Our Janet Wilson has a nice write-up in the current Orange Coast magazine about a new past-time -- and it turns out, something of a suburban trend. She's raising chickens. From her story:
For chicken feed (literally), I am rewarded with giant, golden-yolk eggs plucked from scratchy, hay-lined milk crates. Hens are easier than dogs, and gobble up much of what our canines and recycling bins don’t, from carrot peels to brown lettuce. They lay fewer eggs in winter, but during halcyon summer days they produce enough for a rotating list of friends.
I am entertained daily by their beady-eyed mischief, coos, and clucks. Ellie is an Ameraucana I named for her elevatorlike neck, which rises to scope out visitors and scraps. She is the mother hen, throwing a broad wing over Goldie, Clara Cluck, and the others. For quiet nights and happy neighbors, we’ve avoided roosters. My brood turns groggy at dusk, becoming a line of giant, feathered footballs dead to the nocturnal world.
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