In the heart of Des Moines, on what was once called Cherry Street, is an old farmhouse that had cows, a barley field, fruit trees and chickens. It was a seven-acre farm that provided for a family of eight, back in its day.

The farm was subdivided and is now just a half-acre with only a pear and walnut tree left to harvest. However, being from Montana, I figured that I could resurrect the farm. So, with a shaft of wheat in my mouth, I tilled up the rich earth for a vegetable garden and decided to "git me some chickens!"

Truth be told, many city dwellers are trying their hand at playing farmer, and Urban "Chickenry" is becoming more and more common.

Perhaps folks are getting tired of wimpy eggs that come from miserable, tube-fed hens and vegetables that have less nutrition than the cardboard containers in which they're packaged. Even "cage free" doesn't mean what you think and "organic" isn't a guarantee, either.

After weeks of research and talking to poultry aficionados, I decided to get three hens - providing enough eggs for my home and a few extras for friends. Now, I had to decide on the type of chicken - they are as varied as breeds of dogs. Also, did I want organic? I decided on Plymouth Barred Rocks and put an ad on the Internet to assist with my hunt.

Of all the luck, a chicken breeder way down in Centralia spotted my ad! However, Tom Durgin was an expert and even showed his chickens across the country. Oh yes, they actually have show chickens! "These girls are elephants - you'll see!" Tom chuckled over the phone.

Now, I needed to find a coop, get the watering and feeding units, straw, organic feed, oyster shells, sand, and wood chips. The girls were coming and there was no time to lose. After searching all over the Internet, I found the perfect coop. Yah, and bad luck, again - the builder was clear up in Stanwood!

The coop arrived two days before "my girls" were delivered and the breeder wasn't kidding. "Holy mackerel, these chickens are elephants! 'Feed me'," I mocked. However, they were gorgeous and calm. "Hey, this chicken stuff is easy", I arrogantly mused.

One slight hitch, the coop was not even big enough for three normal sized hens, let alone exhibition hens! "What do I do, now", I moaned.

This is where you find out who your friends are. I called Chuck Brastrup, a neighbor down the street. He put on his Tool Time outfit, grabbed his equipment and we dug dirt to lay hardware fencing under the coop (this protects the hens from predators) and then he pounded T posts, we rolled out chicken wire and Terry, his wife, helped whip together a covered run, so that the girls had room to do their "Scratch-Scratch-Look 'n' Peck" dance.

We were done...until I realized that the ladder, to the roosting area, wasn't wide enough. I had to lay down inside the coop, in the poop, in order to push the first "elephant" up the ladder. Her legs flopped off each side and she looked like a fat kid that belly-flopped onto a diving board!

Off to the phone - "Chuck...HELP!" Two trips to the lumberyard, later, and he had whipped up a stunning ladder that the girls could actually use.

But we still weren't done. I remembered that the girls might need a brooding light to stimulate laying on dark days. "Chuck, um...whatcha doin'?" I can't even describe the process we went through to get an extension cord out to the coop. I was laughing so hard I couldn't see through the tears and had to cross my legs, so that I didn't wet my pants!

Ah, but the story has a fine ending. The Brastrups and I are still friends and we share a couple dozen, huge, brown organic eggs each week.
I've attached a cowbell to my walking stick and am training "the girls" (Charlotte, Ella and Mamie) to be herded from their coop up into the main yard, where they roam the lush green grass, looking for protein snacks - anything that moves.

In time, I'm betting that I can just clang the bell and they'll come a runnin.' Have you even seen a chicken run? Cross your legs!
I don't know if everyone should get chickens. However, do your homework, unless you're clever with a shovel and hammer or have great friends to help you out.

Keep in mind that you can only have three fowl in Burien, five in SeaTac and up to ten in Des Moines (with enough property). Roosters are a "No."

Even with all of the work and the never-ending poop scooping - "the girls" are a delight. I love their soft cooing, comical clucking and occasional BWA-A-A-A-K, when they lay one of those big "brown beauties" in Ryan's Roost.

Feel free to ask questions; I'm now somewhat of an expert, as the self-appointed president of the Des Moines Chickeneers.

Des Moines resident Lee Ryan is an actor, creative writer and voice talent. She can be reached in care of hteditor@robinsonnews.com.