by Meredith Chilson November weather. Cold with an icy drizzle. Howling winds high in the naked treetops. Muddy boots, damp socks and gloves. Creeping shadows early in the evening—dark by dinnertime….and the days that mud freezes and hard balls of snow slam against windowpanes and cheeks as feathered and furry friends are herded into their shelters. I sort of enjoy this weather!
You see, when I come in from outside, I enter my farmhouse kitchen—and on cold, damp days I usually have a fragrant pot of creamy soup or spicy stew simmering on the back burner of the stove. Comfort food! And in our house, comfort food often involves chicken.
The chickens that we eat are always roosters, by the way. All the pullets and hens live out their natural lives here as part of our laying flock, even when they have ceased laying eggs. They have names, personality, and have become friends. If the roosters are named, they are called “Stew” or “Biscuits”, and live a good life, albeit short.