Chickens have been in my family for generations. My Great Grandmother Pauline Kliem was an immigrant . She worked with what she had and raised chickens and flowers and sold the flowers, as well as the eggs. Her daughter Anna married my Great-grand-father, William Kahle, and they raised chickens, along with hogs, as well.

I grew up, largely in Daly City/Colma, California. By the time I was born the family farm had dwindled down to less thana city block. In that space we had a small fruit orchard, a black berry arbor, rabbits, assorted fowl, and chickens.

My grandmother and I went to the Parisian Bakery in San Francisco to get huge bags of day-old bread for the chicken and rabbits. We hit all the local markets for any and all leftover vegetable scraps, expired produce and other usable food for the chickens. As a family, we sorted our food waste into the garden pile and the chicken pile. Chickens are really living garbage disposals!

Every morning we made a mash using soaked, dried bread, chicken food, oyster shell, and various things we had scored while out looking for greens. Once the mixture was deemed complete, we put it in troughs around the yard, making extra sure to avoid the nasty rooster with spurred legs. We refilled water troughs, through out the greens (lettuce, collard green, any produce that had been found in our excursions).

One the chickens were fed and occupied, we gathered eggs and checked to make sure everything in the coops was okay. At night, we made sure all the chickens were in and closed up the coops. Periodically we would muck out the coops and cart the manure to the garden. Then we would coat the roots with discarded oil to ward off fleas and other pests.

I grew up with fresh eggs and a fair amount of fresh produce at a time and in a place where almost no one could say the same. If I wanted to "Wow" my friends, I needed only bring them to visit the chickens. When neighbors found foul, they brought it to my granmother. At one point she had an incredibly beautiful golden pheasant.

After my great Grandmother died, my gran moved to Fort Bragg, California to be near my dad, step mom and two younger siblings. She found a nice place and planted all kinds of fruit trees : lemon, three or more varietires af apples, pears, plums, peach, cherry and fig, to name a few. She began a new, smaller berry arbor in the back yard, and transported much of the plant stock fromour old home base inthe bay area. What she didn't bring was chickens.

Old habits die hard. She continued to sort food waste into garden and chickens, even in the absence of chickens. She puts bird seed oout to attract birds, and breag and various veggies to attract local wild, and not-so-wild life. She has had a number of psuedo pets including rabbits, cats, ravens, other assorted animals that have come her way, but no chickens. That is, until now.

My grandmother fell last June. She wasn't hurt, but it became apparent that my parents needed help looking after her. So, I packed up my two children and moved here last summer from Nevada, where I had been teaching. We had about five acres, a nice house, and (SURPRISE!) chickens. We left our chickens, as we had no where to put them, and the heat of the move may have proved too much for them.

Fast forward to Spring 2009.

Gran is still sorting kitchen garbage, looking for something to feed. One day, I step out onto the back porch and notice she has emptied an entire box of Cheezits in order to attract a furry animal she had seen. Turns out that creature is a rat. She will not allow me to put out traps, nor will she admit the possibility that she is trying to attract it.

I pick her up on Friday after her stint volunteering at our local food bank, where at the age of 93 she still volunteers once a weeks sorting and washing ... eggs. On the way home, I swing by our local feed store. When she asks what I am up to I tell her we've come to see if they have any baby chicks. She declines coming in with me as she believes if she comes in to the the chicks, she won't be able to leave without one. Confirmation: this is a good idea!

After I take Gran home, the kids and I go back and buy two baby silkies in order to institute "chicken therapy".

Stay tuned for more instalments of Chicken Therapy!