MY GRANDPARENTS had a little farm near Issaquah, Washington. Though I grew up in the city, I was a country girl at heart and loved to visit them and their farm animals, especially the chickens.
An inventor by trade, my grandfather built the hens and roosters a house, which I thought of as a chicken palace. Two huge, netted, dome-shaped outdoor areas on either end were joined by a large, roomy chicken house, complete with roosts and nesting boxes. At the start of each visit, I quickly greeted my grandparents and then made a run for the palace.
In my young dreams, I had always imagined myself peering into the nesting boxes, finding freshly laid, gleaming white eggs and bringing them to my proud and grateful grandfather. In reality, my…