Welcome To The Shit Show; why I decided to trade urban hell for chickens.

There comes a point in everyone’s life when you ask yourself, “Do I want to spend the rest of my days commuting to a job where people’s problems become my problems, dealing with crime statistics on the evening news, and being bombarded by endless political bullshit?” For me, the answer was a hard, resounding, hell no.

Let me paint a picture for you: urban hell in all its glory. Mornings that start with police sirens and end with a broken soul after constant burn out from dealing with things I cared less about than the traffic report. I was exhausted—mentally, emotionally, spiritually, people-ally. I had reached my breaking point, where Karen’s complaints about who is wearing a mask and who wasn’t vaccinated were enough to make me contemplate spontaneous combustion.

But the last straw wasn’t just the people (though they certainly helped). No, it was the endless stream of bad news—crime rates going up, politicians shouting at each other like they’re in some sort of dystopian reality show, the lock-downs, mandates, discrimination and hate that spewed from my fellow humans during COVID and my own desire to escape it all. I needed out, and not in the “let’s take a spa day and decompress” kind of way. I needed an actual change. A big, life-altering shift that would pull me out of the noise and put me somewhere quieter, calmer, where my main concern wasn’t whether my Wi-Fi was stable but whether the chickens had laid an egg.

Chickens, Not City Life

So, I did what any sensible (or borderline crazy) person would do—I bought a bunch of chickens. You see, I’ve always been drawn to the idea of a slower, simpler life. And after the 378th update about the state of the world, I realized it was time to unplug from the chaos of the outside world and plug into my own little farm of chaos. Chickens don’t jack your car and go for a joyride. They don’t try to sell you insurance or talk to you about their cousin’s third divorce. They just cluck around, occasionally give you an egg, and poop all over the yard. Honestly, it’s refreshing.

Of course, let’s not romanticize this too much. I didn’t move to a magical homestead where the birds sing Disney songs and I frolic in a field of wildflowers (okay, okay, so I kinda do, but they’re peonies and not wildflowers). I’m more likely to trip over a rogue chicken and curse my way through mucking out the coop. But there’s a strange sort of peace in the chaos of farm life that city life never gave me.

Escaping Crime and Politics (Kind Of)

I know what you’re thinking: “But what about the crime and the politics?” Sure, the world didn’t suddenly become less insane just because I traded my high heels for rubber boots. Crime still exists, and politics are still a dumpster fire. But on my little slice of the earth, my biggest concerns now are whether a fox will try to steal my chickens or if my kids will destroy my garden (again).

Here’s the thing: I wanted a real change of pace. Something that didn’t involve making small talk about office drama or worrying about the latest social media outrage. I wanted dirt under my nails, fresh air in my lungs, and the satisfaction of knowing I did something real today, even if it was just collecting eggs and keeping my kids from riding the goats.

Chaos, but It’s My Kind of Chaos

Sure, I’m still exhausted, but it’s a different kind of exhaustion now. Instead of being tired from pretending to care about humanity, I’m tired because I spent the day wrangling chickens, planting tomatoes, and convincing my children that mud is not a food group. It’s chaotic, it’s messy, and it’s unpredictable—but it’s mine.

So here I am, embracing the chaos of homesteading with open arms (and an occasional glass of wine). Trading urban hell for chickens wasn’t the easiest decision, but damn if it wasn’t the best one I’ve ever made. Welcome to The Snarky Sprout, where we raise chickens, children, and a whole lotta hell—and we do it with a lot of sarcasm and plenty of laughs.

Conclusion: If you’re feeling burnt out by the world and the people in it, take a note from me: there’s no problem a little chicken coop building and some fresh farm air can’t solve. Or at least make slightly more bearable.