We used to raise white Leghorn chickens in an urban community that still had pigs, rabbits, and fighting roosters that crowed in the mornings to wake up the whole neighborhood. At 12 years old, I was in charge of walking to the market for half an hour to get the heavy feed, feeding, cleaning, collecting the eggs (in all shades of brown, all sizes, with or without shells...), and finally butchering them one by one when we got stuck at home because of a typhoon and the subsequent flooding that lasted for days. The rest were sold, or given away to neighbours when water hadn't subsided and they begged for food. Good thing we had gas stoves as power was cut off. (Mother never wanted to have the electric kind as it would spike our electric bill.) But no matter how many ways you can cook chicken, you probably wouldn’t want any more of it after two or more days… Lots of hard work. Lots of learning about chickens and my young self. And I’m grateful. MLJ/20062024
Farm Chores with Matt Matthews
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