“Eggs, scrambled eggs, having scrambled eggs with friends. Having eggs with family. Eggs and menstrual periods. Eggs and abortion. Eggs and birds, and poultry, which birds are another kind of poultry. There’s a kind of bird that builds nests that are like four feet tall and they keep the egg inside and they have to keep it at an exact temperature or else it will die. Also tadpoles.” Last night I went for a walk with my dear friend Kiana, who graciously offered these examples when I told her I wasn’t sure what to write about today. The good thing about going off of a list of one-word prompts is that I don’t have to think too much about what to write about, except for when there’s a word that I can’t really connect to any good story or life lesson.
When it comes to eggs, the first thing I think about is a chicken. Of course, from there you can go in multiple directions. The first one that comes to my mind, however, is the time I thought it would be a great idea to raise chickens for science. Yeah. Didn’t see that one coming, did ya?
I was fourteen years old, and in eighth grade (apparently that’s how I’m starting all my stories this week). For science class we were told that we had to think of some experiment or observation project. I, thinking I was being super smart, thought it would be a great idea to get four chickens and then watch them grow for about a month. My grandmother and I went to a garden store, picked out four chickens, and took them to my house where they proceeded to live in my room. I had it all planned out. I was going to bond with the chickens, and they were going to love me very much. I would cry when they left, and then, probably, my mom would realize how attached I was and then we’d acquire four more animals in our already ark of a house. Ahh, naivety.
What I neglected to consider was the fact that I would be going on a prayer retreat the weekend after collecting the chickens, so my mom would be stuck with them for an entire weekend. Before you ask, no, no I have not lived this down in the five years since these events transpired. I also had decided to wait until the last minute to get the chickens, so I only had a very limited about of time to complete the project. On top of that, the only real requirement for this project was a journal where I wrote down notes from my observations every day (aside from that weekend when my mom had them. Sorry Mom). But did I do said journal? Nope. Not until the last week when I hurriedly made up entries and wrote them down before decorating the front cover with chicken stickers. And no, I didn’t particularly bond with the chickens. In fact, I was actually kind of scared of them. I was sad to see them leave, but, alas, there were no tears.
To be honest, there really isn’t much to share here in terms of advice or life lessons. Except maybe don’t think you can raise chickens if you’re fourteen, already have a guinea pig, and know that doing a quick and easy science experiment will get you the same grade (actually, probably better). Also, don’t leave your mother home with your chickens. She’ll never let you forget it.