Of course, like any long-cherished dream, this one has got embroidery.
I want not just any chickens.
What I really want are Marans who have dark mahogany, dark chocolate brown eggs — their shells so tough and delicately dense, with pores so tiny that supposedly salmonella bacteria can’t pass through.
Soft boiled eggs, raw egg eggnog, real mayonnaise, Bavarian creams, delicate meringues . . .
Except I also dream blue and blue-green eggs which means Auracanas with their feathery side-whiskers as well.
And storybook Little Red Hens and other old-fashioned heritage breeds
Rhode Island Red, Plymouth Rock, Barred Rock, Leghorn, Light Sussex, Delaware, Holland, Orpington, Austrolorp, Cochin, Faverolle, Silkie, Aseel, Old English Game, La Fleche, Barnevelder, Welsummer . . .
And what I really want is this rolling coop . . .
Or one just like it . . .
Could a widespread personal chicken habit be a necessary part of this Small Town Revival?
And with enough up-and-at-’em roosters chorusing from street corner to street corner it would certainly be a Small Town Reveille.
How would that be? If we turned into a whole town of early risers?
A whole citizenry who can sit down regularly to a golden-yolked egg, over easy, fresh and full of taste, pumped full of all those naturally occurring vitamins and minerals we are never going to get from the sad essentials added after the fact – how would that be?