So, Tom Berenger and I made the trek up to Warrenton and RoundTop this past April. The bluebonnets had started to bloom, so you see copious amounts of people, pulled over on the side of the road, toddlers in tow, to get the perfect Texas picture:baby in Bluebonnets. Obviously, no one informed them rattlesnakes live in those fields. I know this, but still, I have an annual picture with my Tiny Tot in a bluebonnet field near our house. Our first was taken when she was so little you could barely see that little blonde head above the bluebonnets. Now, the is nearly as tall as Ma'am. Segway.
After a day of browsing freaktique and fine antiques in the fields of the festival, Tom B and I stop at a white tent field (white tents indicate High End) so I could get one last glimpse of what is IN this year.
I notice this interesting looking bird house. Since I am in my retro 70s earth chick mode, I think this might be a good addition to my suburban outdoor sanctuary. I ask the dealer how much is that cute birdhouse. With an air of superioity, this vendor tells me it is certainly not a birdhouse it is, I think he said, it is a Bon Marche'. Oh, I said. I thought is would be perfect for a birdhouse. Certainly not! It is a Bon Marche', priced $750. Hmmmm. I'll think about it. Meantime, Tom B is posted up with a vendor who makes highend furniture out of Winchester ammunition boxes. I find him an example the situation with the Bon Marche'. We get such a kick out this snooty little man, that from then on out, we refer to everything as a Bon Marche'. We come across an endtable made of vintage luggage and declare this is an interesting Bon Marche'. Tom B tells me we should go back to Snooty Man so he can view this Bon Marche'. I tell him, I will say " Daddy, you can get some chicken wire and build me a Bon Marche!". Or, we ponder just going over there saying " that Bon Marche things would be perfect for my chickens. Daddy, give him $750." Snooty Man has given us much more than a bird house. A new phrase for my quirky lexicon.
I was proud of myself for showing such restraint and leaving this antique crack house atmosphere without dragging anything home to add to my already over the top collection of weirdness. I congratulated myself too soon. We needed to stop to fill up the F150, so a wonderful all purpose combination of gas station, grocery store, feedstore, and beautyshop draws my attention. This is the type of place that for me, is the pure version of Walmart. You never know who or what you will find. As I search the spice rack, I notice the next area is the feed store. Wandering over there, I see chickens. Not frozen. Live. Different colors, not the blue and pink of Easter chicks ( btw, those are Leghorn roosters and will grow up and start crowing and you will have to ask you housekeeper to take them to her friend who raises them) but glorious deep rusty red, creamy white, and iridescent black. I'm facsinated. A sweet young man in a John Deere cap comes to wait on me. I tell him no thank you, just looking. BUT if a man comes in to pay for gasoline and tries to buy one of these chickens, please do not sell them. Yes, ma'am he tells me. I return to the truck,perusing my antiques newspaper, when I see my handsome husband returning with a smile on his face and a brown cardboard box. With two cochin chicks.( Cochins are chickens who look like they are wearing chaps). So off we go with a box making chicken racket ( racket: Southern word used to descripe copious amounts of noise made by rambunctious children).Since these babies were part of a road trip, they became known as Thelma and Louise. And then it started. Another tale of the eccentric goings on of The Fabulous Ma'am.Now I am raising chickens at The Swankienda. Research taught me the cochins are heritage chickens. The difference between heritage and commercial eggs is remarkable. They have more protein, more vitamins, and less cholesterol than commercial. The commercial chickens start laying eggs at 60 days old. Heritage chickens lay at 8 or 9 months old. They live for up to 12 years. Commerical chickens lay for a year and then are of no use and their life ends.They never touch the ground and are packed so closely together that if one dies, if doesn't fall. Heritage chickens are free range, or in my situation, free backyard. They roam around and eat bugs, worms, and lizzards. They are very layed back (no pun intended)and happy little ladies. One a trip to a feed store in a neighboring community I met the HippieChickenWoman. She became my chicken mentor. After visiting her chicken compound, I came away with vast knowledge, a dozen blue and green eggs, and 3 more chickens. Buffy, Blossom, and Henrietta complete my flock.
There are many of life's lessons in getting back to basics. We have an organic garden which Trixie loves to eat out of on her daily harvest. Nothing quite equals homegrown tomatoes. The chickens have provided an entire life cycle example, the old Chicken or the Egg conversation. Also, the importance of having a Daddy. Or in the case of my hens, a rooster. The most often asked question is are we going to have a bunch of chicks. Answer "No". We do not have a rooster. Trixie asked me what the rooster does to contribute, so I sent her to the internet. After viewing a 3 minute explanation, she told me " I don't see how that rooster have seizures all over the place is going to help anybody". I agree. So our girls are content to not go co-ed, and just cruise around the backyard.
Life is so stressful at this stage of the game. Our children are growing up and leaving. We stress over our aging parents, our careers, and the changing world we live in. As I walk out this early morning to check the hen house, barefoot in my long embroidered Mexican dress, I am reminded of the song from the 60's" Slow down, your moving too fast. You got to make the morning last. Just skipping down the cobbleston. Feeling alive and feeling groovy".
Peace and love,
I remain,
The Fabulous Ma'am
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