Farm-girl Freedom

There’s a song by Alan Jackson that says, “She's gone country, look at them boots. She's gone country, back to her roots. She's gone country, a new kind of suit. She's gone country, here she comes.”

You know what? I like that.

There’s a lot of freedom in going country.

I love throwing on my rubber boots and trekking out to the coop in the morning to let out the girls. My hair isn’t done. My pajama pants are still on. And my face hasn’t seen a slick of paint. It’s a beautiful thing…maybe not for my neighbors, but for me…it’s refreshing.

My mother lived on a farm until age five, and my father grew up on a full-fledged hobby farm.

I believe that country blood filtered into my veins:

Age Nine –

We moved to the farming city of Hamilton. While our house was being built, we rented a small house on a pig farm.

Five months later, we moved into our home across from a cow farm. On the lot next to us was a field of tall weeds. I decided to make a fort using my dad’s clippers. I cut out a spot and put down a blanket. It was fanciful fun until I noticed that I had company. Hanging inches from my head was a large yellow and black spider and a white and brown-striped one was crawling up my leg.

Sister Carmen styling in her jeans.

Me, trying to be a pig whisperer

Age Ten –

My dad taught me how to shoot a 22 rifle. He also taught me that when the safety is off, I had to keep it pointed at the ground and not at my sister. (What can I say? I was hyper.)

Dad also taught me how to fish and bait my own hook.

Aunt Sandy's horse obstacle day

Age Eleven –

My Aunt Sandy, who has a horse farm, taught me how to ride.

Age Fourteen –

I mucked out my first horse stable at a friend’s house.

Age Seventeen –

I got bucked off a horse named Hershey. (But I rode that sucker for a good three minutes before he jolted me into the cornfield!)

Age Twenty-Six –

I rode with my 21-month daughter on a horse named Midnight.

Age Twenty-Seven –

Cordero Family Farm began with two hens and six chicks. 

Tiffany and Lily

The Little Girls

The Splendor of Simplicity

Today we made yet another trip to Tractor Supply (the beautiful haven that it is) and returned home with not only feed and pine bedding, but lo and behold…we brought home six little babies: three yellow chicks and three black chicks. They’re adorable!

So now we have two hens outside and six chicks in the sun porch. And you know what?

I love it.

I love getting up in the morning and petting my hens. I love watching those baby chicks at rest. I love to hear their small chirps. There’s something very special and significant about enjoying God’s creation.

Oftentimes, I’ll sit on the dirt in the chicken run and watch my girls. They are so carefree and simple. And being out there with them is simple and beautiful. I feel the breeze on my face and lately, the sun too. When I’m with them, my heart is at peace.


There is such splendor in the simplicity of God’s creatures and resting in His creation. Thank you God for those moments of respite.

Our Six Chicks

Psalm 148:7-13 

Isabella and friend Hannah

“7 Praise the LORD from the earth, you great sea creatures and all ocean depths, 8 lightning and hail, snow and clouds, stormy winds that do his bidding, 9 you mountains and all hills, fruit trees and all cedars, 10 wild animals and all cattle, small creatures and flying birds, 11 kings of the earth and all nations, you princes and all rulers on earth, 12 young men and women, old men and children. 13 Let them praise the name of the LORD, for his name alone is exalted; his splendor is above the earth and the heavens.”

When Nature Calls

Until recently, we hadn’t assembled our chicken run off the coop. So Jonathan and I had created a makeshift pen in one of our garden boxes. It seemed like a fabulous idea. The girls could get some fresh air, scratch around, and have a little freedom.

The wire on the temporary pen was about two and half feet high and since we’ve clipped the girls’ wings I thought, No problem. I can leave them alone and head inside with Bella. I’ll periodically check on them through the kitchen window.

Bella and I had been inside the house for maybe ten minutes when I glanced outside. In the pen, I saw Tiffany happily pecking at the dirt but Lily was nowhere in sight. My heart lurched. Oh no! Where’d Lily go? That naughty girl hopped the fence!

I made a quick scan of the backyard to find Lily frantically circling her coop. Throwing on my rubber boots, I raced toward Lily. She dodged around the side of the coop and started propelling her body against the wall. Her wings were flapping frantically as she kept thumping into the coop. I couldn’t figure out what this crazy bird was doing!

Then I realized I had shut the coop door. Immediately, I unlatched it and ushered Lily toward the opening. She hopped inside without hesitation.

Wondering what was so urgent, I opened the top of the nest box to see what she was doing. Lily was hunkered down in the straw nest. Then she suddenly released several loud squawks.

That’s when I realized…the poor girl was giving it the old heave hoe. As any woman knows, when its time, its time. Lily needed to lay her egg, and she was determined to do it in her coop. She’s such a dignified hen.

I felt really bad that she had to suffer the trauma of getting into her coop because giving birth to an egg is trauma enough! So that day I told Johnny we’ve got to set up the real chicken run so this doesn’t happen again. And thus, it is now complete. Tiffany and Lily are happy chicks without a worry in the world.

So the moral of the story is this…when you gotta go, you gotta go. You can’t stop nature from running her course.

Why Chickens Are Therapeutic

            1. FRESH AIR

Every morning, Isabella and I slip on our rubber boots and winter coats. Then we trod out to the chicken coop, a.k.a. the Chicken Chalet, and see if the girls have laid any eggs. That crisp morning air tastes so good and the pine bedding and alfalfa in the coop smells great. There’s a certain sweetness to the smell of alfalfa straw. When I go to Tractor Supply, I like to sniff all the bales of hay and straw. It’s delightful…and maybe a little weird.

By afternoon, I’m missing my girls’ sweet feathery faces, so Bella and I boot-up and head out to the coop. We pet Tiffany and Lily, check their water supply, and feed levels. In the evening when the girls are settling down on their perch, I open the back door to say goodnight. I stroke the feathers around their necks and they coo a soft “bawk, bawk, bawk.” To which I’ve translated, “Goodnight Mommy.”

2. CARDIOVASCULAR STIMULATION

We haven’t staked the chickens’ fencing around the coop yet, so naturally I feel bad for them. What chicken wants to be stuck in their coop all day? So while my mother was over, we let the girls roam our un-fenced backyard. It went well. We kept them corralled on my property and were able to put them back into the Chalet without a hitch. So when Jonathan came home from work I thought, Let’s do it again! So we opened the door and the girls hopped out. It was going fine, until Isabella grabbed a stick and began to chase the birds. I’m yelling, “Stop Bella!” But now she’s laughing and having a blast at seeing those chickens flap and run. I suppose to a two-year-old, chasing chickens is a real adventure. However, Isabella was spooking them the wrong way. I tried to jump in front of the girls, but those wily hens sidestepped me and proceeded to scamper up the lawn of my neighbor behind us. They were really booking it and my heart was pumping. I thought, Please don’t let my neighbor look out his window and see me chasing my chickens through his yard! While Jonathan apprehended Bella and her stick, I managed to herd the girls against my neighbor’s fence and shoo them in the opposite direction. Flapping and bawking, they made their way back onto our yard. Lord have mercy! What a workout. Needless to say, I learned my lesson. 

The next day, the chickens played in my garage.

 3. NUTURING OUTLET

In December, Jonathan and I suffered a very sad tragedy. I was two and half months pregnant, when we learned that our baby didn’t have a heartbeat. It has been devastating for us. Grieving the loss of a child is the deepest pain I’ve ever experienced. Our baby was expected to be born on July 9^th and now I’m restricted from getting pregnant until possibly July due to the medical issues that were connected with my molar miscarriage. My sorrow and longing for a baby has been indeed great. But oddly enough, adopting these two chickens has been like balm to my broken heart. Nurturing and caring for them has been a new and unexpected way of coping with my grief. When I hold my chickens, lovingly stroke their feathers, see their eyes close, and feel a soft purr in their chest, I feel happy.

At first, I was overwhelmed that if we wanted the two hens, we had to pick them up within a week. But my spontaneous-no-worries husband was confident that we could pull it off. I’m glad I trusted his judgment.

Tiffany and Lily needed a home, but the truth is…I needed them too.

Living in the City...But Country at Heart

The girls hanging out in the shower

We’ve been studying small-scale farming for going on a year now. Our dream is to have at least five acres, a couple of goats, a half dozen chickens, a horse or two, a few apple trees, maybe some pear trees, and a vegetable garden.

If we could afford it, we’d do it tomorrow. But that just isn’t the case. So we’ve thought and thought. What can we do right now here in the city? The answer:

Chickens.

We’ve been researching coops, chicken breeds, necessary supplies, etc. But the one detail we hadn’t settled on was the when. That was until we got a call last Monday. A friend wanted to give us her two Ameraucana chickens, but the catch was…we had to pick them up that week.

So we went into game mode. Jonathan printed a coop blueprint off the Internet and went to the Home Depot for the supplies. We took a trip to Tractor Supply (my new favorite store) and bought layer feed, watering jug, feeder, poultry grit, bedding, alfalfa straw for the nest boxes, and a heat lamp.

Next came the building of the coop. That was a process, and the process took a lot longer than anticipated. We began building on Wednesday, and it still wasn’t completed by Saturday, even though that was the day we picked up our chickens.

So I improvised.

That night our hens, Lily and Tiffany, slept in the makeshift coop I prepared in my downstairs stand-up shower. What a sight that was. But oddly enough, the girls liked the shower coop because they both surprised me the next day with eggs! That’s my girls! Well-behaved, sweet, and flexible.  

Sunday we completed the coop and moved the girls into their very own Chicken Chalet. And Monday morning, they said “thank you” with two more eggs.

I think I’m in love.