Today is a very important day! After about a year of reading and research, thinking and planning, I finally have little baby chicks warming themselves by the heat lamp, this very moment. This is a huge step to making my backyard urban farm a reality, and I am so excited for this new journey.
First, a confession. Even after reading about them, comparing chicken coops and attending a chicken lecture (that’s a real thing), I still feel like I don’t know the first thing about raising baby chicks! Nervous new mom over here! I did not grow up on a farm or a homestead or really with any of the other elements of my backyard farming plans. Unlike some of the other chicken blogs I have been reading, no sage wisdom will come from these posts, just the real-live, learn-as-you-go, girl-from-the-burbs guide to raising chickens for eggs.
They tell you, in the chicken lecture, not to name your chickens. They are not pets, they said. Do not get attached, they said. Too. Late. Meet Sarah Frances, Irene, Elizabeth, Jane, Ford, and Tucker. Why those names, you ask? I’m glad you did. There’s a story here. When I was really little, it was a great feat to memorize my great-great grandmother’s full name. It was one step past memorizing the alphabet and one before counting to ten in Spanish in kid accomplishments. I practiced with my grandmother every time I went to visit. Why the need for practice? Because my great-great grandmother’s full name was Sarah Frances Irene Elizabeth Jane Ford Tucker Parker French MacIntosh. The unanswered question here is why her parents decided she needed five first names. Sarah did grow up on a farm and was actually instrumental in getting our family off the farm and into college, a strong emphasis on education that lives on in its fifth generation. So to her, I pay homage…with my chicken names.