm, the same one I just visited, with my mother and uncle.  It was probably around 1925 or 26 judging by my mother's diminutive size.  Now, I am fortunate to be able to get fresh eggs from neighbors who raise them humanely and with only organic grains.  One of the many benefits of rural living.