The Boston Poultry Expo, America’s first and oldest poultry show, first met in 1849. No longer held in the city, it now occurs in the small town of Oxford, Massachusetts, set up in an indoor horse arena. It is a fine event where you will find friendly people who are passionate about poultry. I like driving out there to see the birds and talk to the breeders. I’ve even bought a few pullets from exhibitors. I’ll be there on Saturday. I’ve no intention of buying anything, but it never hurts to look. If you are coming, please let me know! I’ll be at the concession stand (there’s usually some good chili) at noon. I hope to see you then.

By the way, the above vintage photo is not the Boston Poultry Expo. It has no identifying writing on it. Alas, these days the judges don’t wear bowlers

I love Halloween. I like sparkly fairies in tutus and small shy dinosaurs. I absolutely adore lit pumpkins. I love walking through fallen leaves at night, the way lit by a flashlight, and laughter in the air. But, I’m not one for scary. I abhor horror movies and have no desire to step foot in a haunted house. I don’t like costumes with blood and guts. I do, though, love the odd and the weird and the strangely spooky, and that’s why I’ve been saving this photo for the week before Halloween. Bunnicula has nothing on the story behind this photograph.

What tale is being told here, you ask? I see a ghost rabbit in the girl’s lap. Do you? I think that the story begins with this sentence:

Margaret Mary heard the gardener’s footfall on the path. He would not reach her here in the field under the oak trees. She knew how to stop him.

Maybe not. What do you think the opening line to this Halloween story is?

I’ve never kept a rooster. Too much noise. Also, my hens don’t free-range, and in the close confines of the pen, the girls wouldn’t be able to ask the roo for personal space (you know what I mean.) Also, I don’t want to deal with aggression. Today’s breeders almost never select for temperament. It’s all about production and feather color. However, in days past, it was essential that your rooster was nice;  when you had to walk among your flock to step out of the house, malevolent roosters went right into the stew pot. The friendly ones were kept to protect the hens, fertilize the eggs and to become pets.

I have a number of photographs of roosters being snuggled by children, and as guests at parties. I’m fascinated by the photographs of roosters pulling carts. I’m not sure how this worked. I have snapshots of harnessed roosters, so I know that these weren’t simply staged photos (most of the pics of children in goat carts were taken by itinerant photographers traveling the neighborhood with their goats, but that’s another story.) How do you steer a rooster cart? How far can you go? I’ve yet to read a mention about rooster training in any of my vintage poultry books; this must have been common knowledge not worth writing down. Alas, the art of rooster carting has been lost! Does anyone with a pet rooster want to revive it?

A Nest Egg is a fund set aside for a rainy day. It’s money meant to be stashed away and added to until it becomes substantial. It’s thought that the term is derived from the fake egg that one puts into a hen’s nest to get her to lay in the coop and not leave her eggs hidden under a bush or up in the hayloft. I’m not so sure about that. I think that it might mean the very valuable egg itself.

The Beginner in Poultry by Valentine, published in 1912, states that a winter egg in New York City sold for 5¢. Converted into today’s money (adjusting for inflation) that’s more than $1. So, a dozen eggs in a NYC grocer’s in February would have cost $13.00. That’s substantial. No wonder there are stories of women saving their egg money and putting a child through college with it.

In any event, by the 1950s fewer people kept chickens, but the idea of a nest egg had taken hold. Right now the money that I get from selling eggs ($4 a dozen to friends) is put into a dish near the phone in the kitchen. Instead, perhaps I should use these banks to put my egg money in.

A bank that attracts money and compliments? Awesome!

Eggs now sell for far less than they did in 1912, and college costs far more. Still, I am inspired to put my egg money aside and save a bit of a nest egg. This past weekend I canned grape jelly for the first time. I used a borrowed pot. Perhaps the egg money will be used for my own canning supplies. Where do you keep your egg money? The sock drawer? A jar hidden in the closet? There’s something about egg money that makes a person want to keep it as a secret stash. Where’s yours?

Before the internet, on-line hatchery catalogs and YouTube videos, the only way to see different poultry breeds was to go to a poultry show. Breeders brought their best stock.

In 1924, J.C. Johnson, of Cottage Grove, Oregon printed up postcards of his Silver Spangled Hamburg Rooster and proudly advertised that his birds were show winners. He sold “eggs and young stock” throughout the Pacific Northwest.

This is another one of his roosters. Gorgeous! (Am I right in thinking that this is a Silver Laced Polish?)

I think that going to a poultry show remains the best way to learn about chicken breeds. I was at the Fryeburg Fair this weekend, so of course took a look in the Poultry Barn where I lucked out to see the judging.

I like to see which birds pleased the judges, and so try to improve my own eye for quality.

(BV = Best of Variety, BB = Best of Breed)

I think that J. C. Johnson would have wanted this cockerel in his flock.

I know that I’ve added  a polka-dotted bird to my wish-list of chickens to get.