Growing Up and Moving Out

Something occurred to me this morning while I stood hunched over an inch of slippery, slimy chicken poop in the bottom of a kiddie pool, grabbing madly for 51 chicks desperate to not be caught.  This is why nobody wants to be a farmer any more.  There I was, splattered with manure, on the verge of falling on my face, while the rest of the world snored away. Continue reading Growing Up and Moving Out