I am a devoted wife, loving mother, friendly neighbor, and I’ve recently been told - in violation of a city ordinance. I own an acre lot inside the Chattanooga city limits, and I have chickens living in my backyard. And I’m not alone. There are hundreds of families inside the city who keep backyard chickens on fewer than five acres.
If you had asked me three years ago if I’d ever own chickens, I would have laughed.
A puppy? Maybe someday. But chickens? Those are for farmers.
So in 2015 when we bought this house, our major criteria were: in-ground basement so we don’t die during a tornado, a level backyard for the children to play in, and a location not too far from my husband’s job. Finding a home in a central area on a large lot for less than $140k was a win (and impossible in today’s market). Being inside the city limits so that I could have a free library card was even better. Prior to the COVID restrictions and mandates, the Chattanooga library system and programs were one of my favorite things about living in Chattanooga.
And then 2020 happened, everything shut down and the kids and I were home. All. The. Time. I had an excellent garden that year. I’m industrious and economical, and I like to be busy in meaningful ways. I learned to compost kitchen scraps, make soil from leaves, and grow tomatoes from seeds.
As two weeks turned into a year and the “new normal” meant searching for activities outside and groceries that weren’t guaranteed to be in the store, suddenly backyard chickens (which had seemed eccentric before COVID) started to make sense.
A childhood friend out of state has been sharing pictures of her chickens for years and gushes about how much she loves them. My neighbor, who grew up on a farm, told me how easy it is to tend to a flock and promised to help me learn what they needed and how to care for them. YouTube videos and Pinterest boards are full of coop plans and enrichment activities. Gradually, with the world looking like a hot mess (farmers burying their crops, cities being burned and looted, groceries shelves being empty) and experienced chicken keepers sharing how simple it can be, the idea of keeping a flock in my large backyard didn’t seem as crazy.
So, in 2021 my husband brought home the most useful Valentine’s Day gift I’ve ever received: tiny chicks. My kids were tickled and loved holding them, watching them, feeding them, and naming them. Everyone in the family got to choose and name their chick. In honor of the first female vice president, and to help us remember when they hatched, my husband named his Kamala (who has lived up to her name and emerged as the flock’s leader). My daughter named hers Cupcake and Rainbow, and my son’s is Fluffy. They love their chickens and make them special treats, even saving parts of their meals to share with their birds (my children and chickens equally enjoy macaroni and cheese and strawberries).
As a hobby, chickens aren’t necessarily cost effective in the same way that having a pet isn’t, but they are the most beneficial pet for a home gardener. They don’t get social credit for how hard working they are. Not only do backyard hens lay organic eggs high in omega-3s and protein, they are also organic pesticide. They scratch the ground for grubs, beetles, ants, roaches, earwigs, worms (and everything else), and they can catch mosquitoes and stink bugs mid-air. Remember that army worm outbreak last summer? My hens were my heroes. My girls are also turning my clay-packed ground into fertile soil thanks to their nitrogen rich droppings as they peck at the grasses, clovers, and “wildflowers” growing in the backyard.
In addition to helping in the yard, the chickens are invaluable teachers to my children. By being the caregivers of creatures smaller, more vulnerable, and more delicate than themselves, my children are learning gentleness, patience, and compassion. They learned to work together as a team to train the girls to come back into the coop (pro-tip: corn) at the end of the day. They’ve learned to be watchful, gentle protectors and defenders. They’ve learned to spot the difference between a turkey vulture and a red-tailed hawk from the sky. They’ve learned responsibility and stewardship as they daily check for eggs and feed and water the chickens.
My children have learned to be generous with what belongs to them. When washing and preparing strawberries and apples, we now cut off a little extra, “for the girls.” When we have an extra dozen eggs (about twice a week), we share with friends and neighbors. Do you know how beautiful the face is of someone who has been surprised with a carton of colored eggs? Sometimes we even have the treat of hearing an elderly friend or neighbor share memories of when they were kids, and everyone had chickens. They share memories of yesteryear when their parents and siblings worked together and enjoyed each other’s company. The nostalgia is palpable.
Let me remind you that all of this is a violation of what the city says is acceptable. I live on one acre within city limits, and there is a city ordinance restricting the ownership of chickens to owners of five or more acres. Who within the city limits can afford five or more acres?
President Biden and Bill Gates have warned of impending foot shortages and viral variants; the world is bracing for war, maybe even nuclear war; breadwinners are threatened with job losses in an uncertain economy; farmers are warning that seeds and fertilizers are shockingly expensive and hard to come by; inflation is astronomical.
And my chickens are going to be seized from my property because I live on one acre. Is food security a privilege only for the wealthy in Chattanooga? Is peace of mind a privilege only for the wealthy in Chattanooga? Are backyard chickens really only for those who had the good sense not to buy a home in Chattanooga? Enforcement of such an ordinance in this unsteady world climate seems like discrimination.
As I sit writing this outside on a weekend morning under a dusting of spring pollen, I hear the sounds of neighborhood dogs barking greetings and announcements, songbirds calling to their mates, and the gentle scratch of chicken feet in the leaves near my seat. They’re weeding the garden for me while I sit, and my children are playing in the sunshine. This is a microcosm of peace in a world that is descending into chaos. Yet I am a hopeless hen mom unless the city of Chattanooga changes its ordinance to help families help themselves.
Ashley Fleming