2 entries in the category: Cluck!

Sanctimonious CS

June 11th

IMG_2654

My friend Kent chides me when I climb on a religious soap box (often after a glass or four of vino) that such behavior is “sanctimonious bullshit.” Like the year I gave up Twitter for Lent, but lasted all of 2 weeks and tweeted him to say so.

His response “Sanctimonious, Donley. Sactimonious.”

Well, in these here parts, the summer farmers markets are the cream of the crop. Folks here live for Saturdays, where they wheel their kids in wagons and drag dogs on leashes down to the library parking lot for fresh produce. It is a touch sacreligious to suggest this tradition is anything other than the right thing to do — spending $4 per tomato. Carting glass bottles of grass-fed dairy back to your house on the back of your overly-priced cruiser, nested in hand woven baskets from a women’s cooperative in Ghana. Singing John Denver songs as you whistle while you work. (Song birds on your shoulders optional.)

Fly fishing

Don’t get me wrong. I love eating locally, supporting farmers, a good chorus of Kumbaya, and all that hoo ha. I don’t love over priced crap sold under the guise of being part of a farmers market.  I also don’t love how wholly yuppie this experience feels. Saturday could have been an ad for that ridiculous book, “Stuff White People Like.” 

Bucaaaaack!

What is that predator I hear barking from a nearby tree? Everyone! Cover your eggs!

There. I said it. I don’t love farmers markets and I realize that my neighbors may have my head for it. But in this case, it’s sanctimonious chicken shit. If I need a cultural tomato buying experience, I’m far more comfortable adventuring to the Mexican grocery stores on Federal.

SANCTIMONIOUS. I KNOW.

Did someone say chicken? YUM.

Speaking of  chickens — Nelson and I headed to a nearby chicken class afterward and guess what? We are turning in the permit and payment today. Coop prep starts this week, including coordinating a ridiculous neighborhood meeting. Also, teaching Nelson chickens are friends not food.*

~K

* My father thinks this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. HEY DAD. ROOT FOR ME. xoxo

 

Posted in
Cluck!, Colorado, Community
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Leslie Yep

June 8th

Chickens

Fully embracing my inner Leslie Knope last night, I attended my first ever city council meeting. Item #12 on the agenda: Ordinance No. 1919 — amendment of the City of Golden code pertaining to the special use permits for the keeping of certain animals.

AKA: backyard chickens.

Tour de Coop!

But, before we got to the chicken vote, the following topics were discussed:

  • The city cemetery
  • Boy Scouts
  • Kiwanis
  • Rotary
  • The city circulator bus
  • Schools
  • An upcoming golf tournament fundraiser
  • Rocky Mountain Arsenal Refuge art displays
  • The new city flag
  • Appointments to various committees
  • The summer solstice concert

All buzz words I scribbled down within the first 30 minutes of the meeting being called to order. Seriously. 30 minutes. These people were on a mission — we all took a sip of the Minute Maid Patriotism. We even said the pledge.

And then, the planning commissioner took the mic for his proposal of the chicken amendment. And then they opened the floor to citizens and I spoke, with my heart beating in my ears, about how all this red tape was silly. Chickens weren’t a big deal and they were going to excessive administrative lengths for animals that could “end up as a tasty dinner.”

Those words actually came out of my mouth.

And I most certainly do not plan on eating my chicks. But, as my face burned red, the council laughed and then voted unanimously in my favor. I nearly thanked them for “giving me the bird.”

R2-R3 zones of Golden may now have chickens.*

WOOOO HOOOOO!

~K

*And now, I’ve got to:

  1. Complete the application
  2. Pay $40 (previously $450!)
  3. Hold a neighborhood meeting and get approval
  4. Complete coop renovations, including predator proofing the backyard
  5. Find and buy chickens
  6. Figure out what *exactly* I’ve gotten myself into
  7. Avoid my father’s laughter, which I can hear from San Antonio. He’s had this song on repeat since I told him about my chicken dreams.
Posted in
Cluck!, Colorado, Heirloom Homestead
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