I moved back to Brooklyn just under two months ago.  Although formerly a city-dweller, three years at Adamah in the peaceful countryside of Lichtfield County had gotten me used to a few things.  Quiet, for one.  Also unlimited farm-fresh eggs, as orange as the sun.  And the possibility that at any moment, I might have to shlep compost.

We kept forty chickens, see, in our compost yard at the farm.  Once a day, someone would bring the three or six overflowing garbage cans of compost waste from the dining hall.  Feeding 100 people for three meals a day, that kitchen generated a lot of psolet, or leftovers, which we happily considered not waste, but part of the food chain: the chickens would eat it (indescriminate omnivores, they happily peck at animal, vegetable and mineral), and then we’d and lay nutrient-rich golden eggs.  After the hens had had their fill, we’d mix the food waste with raked leaves or mulch from the goat barn and form huge piles to make compost for the farm.  The biological activity in the piles heats them to about 140F, and a shovel-full of the stuff on a cold morning releases a delightful trail of steam into the morning mist.  A handful of compost contains more micro-organisms than there are people on this planet, and when spread over the fields, these little critters help to make a rich, nutritious base for the vegetable crops.

So okay,  I moved to Brooklyn.  Can I still have chickens, fresh eggs, steamy compost on misty mornings?

It turns out I can–with a few variations.

We have 10 hens in our backyard, and compost pile — although the compost pile is in a rat-proof bin, so the chickens aren’t eating all our food waste, just the few ears of corn or bread that we know they’ll eat quickly (leaving food around in the city = uninvited guests, and it’s not sukkot yet.)  The compost comes not from the Isabella Freedman dining hall, but from the Hazon office, where the remains of staff lunches (peach pits, old lettuce, corn husks, tea and coffee grounds) are stored in a bucket in the freezer, which I bring home with me when its full.

And the hens live in a small coop (built on site, since if it was delivered assembled it wouldn’t fit through our back door), and run around and terrorize the bugs and scratch at the dirt and dustbathe and yes — lay eggs!  They’re still teenagers, which means that they aren’t fully up to laying speed.  But the one egg every other day, golden and flavorful, reminds me of the good old days on the farm…and good days to come.

More photos here!