A Chicken-less Country Girl (In The City)

Maybe it was too many hours spent reading Little House on the Prairie books.

Or the hours spent in my Grandpa’s garden.

I always have felt like a country girl. Except for the small detail of mostly having lived in the city.

Grandpa was a master gardener.

He managed to grow a huge, beautiful crop alongside his small plot in suburban Orange County when I was a kid. There was nothing he couldn’t grow.

I on the other hand, can’t seem to grow even a prepackaged bulb from Target.

“Everything that slows us down and forces patience, everything that sets us back into the slow circles of nature, is a help. Gardening is an instrument of grace. ” May Sarton

Chickens for a country girl’s heart

It isn’t just a garden I want…

Specifically, I long for chickens.

This is where my husband draws a line in the sand. He candidly points out my gardening “challenges”.

He reminds me that we have an HOA that considers chickens a violation. He offers up examples of my squeamish nature that don’t align with my lofty country dreams.

I tell him, “Grandpa had chickens.”

Even in the OC, he had a rooster. When he moved back to country living he delighted in having his own feathered friends.

They had familial names. Hazel, Lottie…named after sisters.

What is this fascination with country living?

Clearly, I am not the only one. Perusing the magazine aisle yesterday, I was surprised to find several publications devoted JUST to chicken raising. Pinterest is packed with people blogging about their chickens.

Me?

For now, have a mailbox full of Country Woman and Country magazines.