TL;DR Vintage egg carton triggers fond childhood memories. I’m also seriously dating myself.

I received a very special vintage Woodward’s egg carton recently from a regular client. It sports a 93 cent price tag, and since the last Woodward’s Food Floor closed in the 1980s, this carton must be at least 30 years old.

What makes it extra-special for me is the memories it evokes. My dad sold furniture at Woodward’s all through my childhood. We were a Woodward’s family and  I was a Woodward’s kid. Huge family Christmas parties with candy and presents for every child; REAL Santa Claus (he knew I whined about helping with the dishes!!!) and REAL reindeer in pens outside the store; eating fluted glass bowls of vanilla soft serve in the second floor restaurant while my parents chatted, being fitted for shiny new saddle shoes each school year; and hundreds of times, waiting “at the shoe door” (the exit near the Shoe Department) after the store closed, for Dad to descend the escalator, laughing and joking with his fellow salesmen, while imagining what fun I would have if I was left alone in the big store overnight. I knew the Toy Department inside out, and my fantasy also involved a nice soft bed up in Furniture, and plenty of treats from the Candy Counter.

We bought all our groceries at the Food Floor, and Mom saved the receipts in a popsicle stick box one of us kids had made, because Dad could turn them in once a year for a 15% rebate cheque. Those cheques must have come in very handy for our young family – even covering cabin rental at a resort up island one memorable summer. Woodward’s treated their staff very well in the ’60s and ’70s.

I remember shopping with Mom, my sister riding in the cart while I walked beside. Somehow baby sister got a hold of the egg carton, and smashed at least one egg on the floor before Mom could stop her. I clearly recall looking up in horror as Mom lunged for the carton, my eyes on level with baby sister’s feet; so I couldn’t have been more than four or five.

The best thing about the Food Floor (aside from the live lobsters in the green sea water tank) was the grocery delivery system. At checkout, the clerk packed tall brown paper bags of food into a wooden box, the same size as one of today’s blue recycling bins. Then with a mighty shove, she would send the bin down the chute below her register, along the steel rollers snaking into the deep underbelly of the store. We would go get in our car, and Mom would pull up to the tall racks outside in the parking lot, chant her surname to the man (“F as in Frank, I, M as in Mary, R, I, T, E”) and our groceries would be located, and loaded into the trunk pronto.

Then it was over to the gas station for “two dollars worth please”, and we’d be on our way home, supplied for another week.

My Woodward’s Food Floor egg carton is safely settled on a display shelf now, in my downstairs hatchery / kitchen, where I can enjoy it as I tend my eggs and chicks, and think back to simpler days, when I was just a little chick myself.

TL;DR Can I see your chickens? Maaaybe…maybe not.

Can I see your operation? I’d love to see your coops! I’d to view your [insert breed here] group. All perfectly reasonable customer requests.

Lots of visitors visit our muddy valley to pick up hatching eggs, chicks and older birds. 90% don’t get anywhere near the barnyard and my “closed flock”. I never offer, and often they don’t ask.

Don’t get me wrong, I love to show off my chicken empire. Not only does it reassure customers that this isn’t a “chicken mill”, but I am proud of my birds, and my hard work. And I know it shows in my healthy flocks and well maintained facilities. But chickens have a thousand ways to die, and biosecurity failures are at the top of the list.

Your speck of mud, from your barnyard, can carry disease to my flocks. Disease my birds have no resistance to. And vice versa. Neither of us need that heartbreak.

If asked, I always say the same thing… “sure, if you change your shoes and don’t touch anything”.

The reactions I get vary from “oh, no worries, these are my barnyard shoes, it’s ok if they get more dirty”, to “Um…” sideways glance “sure…”, to “Huh? Why?”, to a flat out “No!”. Once I explain, most folks are happy to cooperate, but there are always a few who won’t play. That’s fine with me too. I leave the ball in their court.

Some folks seem embarrassed as they refuse, and I wonder why. Are their socks holey? Are their feet bare, or dirty? Do they not like my offered shoes? Or are they worried about their foot odor?  Heck, that last one should never be an issue, chicken poop smells a whole lot worse than any feet!

One thing I never worry about is what people think. I simply take refuge in my crazy chicken lady label and let it go, knowing I am doing right by my flocks.

My January Black Copper Marans pullets have started laying, and I am really pleased with their egg colour. I hatched only the darkest eggs, and my rooster is from good dark egg lines. Looks like the selective breeding is paying off.

My same age Olive Eggers are just at point of lay too, I can’t wait to see what shades of olive eggs they lay.

Silly the Silver Sussex broody isn’t very good at hatching eggs. Why? She fouls her nest, and poopy eggs don’t hatch well. Broody hens ‘go’ once a day, usually when they’re up stretching their legs and eating. But not Silly.

To be fair, she is only on her second brood. And her lack of smarts does come in handy.

Last weekend, she hatched four chicks. Two went to another home to keep a lonely hatchling company. I had ten one-week olds in the indoor brooder, and knew they’d be a lot less work for me with a hen mothering them. So after lights out, I took my box of fuzzybutts outside and tucked them under her ample skirts. She clucked softly to each one as she shifted to accommodate them and they were quiet, in silent bliss.

This morning, when I went out extra early to check on them, she was chirring to her twelve bouncy children, showing them where to get breakfast. Good girl Silly! That’s right, they are all yours…

This customer hatched a dozen eggs for her daycare kids:

“We have ten baby chicks running around!!! So much fun!! The children love them! Thanks again I will definitely be contacting you next year!!

Tracy

Friday was hatch day; my homebred Swedish Flowers and Polish, and Gold Laced and Silver Laced Wyandottes all the way from rural Quebec. It was a great hatch.
Most of the Swedes are going to be a young person’s 4H project (just think! I might see them competing at the Saanich Fair in September!), the Polish are for sale and the Wyandottes are my new project bird.
My sister had Wyandottes, they were gorgeous but horrible miserable birds; she must have got a bad line. Lots of people say their Wyandottes are sweet, docile, great layers, so I am giving them a try. Got more eggs in the incubator too, Red Laced Blue this time, from Alberta.
Breeder’s prerogative, I will keep the best ones and sell the rest.