Everything Is Cracking Open

Every morning, I walk into my backyard and gather eggs from my chickens. Speckled browns, soft blues, muted greens, creams and tans make it feel like a real-life Easter egg hunt, every single day. And even after ten years of keeping chickens, that quiet sense of awe hasn’t faded.

Each egg I collect isn’t just food. It’s a reminder. A spark. A fragile, beautiful vessel of life, of potential, of energy passed from one living being to another. In spring, the season of rebirth and fertility, that symbolism is everywhere.

But in our modern world, most of us have forgotten how miraculous that exchange really is.

We’re trained to see food as fast, easy, and endless. Something we buy and consume without thought. Something we deserve instantly, wrapped in plastic, priced low, and ready to toss in the pan. But when you’re up close with the process by raising your own birds, gathering your own eggs, or buying from someone who does, then you can’t help but shift. Your entire relationship with food starts to change.

You begin to slow down. You become more grateful. You notice.

And you start asking harder questions.

Why are eggs so expensive right now? Why are baby chicks hard to find this spring? Why are backyard flocks booming in popularity? Why are the yolks in store bought eggs so pale, tasteless and sad looking?

The answer, in part, is avian flu. But we have to talk about why it spreads so easily. Factory farming practices are a major contributor. When you pack thousands of birds into confined, unsanitary spaces with no access to fresh air or light, disease doesn’t just happen, it thrives. These are systems built for profit, not health. And when those systems inevitably break down, it’s everyday people who feel the impact.

Flock losses, hatchery shortages, and greedy corporate grocery conglomerates have reshaped how many people think about where their food comes from. My local feed store, which usually gets weekly chick deliveries each spring, has been sold out for months. I eventually got fertilized eggs and put them in my incubator; they’ll hatch in two weeks!

But there’s a deeper undercurrent to all this: a collective awakening. A growing desire to divest from food systems that are cruel, exploitative, and unsustainable.

The truth is, most of the eggs sold in stores come from hens kept in horrific conditions. Tightly packed into cages, living in filth, stressed and diseased. These aren’t just poor living conditions—they’re traumatic. And trauma leaves a mark. With everything we’re learning about generational trauma, cellular memory, and the way stress and disease are passed on biologically, we have to ask ourselves: what are we really eating when we eat food born from suffering?

Last Thanksgiving, there were horrifying rumors and undercover videos circulating about Butterball staff raping turkeys, both dead and alive. That’s the industry we’re propping up every time we buy from it.

But there’s another way.

Keeping backyard chickens is more than just a hobby. It’s a tiny revolution. A reclaiming of the sacred. A source of real food security. It’s a reminder that we can divest, even in small ways, from the systems that exploit both animals and people. And it doesn’t just feed your body, it also shifts your mindset.

Because chickens aren’t just egg-layers. They’re affectionate, hilarious, deeply individual creatures. They cuddle. They follow you around. They have preferences and moods. They teach you, if you let them.

And they offer you something that no store-bought egg ever could: a living relationship with the food that nourishes you.

Maybe we’re all in the egg stage right now. Maybe this culture we’ve built is cracking open.

Something is dying. Systems. Stories. Our illusions of endless convenience.

But something else is being born, too. And while we may still be in the goo of it and not yet fully formed, there is possibility here.

We don’t need to panic. We need to prepare. To reconnect. To root into what’s real and remember that life feeds life. That reverence is resistance. That slow food, like slow living, is a sacred act.

And that every egg you gather, every garden you tend, every seed you plant in this unraveling world is a tiny, shimmering act of hope.

Want to learn more about raising chickens, growing your own food, and building a future rooted in something real? Join us inside the Self Sown Garden Club. Where we grow food, medicine, and magic, together.