When was the last time you were a beginner at something?
I left cooking professionally (albeit not completely) to start farming. I wanted to be a more responsible chef, I wanted to understand more about our food system, what it takes to grow and raise food well. What I did not know would be so prevalent in my experience were multiple lessons in humility. And a friendship with a chicken who’s struggle I felt mirrored my own.
When I started farming, I was learning things from the ground up, I was certainly behind the other apprentices in terms of skill, and also the oldest, which didn’t bother me, but was a daily reminder of how late I was starting in this young person’s field. I struggled at first as all my initial instincts were wrong. I was slow, and it took me a while to retain what I was learning. At times I felt very alone, and it was the beginning of the pandemic and lock down, so the loneliness is to be expected. However being on the farm during this time made the isolation worse I believe. I was with strangers, far from my family and friends.
Having animals around to share affection with was key for me. Baby chicken fluff balls, barns cats, two incredibly goofy goats. One of the responsibilities I had early on was to care for some heritage turkey poults that had been delayed an extra day in the mail. Our manager was worried the extra day would have lasting effects on them, if not resulting in death from shock, but also growth developments. So I was to sit with them for an hour at a time a few times a day. It turns out that turkeys carry a curiosity greater than any cat you’ll meet. They climbed all over me, fell asleep in my lap, listened to music with me (they fall sleep to Beethoven, fyi) I’d continue on through the season with these birds, often getting them as adults to perch on my arm, lap or even shoulder.
After the turkeys left the barn and went out to their seasonal home on pasture, the barn opened up to the new batch of layer chicks, just a few weeks old at that point, but ready for the entire barn floor. I was getting better at things, but still making mistakes or struggling with my working relationships. A work error would result conversations amongst the other apprentices about my skill or lack thereof. Tangling fencing equipment, accidentally flooding the corral, not removing the tender nug of chicken on the back of the bird while butchering. Nearly taking my boss out with a not-so-stable ladder that fell. Mistakes were made and I often found myself really taking an almost therapeutic style comfort from the animals. Animals I was raising to be food.
As the new layers expanded in the barn we started to see little, tiny bursts of personality from the flock. And one little chicken stood out to us all. We started calling her Snooki, due to her smaller stature and wider booty. She was shorter than most of the other chicks, soon to be hens, and was almost at a point where she couldn’t reach the water line. She would pile up with the larger birds at first, and would come out of hiding when called. She very quickly realized she needed our help and took it. I’d make little piles of mulch under the water lines for her. After some time, the intrinsic instinct of herds, or flocks started to kick in, and as the birds grew taller, Snookie just sort of grew wider. So by nature’s default, she started getting picked on. She spent most of her time hiding under pallets in the barn where the other birds couldn’t pick at her.
She’d come out when called and was usually grateful for the time spent in our human safety shield. Once it was time to move those birds out to the pasture, we instead took Snooki to live in the old barn with the goats. She would not have survived with the entire flock and nowhere to hide. Eventually some other birds that needed a little extra hand joined Snooki and the goats, one hen that morphed into a rooster, became known as Waylon. Snookie spent the summer and fall in the old barn, scratching at the soil, pecking around and cooing in my lap. Eventually, before our eyes and almost like magic, Snooki was a full-grown bird that had almost zero signs of having ever dealt any adversity. She was taller, fluffy, could lay eggs and wander the grounds of the farm by the house. She hung out with Waylon mostly. Snooki carried with her some scars on the bottoms of her feet, calluses that developed from hiding in the wooden pallets for days at a time. And at some point that became the only way I could identify her among the tiny old barn flock.
Snooki’s determination to live mirrored my own struggles with farming during that time. Having a bird sit in your lap, or let you cry into its feathers, is not something I ever knew I would come to cherish so much. Having that same bird tell me she’s had enough therapy time by biting my eyeball is something I guess I cherish too.
Starting over career wise, in your late thirties is ok. Not being great at the new job in the beginning is ok too. Eventually I figured out how to not tangle up the cattle lines. I made some very lasting friendships and became a damn good farmer. The way that Snooki helped me during that time is something that will always make my heart tighten with love and sorrow. Snooki’s resilience and survival instincts made me capable of seeing my own situation through a different lense. It helped me build a connection to my true self again, which in turn gave me the confidence to know that I will get where I want to be.
This all harkens back to humans being a part of nature. Watching and learning from the world’s natural cycles. A chicken taught me more about connection, grit and perseverance than I thought possible. And all I had to do was give her the opportunity to teach me.
