Things I Throw Myself in to Tuesday

or how I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb.

“There were three times in the month of March where I needed an egg or two. When I bake I want it to be spectacular-spectacular. Cooking’s just another creative extension. At any rate, and for no reason I have to explain, I needed an egg or two. I didn’t need a huge carton of eggs, I just needed a few, and a half dozen a week would more than do.

I’d shlep to the shops. I’d find that once again, in my hippy Brooklyn-town, free range/non hormone/anti-chemical/vegetarian chicken eggs were so popular that they’d be sold out. I’d ask when there would be more. Some market guy would shrug. I’d put off the spectacular-spectacular.

I’ve been living in Brooklyn and shopping in Brooklyn for a long time now. Before I was doing those things I was the five-year old bawling my eyes out after seeing Star Treck: The Voyage Home. The tears flowed freely once I realized it wasn’t so unlikely my future children would live in a world without whales. It’s been a life spent picking up six-pack plastic can holders off the street. I carry them home where I cut them into something that doesn’t resemble a noose. Add years of living NYC where you can, um, acquire certain personal opinions about what food is, how it should be aquired, how far it should travel, and how it should be enjoyed…. Just like that you become this overly prideful Brooklynite. You find yourself at a crossroads where there’s just flat out no-way-in -hell you’re going to buy an egg that isn’t from a free range/non hormone/anti-chemical/vegetarian fed chicken.

But you still need eggs…

So you google ’til your fingers bleed. One thing leads to another, and then all of the sudden, well, you know, you do the thing any other organically minded Brooklyn girl would do…

I’d like to formally introduce you to Good Golly Miss Molly.

I think she is beautiful. Don’t you? You know – in a Tilda Swenton kind of way?
I’m paying her rent. Don’t worry, we’ve worked out a barter system. It’s Brooklyn. We go hard.

5 replies »

  1. get out!!! You got a chicken?! I'm so jealous! I grew up in the middle of no-where. We had chickens. We had quails. We could probably of had farm animals too if we wanted. It was the middle of the woods and no one cared. Now I live in the middle of suburbia where there are rules about everything. I keep telling DH if we ever move back to the woods I want chickens again…and a duck.

    Just saw the coolest *urban* chicken coop the other day on design sponge…http://www.designspongeonline.com/2011/04/nogg-hen-house.html

  2. Wendy! That's an awesome coop. I wish my chicken was so designer. Good Golly Miss Molly's living with a wonderfully nutty woman in Red Hook. She runs what I call a chicken co-op and then no one laughs, even though it is funny.

    When I 'adopted' her I had take all these dumb pamphlets about how I cannot slaughter my working girl hen in my backyard. What?! Totes gross. Oh man, anyway, I signed stuff and filled out forms. After a few kinks. I've now got fresh eggs Tuesday and Thursday when I start my mornings “on the farm”.

  3. I am in awe of the things you do and choices you make in your life.

    Also: I always say “co-op” as “coop,” especially when people think they can just omit the hyphen. No no, that's an entirely different word.

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#LaterGram

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