Last Monday, the Englishman and I loaded up his Jeep and began a day-long journey to the country. For the day’s events, I chose to wear a grey cashmere sweater, J. Brand jeans, and grey suede plimsolls – extremely practical for the day’s activities. Through the beautiful Virginia landscapes, we drove to a shop. A shop that sells baby chickens.
Why did we get chickens? Well.. the Englishman is an Englishman to his core – growing up in the countryside of Cambridge, he spent nearly a decade working and volunteering on a National Trust Home Farm. He spent his weekends organizing and attending shoots. He loves big, green paddocks filled with cows, sheep, and – of course – chickens.
So why did I get chickens? For many reasons, mostly involving the Duchess of Devonshire. The Duchess of Devonshire owned dozens of chickens, and often fed them in designer skirt suits and elegant ballgowns. That, to me, is the epitome of elegance – not a lifestyle with ballgowns, but a lifestyle where ballgowns are as comfortable and normal as to be worn in the garden with the chickens. I figured that a cashmere sweater was the modern equivalent.
Plus, I like a good omelet.
We were supposed to get about a dozen day-old hatchlings, with the knowledge that some would not make it (a sad truth) and some would be males (which we would try to donate or sell to farms that need them). In the end, we hoped for 4-5 lovely ladies to lay some eggs for me.
We now have twelve guaranteed-to-live-and-be-useful. Twelve chickens. And only eight of them lay good eggs. The other four are just pretty. Well… I think the Duchess of Devonshire would be proud. I’ll keep you updated on my lovely chickens, who are tentatively named Effie Cluck Cluck, William, Kate, George, Royal Baby 2, Lupo, Harry, James, and Pippa. Three of them now needs names. Any suggestions?!