The Chicken House

My descent into hillbilly hell is not yet complete. But I am on my way and it appears I am in free fall. Landing, unquestionably, will be some time soon for sure. For the time being, the arrival of the chicken penitentary, ie the chicken coop, has solidified my pre-registration into red neck pergatory, however one looks at it. Guilt by association could not be more applicable here. My husband has welded this marvel of architecture together from an old and damaged shipping container; and the rectangular shaped building is complete with peeling paint and a generous helping of rust. Welded wire closes off one end for ventilation and a metal shop door provides an entry, and thusly configured, no chicken could possibly escape once within the cell. The San Quentin of chicken coops has arrived. Last week Mike drove into our yard towing a small trailer with the coop on board. The spectacle of removing the coop from the trailer with Mike's crane was only eclipsed by the the physcial presence of the coop itself: an industrial strength chicken jail. Maybe some naughty children might find their way inside too...

So we are going to have chickens to lay eggs. Kind of obvious now. Maybe not so hillbilly either considering a dozen organic or free range eggs cost nearly 4.00. Between the two families on our property we go through at least 36 eggs a week. Next question: Where are the inmates, ops, chickens you ask. If you build it they will come. And they are coming. Several months of fostering by my inlaws has assured their survival to young adulthood. My sister-in-law and I will be the primary caretakers for the chickens and I fear our close proximity to said coop and the consumption of eggs produced from the coop will sink me lower into the abyss. I can hear a banjo playing furiously in the back of my mind. But maybe I lament for nothing. This is apparently the cost for fresh eggs.