Farming is no yolking matter

by

The primary reason that so many people end up living in cities is that we are not farmers. None of us know how to slop hogs, plow the South 40 or read a woolly bear weather forecast. If something crows before 5 a.m., we call the cops. City people will gladly wait in climate-controlled cubicles to greet their food.

At least, that’s what I thought. It turns out that many cab-hailing professionals with zero farming experience are leaving city life behind to work 24/7, rain or shine—without a guaranteed paycheck or benefits—and praying that Mama Nature is rooting for them.

I already know that such a life is not for me. As a suburbanite, I’ve tested my farming chops on grass, the crop I’m required to grow (and mow) around my house. But grass is persnickety. It demands fertilizer, water, chronic weed-pulling and more water. That’s enough farming for me. I’m happy killing air plants.

Beyond growing stuff, no farm would be complete without the daily fringe benefit of freshly laid eggs. For that, you need chickens. Not just chickens, but well-fed gals in their feathered prime who demand the entire winter off. (Might be a union thing.)

To gain this smidge of rural experience, you don’t have to buy the farm. You can rent chickens to raise in your very own backyard, assuming everyone on your HOA board has been abducted by aliens. For a mere $400, Rent-A-Chicken will deliver two egg-laying hens, a coop and 100 pounds of food. The gals will arrive in spring and leave in fall, so you get to experience the fresh-egg-side of farming without the commitment. Think of it as dating your chickens before they hatch.

At one confused point in my life, emu farming intrigued me. I was seeking asylum from rush-hour traffic and office drama when emus were being touted as a profitable escape. Their meat is low in cholesterol, high in vitamins and allegedly tasty. Emu oil eases pain and erases wrinkles, and the beauty industry loves it.

But for me, it was a colossally bad idea. Within a week, every 6-foot bird would have had a name and been sleeping in my bed. That’s when I’d realize that meat and oil don’t come from spare feathers, so I’d end up keeping every bird and 2-pound egg it laid. Emu eggs look like mutant avocados and sell for about $30 apiece, but I’d rather have a cuddly baby emu than an omelet.    

For those dipping their first toe into farming, I’d start with chickens. Consider these facts:

  • Matilda, one of the world’s oldest chickens, clucked out at 22, but she never laid an egg. (Childless chickens probably live longer.)
  • People have been telling dumb chicken jokes since the 1800s and your friends will tell you every one of them.
  • The color of a hen’s earlobes tells you what color her eggs will be. If you didn’t know chickens have earlobes, don’t quit your day job just yet.
  • Chickens expect to be fed on time. If dinner is late, they get cranky—and noisy.
  • Hens only lay eggs for a few years. After heno-pause, they just march around complaining that their coop is too hot.

If you are truly ready to be a farmer and raise chickens, I wish you the best of luck. But if it doesn’t work out, I might know where you can rent an emu.

Jan A. Igoe knows a good chicken joke when she hears one: “Why did the chicken cross the road? To escape the IT guy pretending to be a farmer.” Have a joyous Christmas and join us anytime at HumorMe@SCLiving.coop.