A story to rival all love stories. While I was nineteen in England, I met an older man who wore coveralls and hands that had worked the dirt. He was a normal middleclass citizen with normal box frame house and an above average kitchen garden. But one thing set him apart. He owned chickens. That meant, he had fresh eggs. I was in love. With his fowl.
Every since then, a secret wish grew in my heart for my very own chickens. As a chef I value the product, but I've always had a fondness for chicken since I watched the first grade's chicken project.
Enter suburban living in Montgomery County. Not since the King's farm sold milk has there been much room for fowl in Gaithersburg.
But dreams come true. Travis called me and told me that we were going to rent a house. It was on a piece of land, it was three bedrooms, two and half baths, a fixer-upper....and it had five chickens and a rooster.
Meet my chickens: the plumed rooster who rules the brood is Kenneth, named after our good friend Kenneth Maresco, a true patron of free-range chicken (not). The other plain black rooster is Fred. And one black hen is named Jememiah but we haven't been able to get a face with a name yet.
If you have suggestions, please post your votes and we would love to have our friends name the chickens... just don't get too attached to them because we haven't secured them yet in their coop.
1 comment:
When we were pregnant with Alivia my aunt wanted us to name her Gemima (and that is how she wanted us to spell it) She had a whole list of reasons why. I think Alivia will be glad we didnt' take that advice.
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