16 - You are not eating my girls

Image below - Sugar Plum

"Hello Sugar Plum, its me Scrum" I say to my husband, who is in England working. "Can't wait for you to come back home, I have a terrific surprise for you" I say enthusiastically. "Really, what's that then"? - "sorry can't say, as I said its a surprise". "Give us a clue then" he says sounding exasperated. "Nope". "If its anything to do with Tractors or Food, I'm interested, am I close" he says. Oh dear he is close - but I'm not for having my girls eaten. "You will see tomorrow, when you get back here" rapidly, I change the subject and remind him that his Sister Pauline and John our Brother Inlaw are arriving in a couple of days time and start to talk menu's. He bounces back "will they like the surprise". "Undoubtedly but Sugar Plum can we please talk menu's"?...

Sugar Plum arrives back home on time and he is beaming from ear to ear. "So where is this surprise" he says. "Whatever happened to Hello darling, how have you been, big hugs and kisses" I say, with fist clenched, "Oh yes, I forgot", then wraps his engineering arms around me, pats me with his dinner plate size hands and plants a smackeroo on my forehead. I wriggle out of this vice like grip, grab one of his dinner plate hands and drag him out to Hen Pen Garden. "There you are, our four new babies, all hens". I smile enthusiastically, hoping that he will be pleased with the family increase. The four new chicks were as yesterday huddled together by the fence, still feeling insecure and possible afraid of the older chickens. "Don't you think they look so cute and they are only eight weeks old". "Yes, you have done well and they look in good nick, but more importantly, when can we eat them"? I give him that How very dare you look and say as much. "No one is for eating my chicks", I elbow him in annoyance and start to walk away. Oh no - here come those dinner plates again but I walk a little faster. "Scrummy" - he says "stop, lets just talk about this sensibly". I know what sensible is with this guy all black and white, and engineering matter in between. He wants to eat these lovely chicks and I cannot argue with him, we had the "living the good life" conversations many time before we moved to France. Right now I just cannot be faced with this side of the good life. It was so much easier to go into Tesco's and pick up a ready prepared chicken to roast, even if they were battery hens. "I must get my head out of this time warp", I tell myself. He continues but I am not wanting the discussion, I know its me that has to get real and also how do I approach this with my lovely daughters who will be here in two weeks time "Chickens taste so much better if you rear them yourself" he persists, "and so says everyone else Sugar Plum, but for now haven't you got a dead tree to chop down"?...

15 - The Young Ones

Image - The four younsters

Its a long drive home and I wish I had left my face mask on, the smell from the four youngsters is putrid. The windows are open and I successfully rummage for tissues to hold to my mouth to ease up on the gagging. With difficulty I attempt to talk to the anxious girls that are making quite a racket in the back of the car "not long now girls, soon be home and tucked up in your new home Hen Pen". I jam on the brakes, its an emergency the gagging has got the better of me and I wonder have I got Bird Flu or some other nasty disease. 10 minutes later after a drink of water and a few deep breaths of fresh air, I am on my way again and at speed with the fan full blast on in my face. Reconciling my doubtful purchase with the fact that I shall be giving the hens a good life with much more freedom and excellent Poulet cuisine, makes me feel better about the situation...and wondering what Sugar Plum will think of today's purchase.

With wheelbarrow to hand I ease the box out of the back of the car, "no more tilting up for my girls" I mutter, I want happy hens. I wheel the load into Hen Pen, put the box on the ground and untie the string. The youngsters stay put huddled up together not wanting to move. "Uppy Duppy you are safe here, come on girls" I say encouragingly...

The five original chickens are looking on. Monsieur Poulet has his hands on his hips giving me that all important look again. "No good looking at me like that Monsieur, it doesn't impress me none, these chicks are here to stay". Madam Poulette, gives me that sideways glance and fluffs up her skirt and sidles up to Monsieur. Heather, Feather and Attitude are cautiously looking on at a distance and checking out their manicure and smoothing down their feathers. "I truly expect you five to set an example here and get on nicely with these youngsters" I say, hoping.

The youngsters slowly get out of the box, they are very frightened and instantly huddle together and stay like that for several hours. I introduce them to baby mash and fresh water, which they tuck into immediately and later in the evening I settle them in the coup for a well deserved good night sleep...Now for a chat Sugar Plum...

14 - Increasing the Girls

I am now at the stage where I am feeling a little more comfortable with the residence of Hen Pen and don't fear so much that they will peck me to death. Picking the chickens up is still something that I cannot get to grips with, so for now that part of being A Chicken Maid is on hold. I don't see it as a totally necessary act, but for now I just enjoy getting to know my Feathered Friends. Madam Poulette continues to be broody but comes off the nest each day for about 15 mins, during this time I endeavour to collect any eggs she may have laid and don't worry myself silly about picking her up anymore..

Today is Market day and its going to be a big one I am told, I am keen to get there early to see what's going on in Chicken Corner. Feeling a little more confidant this time, as I know more or less what to expect but again it is very hot, so I take with me my face mask and drinking water to avoid gagging and retching. I have arranged to meet up with "The Experts" in the hope that they will teach me the basics in identity. Again it is very popular with the Brits and the French with people buying all sorts, Guinea Fowl, Turkey's, Chicken's etc. Much of the poultry looks really ugly and dirty but most of all very smelly - not my favourite place to be and already I am starting to gag, so I walk away. {B} shouts to me "There's some nice 8 week old fattener's here Carol", "really" I say. "you don't want anymore layers" he adds, "as you will have too many eggs to cope with". I agree with {B} and not sure why I am agreeing anything but these small chickens really do look cute. I have been told that all the chickens are ex battery, instantly I want to rescue them all but I settle for four eight week old chicks; two white and two tan and been assured that they are all hens and not cockerels. The stall holder puts the hens in a good size box by my insistence, don't want my birds couped up unnecessarily in a small box. She ties a piece of string round the box and hands the box to me. As I pick up the box the first thing to happen is that the chicks all slide down to one end as the box tilted. Instantly the chicks are alarmed and start to chirrup like mad. "No problem", I say to the stall holder smiling, who was watching me carefully. My pride being dented due to my mis management of the situation and instantly realising that the smaller box would have been more ideal for transporting my new born's. I tilt the box up hoping for a better balance within the contents but then, they all slide to the other end of the box. I smile and wipe the sweat from my brow, gagging and desperately wanting to run a mile but I stood my ground. {A} suggested that I just pick up the box and carry it to my car! yes I had thought of that but I know how these little lovelies can peck. They have room enough to put there heads out of the hand made air holes and then I would be in even more trouble with the obvious pecking order.

Driving home I wished I had just settled for buying vegetables but here I have four little chickens chirping away in the back of the car, that I have to release into their new Hen Pen home...yet another obstacle to overcome...

11 - To the Market

Everywhere you go in France, the Markets in towns or villages are fabulous; especially for fresh food produce: Meat, Fish, Cheese, Fruit and Vegetables. Local growers and farmers will proudly display their tempting food source, which is always good value for money. Today, I go armed with my Shopping Trolley a sensible choice - don't want my arms being pulled out of their sockets carrying heavy loads, especially on a sizzling hot day like today. Its not long before I have my load - my favourite cheese, apricots to make jam and loads of vegetables. We are both guilty of being vegaholics, loving as much variety of seasonal vegetables as possible piled high on our dinner plates, with our chosen meat or fish dish...

Close by I hear an English person talking, saying that their are some chickens for sale at today's market. I poke my nose in and say "where", I am only curious at this stage. They point me in the right direction and I am off in search - thinking , planning to have "The Conversation" to perhaps a stall holder about keeping chickens...

I am shocked when I get there, so many hundreds if not thousands of baby chick piled high; crate upon crate. The smell is worse, doesn't help that it is so hot. The chicks look exhausted, tired and no doubt thirsty as they scramble over each other for survival. I have an urge to rescue them all but I hold back on this one for now. There are also older chicks 6, 8 weeks old as well as, Turkeys, Guinea Fowl, Ducks, Geese and more. I hold my hand over my mouth as I was now gagging on the smell. I observe the customers English and French buying up at speed all varieties and carrying them away in boxes provided my the stall holder. I learn a lot by just listening in on some of the conversations from the Brits, could not join in - dare not open my mouth for fear of what might come out. I make a rapid exit without the conversation...

It was quite apparent that the majority of Poultry was being bought for eventual food source (the dinner plate). This is something else I cannot get my head around just yet. Up until now I for one have always understood the benefits of growing and rearing your own food source. Carefully grown vegetable without insecticides etc can only be of benefit. The same I feel with meat and poultry. Rearing animals for your own needs, knowing exactly what food they are eating, can only make good common sense. No colouring added to meat and definitely no pumped in water to make them look larger than they actually are. Yes, I want to know what I am eating - nothing has changed. But..but..but..could I eat my own reared chickens knowing how well they have been fed and looked after. Definitely NOT at this moment..