When we bought our house last summer we were looking specifically for something with a large yard. We found an ideal 1/2 acre, which I'll show-off once it greens up, in an older neighborhood just outside the center of the city. Our thinking was that we needed a little space to produce a good-sized garden to feed the family with enough surplus for small-batch canning, maybe a few bee hives, and some chickens for eggs.
Last summer, however, was a wash on the yard. We didn't move in until Memorial Day, too late for planting, and I spent the entire summer painting the interior a lovely green called "Crocodile Tears."
This year is all about the yard. Since the kids are terrified of chihuahuas at the moment, and bees are a hefty investment, we decided to start the urban farm with a these little babies.
Aww-aren't they cute? Internet meet "Food."
Right now, they are brooding in the boys' swimming pool in the basement. The kids love them — of course — but everyone has been told that these are not pets. Since technically we live in the city, any roosters in the pool are dead meat. Mmmmm — chicken.
Whoever is left is going to hopefully be a lay-er-er, or else, she's dead meat too. Urban farming is brutal. Now, whether or not any of us actually have the guts to kill a live chicken is another story. Especially when Jonas just looked at me and said "But, mom, I don't want to eat them."
Kids plus farming. Huh.
Although this post perhaps fits better with our friends, "Let's Get Dirty," I'm a Haute Mama so I'm going to talk about my peeps right here. Chickens grow a lot faster than kids, so plan on hearing a lot about the urban farm experiment this summer — I warned ya.