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Blouse by Tulle, cashmere scarf from China, pants by Forever 21, boots by Cole Haan.

When I was a little girl, and even when I was a not-so-little girl, I grew up on a beautiful farm just outside of Newberg, Oregon, overflowing with piles of kittens, blueberries galore, a super sweet nanny goat, a pasture full of mooing cows and squaking chickens roaming freely. I don't want to talk about the rooster - but I actually will another day because it's a pretty funny story....I have so many memories but there are two specific memories about chickens that stand out.

I wouldn't go as far as to say that chickens are the most cuddly animals on the planet, but when I was about up to my Dad's knees in height, I would valiantly chased the chickens until I couldn't breathe any more in attempts at holding a chicken in my arms, if only for a few moments. Days and months spun by and still they managed a clean get-away. Then one summer day, with the sun glistening through the powerful oak tree, and the smell of the honeysuckle bush in the air, I saw a black and white striped chicken minding it's own business under the delicate plum tree. Not wanting to miss my opportunity to yet again attempt to hold a chicken, I slowly stepped inch by inch, literally, until I was within arms reach of her. Still not moving, she allowed me to pick her up ever so gently and hold her in my arms at last. She was a very sweet chicken and didn't mind letting me hold her for quite a while. I was surprised, seeing as she had gotten away from me numerous times before. But I enjoyed every second. 

Soon enough, she gave me the signal she was ready to move on. I set her down and she waddled off to do whatever else chickens do. And my heart smiled. Ah the simple pleasures of the farm life. I tell this story, because my boyfriend asked me today if in order to eat chicken, would I butcher the chicken myself? I thought on it for a bit, reminisced about my fond memories from the farm, and I have to say I wouldn't have the heart to do it. He then pointed out that it's just interesting that we can't justify doing those things with our own two hands, but we'll let someone else do it...an interesting thing to ponder. Will I keep eating chicken after that conversation? Yes. Does it get me thinking about the world beyond Jennica, beyond Portland, beyond Oregon. Definitely.

On the flip side of my previous heart-warming story (unless you loath chickens), I later found out that we indeed butchered our own chickens for a short stint growing up (*tear)...It turns out when my brother was about five years old, he was quoted while being a part of butchering chickens saying, "This is so fun!" Apparently I don't know how to have fun.

I'm still going to tell myself that girls know how to have more fun.

Jennica