In The Garden

There I was, digging a hole in hard clay soil in the hot sun in a backyard somewhere in Redlands.  The shovel was hardly making a dent so I picked up my mattock and started swinging.  Sweat stinging my eyes, I stopped to take a deep breath and while breathing, hard, I thought to myself  "...what am I doing?  Is this what I went back to school for?  To do the work of a laborer? Am I throwing everything I learned away?  How is it that I'm back in this place, toiling in the hot sun with dirt under my nails, grubby jeans, cut up arms and calloused hands?  Shouldn't I be in an air-conditioned office employing my brainpower or close to retirement from a successful career?  What about earning enough to actually save a little?  What am I doing here?!!!   Everything in my head was silent for a moment.  Then it came... the reason I'm back doing physical labor, this kind of work.  It's because I can.  It's because it's good for me.  It's because I L-O-V-E the feel of dirt; the loosening of it and the planting into it.  To see something growing and producing and regenerating over and over and over again.  It's basic.  It's fundamental to survival.  It's beautiful and it's satisfying.

I don't need to explain this to anyone.  It's just what makes me happy and content.  It's a useful ambition in which one can save on trips to the grocery store.  I eat what I grow and when it's not in season I don't eat it. I look forward to the time when I'll be able to have plenty kind of like when the peaches used to ripen in the orchard when my mom was a girl. She told me that Grandma would put up 100 quarts of peaches every summer.  Standing over a kettle in the heat of July... but oh those peaches would be wonderful to open mid-January.

So, for now, I'll keep digging.

Back in the Old Neighborhood

Never would have thought this would happen - back living on Genevieve Street in the north end of San Bernardino - bankrupt San Bernardino; gang-infested hood San Bernardino; it-can-only-get-better San Bernardino.

Christmas Party at Sondra's - 2012

There are good things about being here... no, GREAT things.  One that I love is the people.   Many  kin are here, family that I only stayed in touch with through phone and email are now "in my face" in the best way possible, friends... and best friends, classmates from high school days, old neighbors, acquaintances of my parents, work buddies from 20+ years ago, my church family - yes, the very best thing about being back here is definitely "The People".

garden abundance

Once I get past the negative aspects of  living here:  blast-furnace summer heat, nature assaulting lawn maintenance engine noise, car alarms, house alarms, vagrants, graffiti, panhandling, traffic and more traffic (wow the list could go on and on), there are many wonderful coincidences and occasions for pleasant interactions and hopefully heartening moments that turned into days, then weeks and now several years.

The second best thing about being here is "The Growing Season."  Yes, the year-round ability to grow your own - food that is and other plant and tree life.  I absolutely love when I can walk out my back door, scissors and basket in hand to pick a handful of kale for the morning green smoothie or fresh greens for my lunch salad or fill a basket with sweet tangerines, navel oranges and Meyer lemons not just for me, but enough to share.  Now that's fun!

Included in one of the "best things" is the Oborny Avocado Grove nestled against the foothills just north of my house.  It is an oasis away from the "other" side of this town with an abundance of wildlife and of course, those delicious avocados.

A canopy of avocado trees 

The North End neighborhood was an idyllic place to grow up with tons of baby-boomers tucked into orderly laid out mid-century tract homes, homeowner maintained yards and young parents that got involved with school activities.  We rode our bicycles everywhere, built forts in the open fields, romped in the streets long after dark with no fear and collected bottles to buy penny candy.  We made friends with the neighbor who had the only swimming pool on the street, rode horses on dirt roads and into the washes and belly-crawled past the Fisher's house to get to the "cave" tucked into the side of the foothills behind our homes.

There's so much to say about those days and when old friends get together, stories often are told... many of us having known each other since elementary school days. We all have a story or two about how it used to be.  I'm sure you have a few -- perhaps you'd like to share yours!?

A Letter to Mom

Dear Mom ~

If only you could hear me now I know that it would surprise you to know that there are many people who miss you and love you -  but nothing could compare to how much I do.  I live in the house that you made a home for us and now it is my refuge and secure place... I haven't done much to change it because it would mean removing the things that remind me of you... but now it's time to move forward and I know that you'd want me to make it my own.

All three of your kids have you to thank for sacrificing your dreams for the sake of family.  I don't know if it was hard for you, but you did and I never got the sense that you regretted any of it.

As I go through your personal things and decide what to keep and what to let go of, I see your love of family everywhere.  It seems that you saved every thing that we kids ever made from lumpy ceramic animals, the ever heartwarming homemade card with I Love You Mom scrawled across it, to coil pots constructed in high school and handmade paper beaded necklaces.  You saved EVERY SINGLE card and letter that anyone ever sent you (including the envelopes for their addresses) and you had several files with news clippings that were about Uncle Don's (your brother) war stories, editorial comments from anyone that you even remotely knew that made it into Voice of the People, high school sports statistics and work related articles of your kids.  If there was even one mention of our names, you clipped it and kept it in a file with our name.

boxes and boxes of letters

Then, there are the boxes of news clippings, recipes, historical articles of places you knew or were somehow related to someone you knew, a file for obituaries and drawers with boxes of pictures.  Oh, the pictures are fun and amazing and all mixed up with very little order or explanation.  They will be there I'm sure, for a few years waiting for me to go through them.

I found myself a bit stuck with all of this, not knowing what I should do with it.  If you kept it for all these years, there must be a good reason, right Mom?  Or, did you keep it because you grew up with a minimum of things, moving from place to place, leaving most things behind back then.  Did you not know what to do with all of Dad's things, treasures and relics from past days?  Meticulous accounting of every penny earned and spent, mileage and gas bought for family vacations, programs from theater productions, high school year books, old keys, photos and Grandmother Chaney's beauty shop records?  There are old photos of Hollywood movie stars signed to her, letters that document family history providing a picture of those days better than any history book and there are things that show me the sacrifices that you made as parents, to provide for your children's future.

Cute cards but so many of them!

Which is one reason it has taken me so long to move through these things.  It cuts to my heart, deeply.  Have we disappointed you?  Have I disappointed you?  You changed direction to have this family when you were on course for a career in fashion design.

Yes, you wrote that in some of the things I found.  I know that you played the violin, loved to draw and had a creative knack for fashion. and when your grandmother decided that art school was no place for a young lady like you, you up and joined the service.  There would be no respectable business school for you if you could help it.

In the Waves

A girl with dreams

I could go on - and on about all the discoveries I am making while peeking through Dad's and your things but I'll leave that for now.  It seems selfish of me to come upon something new and not share it with someone, but that is what you assigned me to do.  And while I'm going through this seeming mountain of  your lives, I hear your voice telling no one in particular, "oh well, when I'm gone it won't be MY problem."

It's not a problem Mom.  I just need to figure out how to do this.  It's been a while now and I am still working on it.  How much longer?  I can't say, but I have learned more than I could have ever imagined.

I love you,

nadine

And Another One?...

So OK, I let all the chickens out of their coop a couple of days ago for two hours.  Two hours! When I went to herd them all back in, my little australorp was missing.  *Sigh* not another one!  I searched and searched for her up in the trees, under shrubs, in the next door neighbor's yard and finally concluded that the fox had carried her off. The new chickies are still small and would be easy pickings for a fox.

Anyway, this small, young un-named hen was gone and I couldn't believe that I'd been so irresponsible to let this happen.  I really liked her. I'd picked her up earlier in the day to admire her pretty feathers and took note of how calm she was.  She also has a habit of wandering away from the rest of the group which isn't always a good idea.

This little hen was on my mind much of the day.  I felt like a terrible chicken mom and I even thought I should find homes for my chickies since I can't seem to protect them very well.

Later that afternoon a most delightful occurrence.  I walked out my front door to find leaves and dirt and all kinds of debris on my front porch steps and walkway.  It startled me at first, then puzzled for 10 seconds more seconds more and then... I realized - a chicken did that!  I started looking under the bushes and behind plants and then I heard little chicken noises.  There she was!  That darn little australorp was poking around the front yard doing her business.  I was so relieved - and happy.  I scooped her up, tucked her under my arm and scolded her for running off and spending the night who knows where!

That's her, the runaway in the center looking to the left

Anyway, a Freecycler man that had come by earlier to pick up some plants, had come across her scratching around.  He said that it kind of freaked him out.  He said that he sat down on the steps and watched her, wondering what to do and finally just left thinking that it must be normal to have a little hen poking around in that front yard.

I guess it IS normal now.

And Another One Down...

This has not been a happy summer for my chickens.  Last night I lost another hen, this time my largest and in charge Chicky-Licky.  Everything was fine with her and the other chickens when I let them out into their enclosed area this morning.  They were all fine when I herded them back into their coop after having the local fox run in front of my car and head in the direction of my backyard.  There the chickens stayed all afternoon in the heat.  I turned on the mister for them and when I left for the evening and gave them their last bit of scratch, everyone, including Chicky-Licky was present and accounted for.

Chicky-Licky running free.

I was awakened abruptly at 1:30am to a terrible growling and squealing noise in the backyard grass area and looked out to see the shadowy figure of a raccoon. Raccoon!  Ack!  I quickly ran out and checked on the chickens and counted everyone -  checked the perimeter of the coop and all was well.  But Chicky Licky wasn't on her perch.   I could see her in one of the laying boxes which wasn't where she'd normally sleep.  I went in to check on her and she was gone.

I'm relieved that she wasn't a raccoon victim but what had happened?  She hadn't shown any signs of illness and she'd just layed a perfect egg the day prior. Whatever had happened, she'd gone into the laying box and had died there.  So, there I was digging another hole in my yard at 2am.

I sat outside on the patio thinking after she was buried.  Would the raccoons come back tonight?  What had happened to her?  I'll need to notify her next of kin, Libby, my nephew's girl.  Libby had given her to me about a year ago and she had fit right in as one of the hens at the top of the pecking order.  She even stepped into Mr. Peeper's role when he was killed, in alerting the other hens as to food sources with a distinctive sharp clucking noise.  Yes, she was a little aggressive to the new young hens but she was excused due to her being raised with dogs as her fellow chicken companions and, she was beginning to ease up.

I brought out the trap and set it with cat food for bait and then sat listening for about an hour to the night sounds,  hearing leaves rustle and twigs break hoping that I might catch another raccoon.  Finally, a dark shape appeared by one of the raised beds but it was only Kitty Black, the outdoor cat.   There is a lot of activity in my yard at night and I'm thinking about setting up a wildlife camera.

Well... it's 3:30am and I can't go back to sleep.  I'll miss you Chicky-Licky, like I miss all my sweet hens.

Hello New Feathered Friends!

Mr. Peeper and two of my hens are gone - Carmela Brown and Cheddar.  So is the raccoon that killed them, trapped and turned loose into a wild habitat that is miles from homes or someone else's chickens.  Mr. Peeper was buried in the backyard along with several others that have met with urban predators over the last few years and I know that he would approve of becoming a part of the yard he loved to roam.  

A very unhappy raccoon

The "survivors" Sylvia, Chicky-Licky and Layla have taken it in stride (after all they are hard core chickens) and went on with the usual scratching and poking around. Layla was on the receiving end of the older hens authority and she took to hiding and keeping to herself so of course, I needed to remedy THAT situation by bringing in a couple of new hens. 

Evan loving Layla

Perfect timing.  My oldest grandson Evan, weighing in at 6 years, 11 months, had come to visit from Colorado, so we made a trip to Robin's house in Calimesa after seeing her "chickens for sale" ad in CheapCycle.  Robin has close to an acre for her chicken endeavors so we had many to choose from.  I could not resist when she mentioned the young male that would grow into a huge rooster and how even-tempered and beautiful he would be.  I scooped him up and cradled him in my arm. He comes with the guarantee that if he doesn't work out, I can return him.  Evan had the honor of picking out a couple of pretty girls, an Australorp and Rhode Island Red and will help name them as we get to know them. 

This new young male will be a handsome rooster soon

So home we went with three new, young chickens in the carrier.  Evan already had many names ready but we'll still wait on that.  Here's the surprise though.  Just a few hours later, after we'd situated the young hens in their pen and after a period of loving and holding by Evan, I received a phone call from a friend.  "Nadine?  This is Greg.  Do you still have chickens?  I found a couple down at the park.  They look like they need a home.  They're friendly and they're hungry and thirsty."  (Sigh), they are Rhode Island Reds and I decided immediately that I could figure out how to fit them in. 

Reds are one of my favorite chickens.  They are consistent layers with a sweet disposition.  They seem to have distinct personalities and I just love them.  Within the hour the group of three became the gang of five which is important.  When introducing new chickens to a coop, there is safety in numbers.  After a couple of days, the two newcomers have assimilated with the three and have a much better chance of staying clear of mother hen Chicky-Licky who takes it upon herself to dole out discipline and establish her pecking order at the scratch of foot.  

Why in fact, Ms. Chicky-Licky took no time in filling in Mr. Peeper's role of keeping her compadres in line and pointing out possible food sources with a rooster-type chucking sound.  I don't know, I'm beginning to wonder about her.  As for the other fully grown hens, they tend to bully the young'uns just a bit but now, because they are FIVE, they have less harassment and more scratching time.

Chicky-Licky asserts her authority over the new chickies

As I write, the newbies are roaming the penned in yard area, opening them up to the danger of predators of all sorts.  While this can be devastating to the human owner as well as the chicken - it gives them a quality of life that makes us all happy.  When several chickens are concentrated in a coop, it gets dirty very quickly and the bug population they so love is limited having been exhausted due to the small area.  I take comfort in their ability to run and scratch, take dirt baths and discover new places to turn the soil over and over again.  Their poo makes excellent compost and they eat the fallen fruit from the trees.  They are happy chickens and happy chickens lay beautifully delicious eggs.

So, welcome my new feathered ones.  We'll be asking for name suggestions soon and we'll be looking for YOU to stop by and see us and perhaps become a chicken lover.   I'd love to add YOU to my Chicken Love page so stop by and hold a chicken soon!

In order of appearance:  Buffy, Mr. Peeper and Rojacita.  My Colorado chickies - may they rest in peace in their backyard home free of fear, always well fed and may they never need to cross another road, ever.

Good Bye my Feathered Friends

The  last few days have been hard.  Two hens and my rooster Peeper are gone (that's him in the picture to the right as a youngster).  The culprits left too much evidence.  I know who they are.

I won't go into the gory details other than to say that I found the lifeless, torn up bodies of Carmela Brown and Cheddar strewn about their run.  The three youngest of my hens had recently had their wings clipped to keep them from flying over the fence and into my garden.  It also left them helpless in the face of a predator attack. I dug a hole by the fuji apple tree and called my friend to come help.  I couldn't face the carnage.

Layla (in front), Carmela Brown and Cheddar

The remaining flock seemed shook up.  My young hen Layla didn't have her two companions so she hung close to Rooster Peeper. Sylvia and Chicky Licky seemed to take it in stride but Peeper was jumpy and took to falling backward.  I kept them locked safely in their coop of reinforced chainlink and field fencing during the day.  I just couldn't take any chances.  The killers were loose and they could come back.  I also didn't know what I was up against either.  Was it a fox (we'd seen them but not for over a year); could it be the big possum or even a stray dog?  I'd found scat in the middle of the grass riddled with fig seeds.  Was it a raccoon?  In the 50+ years that I'd spent connected to this house, no one had ever seen a raccoon, not ever... until I asked my next door neighbor Shae and he told me that yes, he'd seen a raccoon in his back yard.  His dog had run it off.  How long ago?  He thought it'd been about 6 months back.

Their coop was completely enclosed except for a small opening at the top between roof and garage wall where it's located and I'd lined the bottom with pavers dug into the ground and then the fencing had been placed on the inside of the pavers.  It was pretty secure... or so I thought.

The outer coop which had been reinforced
 with smaller mesh 3 feet high

Last night I checked on them before my bedtime.  It was about 11pm and all was well. Everyone left was roosting comfortably for the night.  I was satisfied they were secure. Then, morning came early.  I was up before the light to open the windows and doors to let the cool air flow through the house.  I heard some early morning hen clucking like they do when they are laying but Peeper had mostly stopped crowing in the mornings, so I thought nothing of it when he didn't cut loose.  When it was time to take out their morning snack of chopped up cucumber peels and strawberry tops, I stopped in horror at their coop gate.

It wasn't possible! Yet there was my Peeper lying mangled and dead in the outer coop. The three remaining hens were with him unharmed but keeping their distance and there was no sight of who had done this.  Looking closer, I could see that he was attacked in the inner coop and dragged to the outer one.  I quickly isolated my hens away from the corpse and called my friend again.

The clean up wasn't as intense.  The killer had been interrupted because there weren't many feathers strewn around and Peeper was mostly intact.  It was horrible to see and think about.  I let my friend do the clean up while I headed out to an appointment and work.  I couldn't believe that something had gotten into the reinforced coop but then, there was the space at the top - the weak spot.

Peeper, large and in charge

After coming home later that morning, I surveyed the coop. There had been a huge pile of scat in the outer coop left by the killer and the same scat had been dropped several days prior during the first killings.  There had also been several piles of the same in the grass close by.  By then I was pretty sure that it was a raccoon but no one had seen one EXCEPT my next door neighbor.  Well, ok. He could be right... and he was.  I found tracks; very clear tracks and the fact that they are known chicken killers sealed the decision.  It all added up to a raccoon or raccoons.

Later that day, my brother came and sealed up the space and my friend and I set about reinforcing the rest of the fencing top and sides.  I'm sleeping with my window open and the fan off so I can hear any noises... Hopefully tomorrow I'll have found a trap.  They won't stop.  They'll keep coming back.  Raccoons are relentless. So I need to be too.  If I can trap it ( or them), I'll take it far enough away that it won't make it back.  That's the plan today.  Raccoons - it's on!

Farewell my fine feathered friend ~
So glad I got to know you and love you.  

Cards and Letters

Here it is over a year since Mom has been gone and I'm finally going through boxes filled with "things".  We already did an immediate cleaning out of her clothes and very personal effects - the things that leave surviving children in tatters - sending them off in a container to Zimbabwe and Zambia.  People there don't mind if a button is missing on a blouse or the style is from 20 years ago.  Mom would have been happy to see her things benefiting others, after all, she volunteered with the Clothes Closet when we were attending Hillside elementary school.  Our family room often had stacked bags of lost and found or hand-me-down clothing that Mom would mend and wash to be sent on to new owners.  Mom taught us the value of reusing, recycling and even up-cycling.  Yes, it's all your fault Mom.  You turned me into a beady-eyed trash digger who's heart starts racing when I drive by a dumpster with cast offs from the end-of-the-school-year college kids.  That's a whole other topic to tell you about...more on that in another post.

Old cards from her grandmother

Back to the cards and letters detail... Mom saved her cards and letters.  All of them.  Actually, I can't quite tell yet, but it seems that early on, she was particular about what she kept and as time went on, she appears to have saved every single letter, postcard, Christmas and birthday card and everything in between.  Beginning with a smattering of birthday cards from a few close relatives when she was a child to correspondence from boyfriends gone off to college or war to the letters that were written between my parents when they were dating.  Each successive year she received more letters due to her own prolific writing of letters.  I've found lists of who she had written to and received Christmas cards from.  To Mom, it was a huge faux pas if you didn't send a Christmas card to the person that YOU received a card from.  She was careful not to exclude anyone in the family but in later years, the list grew smaller and names dropped off as family and friends passed on or someone would just stop responding.

So many stacks and there's many more!

Currently, I've gone through just three boxes of perhaps a dozen; two large enough to hold a toaster oven and the other the size of a boot box. Do you know how many cards and letters you can fit into a boot box?  A lot.  So I've been organizing them by sender.  I'm organizing them because, like my mother, I can't throw them away.   They will be returned to the sender (if possible) for them to enjoy.  I thought that it would be interesting for at least some of the senders to re-read what they had written.  To me, they're like a journal that was written where one can read back to remind them of what it was like on the date of that card or letter. I don't think that people think about the possibility of coming across their own letters later on.  I didn't think about what might happen to that letter I sent - wailing about my living situation; or the Mother's Day card with the sentiment that I KNOW I wrote to my Mom with tears in my eyes when I'd come to my senses about just how much work it was to raise kids.  It was a slap upside my head at that moment when I realized how much Mom had sacrificed for her children and her husband.

I also don't think that Mom intended to record misunderstandings and bad behavior at family gatherings, but she did!  Mom would get letters from both sides explaining their position and knowing her, she must have remained neutral, and kind in her responses.  These cards and letters also reveal some family history as well as who lived where and the longest and dearests friendships she held.  One very dear friend she stayed close to since her days in the WAVES takes the prize for the most cards and letters.... both Elizabeth Anne and my Grandmother (or Mama to Mom) maintained a monthly correspondence for as long as they lived.

I have a lot of reading and sorting to do don't I!

Lists

Stuff to do

I'm a list-maker.  I want to believe that if I write down things I won't forget about them...  Well, sometimes that works - sometimes not.  I make lists for a lot of things.  Books I want to read, movies I want to watch, cds or songs I just have to have.  I have a bucket list and a list of projects... and of course I have that ever-present To Do list. 

Making lists satisfies something for me.  It leads me to think that I'll actually DO  something about the things I've listed... and I do.  I make more lists!  I move undone items to a new slip of paper... I go out and buy list-making post-it notes with lines.  I create lists for the day and when I don't get everything accomplished, I move them to another list for the week - which often turns into a list that's calendared to get done sometime within a month and then that turns into just "sometime."

Well...some things are done at least

Within the lists I create, I number them...or sometimes I rank them for their level of importance with little stars.  I always end up cheating adding stars to things that I WANT to do and leaving the dull and awful tasks like doing my taxes with no stars and the going to lunch or hiking with a friend with multiple stars.  This often leads to a  'things that absolutely must get done today' list.

One of several bucket lists...

Occasionally I achieve a level of satisfaction when I can actually scratch an item off a list.  It's usually an easy thing like a reminder to call a friend about something or that I need to take out the trash.  The things that I list that take time and effort - ha!  Those are the things that get moved a lot... so when I actually complete (or mostly complete) a list I've made, I feel good.  Then I celebrate by ignoring all the things that I've listed that I have to do... which deflates that sense of accomplishment and sends me back to the top of the list.  Darn!

Some lists on my computer

So ~ I have a question for you... are you a list maker?  If you are, what do you make lists for?  What's the weirdest thing you've made a list for?  Are they effective?  What kind of advice do you have for me so that I can make progress on MY lists?  Finally... make a list and post in the comments here!
~ 3 of your favorite movies; 3 of your favorite books; 3 of your favorite foods; 3 of your favorite places to go; and 3 of your favorite things ever!

Chickens for the Soul

When everything closes in and you can't breathe; when getting out of bed feels like you're weighted down with wet clothes and each movement is in slow motion; when you have nothing to look forward to; laugh about...or nothing to love, it's time for... Chicken Zen!

Better than xanax

Instead of that unhealthy caffeinated drink, try Chicken Zen.  Chickens provide a pick-me-up in the morning starting with a rousing "rise and shine" crow from your rooster.  Then, throughout the day, you're presented with many light exercise opportunities including pen cleaning, poo pick up, checking for eggs, feeding, fence placement and maintenance and fight referee.  No more hiding under the covers for you!  If your cock-a-doodling rooster doesn't rouse you, the cackling hens will and when they both are vying for the same box to lay...well, the racket can raise the dead... or despondent, whichever you are.

Grass and chickens - good for the soul

Are you making too many trips to your therapist?  Popping too many Xanax or topping off your wine glass more often?  May I suggest an alternative?  Zen - Chicken Zen.  Grab your yoga mat and water bottle and set up on the grass surrounded by gently scratching hens.  Soothe your inner soul with their soft clucking and observe nature's teamwork as they discover a cache of insects under matted grass and leaves.  The kindness of the rooster as he discovers and shares tasty tidbits dissolves gender angst and his devotion to the ladies sets an example you men could take heed of.  After observing the utter bliss chickens attain when they bathe in a small dust divot, you may consider a bath for yourself and although you may not receive as many benefits as the chickens do, at least you don't have to wait for anything to dry like at those expensive spa baths.

See - dinosaur-like feet

When observing these creatures you notice that they hold an uncanny resemblance to those awesome creatures from Jurassic times - dinosaurs.  Yes, their feet and everything else look just like a velociraptor - if you squint your eyes out of focus for a minute that is.  But you'll see that they are a bit smarter since I have seen chickens playing those little pianos at fairs.  Witnessing the result of evolution up close and personal is an extra educational benefit you won''t soon forget.

Heart string tuggers at work

Chicken Zen offers young ones...small, fluffy peeping offspring of the egg (or was it the chicken - I don't know), anyway - they truly appeal to everyone and if you are fortunate to raise them from chickhood, you will overcome attachment disorders instantaneously after nurturing a few of these darlings.

Finally, Chicken Zen will lighten your worries with laughter when you observe their excitement when supplying ordinary kitchen scraps to them.  Their hasty lumbering dash across the yard will bring a smile to your face as they remind one of a clown - only smaller and with feathers.  Chickens offer constant amusement that one understands only after immersing oneself in the experience of chickens.

For these reasons and others I have not  mentioned, I highly recommend Chicken Zen for YOUR soul...forget the chicken soup, it only helps a cold, but the whole chicken, living and breathing has many more benefits - Chicken Zen - I guarantee it!

Calm and happy...

All ages benefit

Chicken Zen happiness *

 Pictures are not of actual participants in this program.  Models have been used to protect the privacy of those that are really screwed up and need help.  Chicken Zen is an alternative treatment and last resort and is not recommended for those with eating disorders since everything and its mother wants to kill and eat chickens.

  *These chickens are some of  the happiest chickens on earth and have been retired from public scrutiny.  They are truly free to run and scratch.