Read by Patrick Hughes

WWhen my brother hit the ripe age of 40, he decided to add a dash of cluck to his daily routine by becoming a chicken farmer. Now, mind you, this wasn’t your typical mid-life crisis; it was a feathered journey toward genuine fulfillment, with a side order of the freshest eggs in town.

Picture this: a successful executive in restaurant design and supply, trading blueprints for beaks and boardrooms for barnyards. It was a curious choice, but he saw it as a calling—a quest to get closer to Mother Nature and crack open a new source of joy, not to mention some top-notch eggs.

On a sunny Saturday in June, armed with enthusiasm and an apparent lack of formal plans, we dove headfirst into the construction of the coop of his dreams. With an eye for design usually reserved for kitchens, my brother envisioned an 8′ x 8′ masterpiece, blending durability and aesthetics like a chicken-friendly Michelangelo.

We raised cement piers, four-by-fours stretching proudly to the sky, and fashioned a coop that could make any chicken strut with pride. Windows for natural light, a ramp for easy access, and a secure door for bedtime—all carefully designed to make our feathery friends feel like the true VIPs of the coop.

After completing the coop, we set out on a quest for the perfect flock. Thanks to a newfound friendship with a local farmer, we returned with 20 hearty hens, ready to lay the foundation for our egg-cellent venture.

Weeks passed, and the coop became a bustling hub of activity. Our hens, in all their clucking glory, turned out to be prolific layers, churning out over 100 eggs per week. Soon, our family’s breakfasts, lunches, and dinners were graced by the freshest eggs in town. My sister-in-law even started a neighborhood egg subscription service, turning egg delivery into a social event complete with coffee and friendly banter.

While the venture might not have hatched golden eggs, it laid the groundwork for something far more valuable—connection to the land and the simple joy of tending to a small piece of Earth. For my brother, it was a retreat from the stainless-steel world of fast-food design into the warm embrace of nature.

Reflecting on this feathered chapter, it’s evident that his chicken farming escapade wasn’t just about eggs; it was about cultivating happiness and contentment. It brought our family together, cracked open a world of joy, and gave us a basketful of the finest eggs our taste buds have ever savored.

As for me, I’ve found my own slice of satisfaction in food gardening. While my brother’s chickens were busy clucking, I’m happily raising tomatoes, blueberries, and basil. Here’s to happy gardening and egg-ceptional eating! ❖