A true story involving pajamas, flip-flops, no bra, several chickens, some unfortunate language—and FaceTime.
There are moments in homesteading that make you feel deeply connected to the land.
You walk outside in the early morning.
The sun is coming up over the Arizona horizon.
The air is cool.
The chickens are softly clucking.
You breathe deeply and think:
This. This is why we moved here.
This is not one of those stories.
This is the story of the morning my chickens escaped.
And, unfortunately, there were witnesses.
It Started Like Any Other Morning
I had just gotten up.
And when I say “just gotten up,” I mean JUST gotten up.
Pajamas.
Flip-flops.
Hair not fixed.
Teeth not brushed.
No bra.
Basically, I was dressed exactly the way any reasonable person dresses when she believes she is simply going outside for five minutes to feed four chickens.
I wasn’t going to Walmart.
I wasn’t expecting company.
I wasn’t filming a YouTube video.
I was feeding chickens.
The chickens do not care what I look like.
Or so I thought.
I walked out to the chicken tractor/coop, opened the door and went inside to feed them.
For some reason, the door didn’t latch behind me.
I didn’t notice.
The chickens did.
FREEDOM!
Now, these chickens had never gotten out before.
So apparently the moment they realized the door was open, they collectively decided:
TODAY IS THE DAY.
And out they went.
All of them.
I turned around and suddenly realized my chickens were no longer where chickens were supposed to be.
They were OUT.
Loose.
Free-range without authorization.
And for reasons I still cannot fully explain, I completely panicked.
You would have thought four chickens escaping their coop was a Level 5 Homestead Emergency.
My brain apparently did not consider the possibility that these chickens lived here, knew where their food was, and probably weren’t planning to hitchhike to New Mexico.
No.
My brain went directly to:
OH MY GOD, THE CHICKENS ARE GONE!
And So the Chase Began
Picture this.
A grown woman.
On 40 acres in rural Arizona.
In pajamas.
Wearing flip-flops.
No bra.
Hair looking like it had recently survived a windstorm.
Running after chickens.
And screaming.
“GET BACK HERE!”
“NO!”
“GO THAT WAY!”
“STOP!”
As though chickens are famous for responding to verbal commands.
They are not.
I would also like to acknowledge that some additional vocabulary may have been used during this incident.
Okay.
There was cursing.
Possibly quite a bit of cursing.
I don’t remember the exact words.
The witnesses probably do.
Have You Ever Tried to Catch a Chicken in Flip-Flops?
Here’s something nobody puts in the homesteading books:
Chickens are surprisingly fast.
Especially when the person chasing them is wearing flip-flops.
Every time I thought I had one cornered, it would change direction.
I’d change direction.
My flip-flop would change direction.
Parts of my body that desperately needed a bra would change direction.
Nobody was moving together.
Meanwhile, the chickens appeared to be having the time of their lives.
This was their Shawshank Redemption.
They had tasted freedom.
I had tasted panic.
At one point I’m pretty sure the chickens were no longer trying to escape.
They were just running because I was running.
Which meant I was essentially creating my own emergency.
Eventually, Everyone Was Captured
Somehow—and I genuinely don’t remember exactly how—I managed to get all four chickens back inside.
Door closed.
Door LATCHED.
Chickens accounted for.
Crisis over.
I stood there catching my breath, probably looking like someone who had just completed an obstacle course designed by farm animals.
But I had done it.
I had saved the flock.
No chickens lost.
No predators involved.
No injuries.
Just a little dignity left scattered somewhere around the chicken tractor.
I went back inside.
And that’s when I learned something.
There Had Been an Audience
My granddaughter Neala had been on FaceTime.
With my son-in-law’s family.
THE ENTIRE TIME.
Let me repeat that.
While Grandma was outside running around the property in her pajamas and flip-flops, braless, screaming at chickens and using language perhaps not traditionally associated with wholesome family homesteading…
Neala was on FaceTime.
Apparently providing live coverage.
I had no idea.
None.
Some families FaceTime to show the grandchildren playing.
Our family apparently provides live broadcasts of Grandma losing her mind over poultry.
I can only imagine the conversation on the other end.
“Is Robin okay?”
“I think so.”
“What’s she doing?”
“Chasing chickens.”
“Is she wearing pajamas?”
“Yes.”
“Is she swearing?”
“Also yes.”
Welcome to JDK Ranchette.
What I Learned That Morning
First:
Latch the chicken door.
Second:
Chickens getting loose is apparently not the catastrophic event my brain initially believed it to be.
Third:
Never assume you don’t have an audience.
Especially when grandchildren have electronic devices.
And fourth:
If you’re going to chase livestock, wear a bra.
And actual shoes.
These are the practical homesteading tips nobody tells you.
The Instagram Version vs. Real Homesteading
Social media can make homesteading look very peaceful.
Beautiful sunrise.
Cute chicken coop.
Woman in adorable overalls carrying a basket of perfectly clean eggs.
Maybe she’s drinking coffee from an enamel mug.
Her hair is in a charming messy bun that somehow required 45 minutes to create.
Meanwhile, at JDK Ranchette:
Grandma is braless in pajamas screaming,
“GET BACK IN THE DAMN COOP!”
while unknowingly being broadcast to relatives via FaceTime.
And you know what?
I think our version is better.
Because this is what building a homestead actually looks like sometimes.
We didn’t grow up doing this.
Dan and I didn’t spend our lives raising livestock.
We’re learning.
Sometimes we get it right.
Sometimes we don’t latch the chicken door.
And sometimes the lesson involves four escaped chickens, flip-flops and an unexpected viewing audience.
And I Still Love Those Chickens
Once everyone was safely back inside and my heart rate returned to normal, life went on.
The chickens went back to being chickens.
They scratched.
They ate.
They laid eggs.
They had probably forgotten the entire incident within five minutes.
I, however, learned a valuable lesson.
Actually, several.
Always latch the coop.
Chickens are faster than they look.
Grandchildren may be broadcasting at any time.
And perhaps most importantly:
Before engaging in livestock management…
put on a bra.
Just in case.
Another completely glamorous day of modern homesteading at JDK Ranchette.