|Just like our decision to have children, little did Ken and I know then that those two chickens were gateway drugs.|
|Leon’s getting larger.|
The coop to end all coops.
Paying attention to local architecture, he mimicked the shape of the colonial farms here in the Valley. He chose a simple, traditional design. He ensured optimal safety by including features that would take the limbs off people, let alone fox, coyote, and/or raccoons:
|Starfighter the Chicken feels safe, knowing that her coop was designed by Ken.|
Then, because that wasn’t enough, to have a hand-designed chicken coop, built to withstand the forces of nature, I had my family haul down the four tons of rock that was “landscaping” our front yard (read: looking ugly and fostering weeds) down to the gully to make a lovely path.
|More work than you can imagine. Also, requiring us to purchase a new wheelbarrow, one with pneumatic tires.|
But I don’t care. All the thrown backs and smashed fingers and surly arguments are totally worth it for this chicken layout, which we’ve all agreed looks like something out of a ridiculous storybook.
|Eggs this way. Wicked Witch the other way.|
We transplanted various things from around the property for greenery (quickly being decimated by the chickens), and my driftwood fetish yielded materials for this handy sign, which directs people to the whole point of these stupid birds:
|It’s for the eggs, yo.|
Now, in case you get the wrong idea and think that I live in some sort of unobtainable utopia, I’d like to show you a shot of the view directly to the right of the chicken coop. This is the kids’ area, which was demolished by a Nor’Easter over a year ago, and still hasn’t reached the top of our “To Do” list:
|Saddest playscape ever.|