Why You Should Keep Chickens and How to Begin

Author’s Note: Welcome to Reports from the High Wood, my Sunday essays for paid subscribers. These are tangible tales of hard skills, lessons, and life from our homestead, meadow, and forest. If you’ve read my free reflections about the seasons, lost towns, and life on a dirt road, you know I’m a father and dreamer, graying at the edges but green at heart. Last year we raised twelve chicks to adulthood and today I’ll guide you to raise your own. Keeping chickens is simpler than you might think and in our neon modern world, it becomes a quiet rebellion against the greasy ease of store-bought eggs and whispered “you just can’t.” I’m no expert—just a man who’s built a coop, carried dead animals to the woodline, and found joy with my daughter by my side. Unlock this essay and all Reports by joining as a paid subscriber. In doing so, you support our family’s work, join us in watching the good green pattern emerge, and build something real with us.

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You can keep chickens. You just can. It’s not a towering peak or even a difficult climb, but a gentle slope down a country lane. It is a dream of fresh eggs, yolks the color of aspen leaves in autumn, and hens clucking through your yard, a stake in the earth—a stake in your place—that drowns out the hum of modernity’s slick whispers of “you know you can just buy that.” Last spring, we brought twelve chicks home for our daughter, her eyes wide as she clutched sun-warmed spring grass from our field, shouting, “We need to keep them warm, Papa!” We built a coop from scraps, watched eleven thrive, and buried one that faltered—a little light snuffed out too soon. I’ve raised animals before, buried more than I would like to count, but each new project with my little girl has taught me anew that this is work worth doing, a fight against the neon whispers that kill our good green dreams. It’s not complex but it asks for courage, a bit of grit, and a plan. I’m here to walk you through it—cheap coop, chicks, and all—because subscribers like you keep this meadow humming with life and I want you to taste the joy we do. Start now and by late summer you’ll hold eggs in your hands and make memories with your children. Here’s how we begin.