From City Life to Chicken Wisdom: A Journey South of the Thames
If a clairvoyant had told me in 2003 that I’d end up living south of the Thames in Croydon, I would’ve shrugged and walked away without paying. Yet here I am, more than two decades later, deeply grateful I took my sister up on her offer to rent her flat in South Norwood.
After ending a fourteen-year relationship and leaving Islington, my new neighbourhood felt like the countryside. Door-to-door commute to motiroti studios was just forty minutes, and I soon realised the blessing of having my garden. Creativity flowed, and peace quietly took root. Even after motiroti closed its doors, I continued to freelance as an artist, developed my healing practice, and grew food in my garden.
When Eggs Skyrocketed, So Did an Idea
In January 2023, the price of eggs rose by 30%. It didn’t affect me—I was vegan at the time, uninterested in eggs or meat. But necessity breeds invention, and my endlessly ingenious mother casually suggested, “You loved keeping chickens as a kid—get a few now. You’ve got the space, and we’ll enjoy the eggs.”
At first, I dismissed it. But her words lingered.
The Coop: Crafting a Space for My New Flock
With help from friends, we built a 4x4m predator and weather-proof coop. Sourcing hens, however, wasn’t as easy as ordering online. The farms were hidden in remote corners, far from public transport. But persistence paid off. My first two hens, Victoria and Camilla, came via an unexpected route—through a friend’s divorce. A few days later, I added three more hens and a rooster – each, a different breed, colour, personality, and charm.
The Chaos of Chicken Math
I thought I could manage just a few. But then came the phenomenon known as “chicken math”, and things escalated. From driving over two hours to collect rare Swedish Flower Hens to hatching my own chicks, my backyard became a thriving chicken haven. I adopted two rescued hens, Sita and Geeta, and even received Desi chicken eggs from Karachi, lovingly sent in an ice cream tub. As the flock grew, so did my affection for them.
The Healing Power of Chickens
It wasn’t just about the eggs. These birds became an unexpected source of joy and healing. Customers—especially mothers and children—coming to buy eggs often asked to meet the flock. Some moments were pure magic: autistic children squealing with delight, laughter echoing through the garden. Chickens—typically not fond of being touched—would gently allow to be held and cuddled, especially Afreen, who pecks at my jeans if I ignore her for too long. The bond is real, and it’s reciprocal.
Learning to Slow Down
Chickens are intuitive; they feel your mood and reflect it back. Their presence has taught me to slow down, to be fully in the moment. In stillness, they become calm and responsive. I’ve learned to cherish quiet moments, to trust the rhythm of life. When one of my hens is poorly, I hold her close, her comb pressed to my temple, whispering words of strength. More often than not, this tender act helps her heal.
The Fox Incidents: Harrowing Lessons
But life with chickens isn’t always idyllic. A month into being a chicken daddy, while sipping coffee with friends, a fox attacked. I saw it grab one of my hens. In a panic, I threw a slipper—hitting it just right. It dropped Snowy, wounded but alive. I immediately reinforced the fence with spiked, galvanised mesh.
For eighteen months, there were no incidents. The birds returned to their coop at dusk, and I’d lock them in. But I noticed a small gap high in the fence and ignored it. On Easter Sunday, I came home late to an Armageddon scene. My headlamp lit up headless chickens across the garden. A frightened fox, bloody-mouthed, scrambled away—through that same neglected gap.
By dawn, I had fixed it. But the damage was done. I’d lost three roosters and nine hens in a single night. The fox hasn’t returned, but the memory stays with me—a sharp reminder of the fragility of life and the cost of complacency.
A Garden Transformed
My garden, once lush with flowers, herbs, vegetables, and frogs, has changed. Pollinators came, friends walked barefoot through its calm. Now, thanks to my flock’s foraging instincts, the plants are gone, the frogs have left, and the grass is a memory. It’s become their playground. The grape and kiwi vines still thrive—and are constant sources of amusement for them.
I’ve come to accept that the space now belongs to them. Even as I miss my old garden, I’ve embraced the new energy, the noise, and the joy. Still, boundaries matter. I’ve created a “poop-free zone”—a fenced-off patio area where friends can relax in a restyled calm.
Finding Balance Through the Flock
In a world that often feels chaotic and heavy, my chickens offer grounding and calm. I may not be creating art as prolifically these days, but in their quiet company, I’m rediscovering balance. Without words, my observation skills have sharpened. Creativity is still here—waiting, just like that first chick that hatched on the summer solstice.
I know it will return, not only through paint or photography, but also in the love and care I give to this feathered family.
My learning curve has gone steep. As my responsibilities grow and interest deepens, everything has started to connect seamlessly. Between online communities and my obsession with research, I’ve found a rhythm that fuels my growth every day.
Here’s the thing: despite the lack of financial gain, the joy and fulfilment from raising happy, free-range, organic hens far outweighs any profit. I’ve gained something more valuable—peace, purpose, and a surprising sense of community. These chickens have taught me about life, patience, love—and for that, I’m endlessly grateful.
Have you ever considered raising chickens? Or do you have a story about how animals have transformed your life? Share your thoughts and experiences!
Some useful links:
Backyard Chickens, Sourcing Pets in UK
If a clairvoyant had told me in 2003 that I’d end up living south of the Thames in Croydon, I would’ve shrugged and walked away without paying. Yet here I am, more than two decades later, deeply grateful I took my sister up on her offer to rent her flat in South Norwood.
After ending a fourteen-year relationship and leaving Islington, my new neighbourhood felt like the countryside. Door-to-door commute to motiroti studios was just forty minutes, and I soon realised the blessing of having my garden. Creativity flowed, and peace quietly took root. Even after motiroti closed its doors, I continued to freelance as an artist, developed my healing practice, and grew food in my garden.
When Eggs Skyrocketed, So Did an Idea
In January 2023, the price of eggs rose by 30%. It didn’t affect me—I was vegan at the time, uninterested in eggs or meat. But necessity breeds invention, and my endlessly ingenious mother casually suggested, “You loved keeping chickens as a kid—get a few now. You’ve got the space, and we’ll enjoy the eggs.”
At first, I dismissed it. But her words lingered.
The Coop: Crafting a Space for My New Flock
With help from friends, we built a 4x4m predator and weather-proof coop. Sourcing hens, however, wasn’t as easy as ordering online. The farms were hidden in remote corners, far from public transport. But persistence paid off. My first two hens, Victoria and Camilla, came via an unexpected route—through a friend’s divorce. A few days later, I added three more hens and a rooster – each, a different breed, colour, personality, and charm.
The Chaos of Chicken Math
I thought I could manage just a few. But then came the phenomenon known as “chicken math”, and things escalated. From driving over two hours to collect rare Swedish Flower Hens to hatching my own chicks, my backyard became a thriving chicken haven. I adopted two rescued hens, Sita and Geeta, and even received Desi chicken eggs from Karachi, lovingly sent in an ice cream tub. As the flock grew, so did my affection for them.
The Healing Power of Chickens
It wasn’t just about the eggs. These birds became an unexpected source of joy and healing. Customers—especially mothers and children—coming to buy eggs often asked to meet the flock. Some moments were pure magic: autistic children squealing with delight, laughter echoing through the garden. Chickens—typically not fond of being touched—would gently allow to be held and cuddled, especially Afreen, who pecks at my jeans if I ignore her for too long. The bond is real, and it’s reciprocal.
Learning to Slow Down
Chickens are intuitive; they feel your mood and reflect it back. Their presence has taught me to slow down, to be fully in the moment. In stillness, they become calm and responsive. I’ve learned to cherish quiet moments, to trust the rhythm of life. When one of my hens is poorly, I hold her close, her comb pressed to my temple, whispering words of strength. More often than not, this tender act helps her heal.
The Fox Incidents: Harrowing Lessons
But life with chickens isn’t always idyllic. A month into being a chicken daddy, while sipping coffee with friends, a fox attacked. I saw it grab one of my hens. In a panic, I threw a slipper—hitting it just right. It dropped Snowy, wounded but alive. I immediately reinforced the fence with spiked, galvanised mesh.
For eighteen months, there were no incidents. The birds returned to their coop at dusk, and I’d lock them in. But I noticed a small gap high in the fence and ignored it. On Easter Sunday, I came home late to an Armageddon scene. My headlamp lit up headless chickens across the garden. A frightened fox, bloody-mouthed, scrambled away—through that same neglected gap.
By dawn, I had fixed it. But the damage was done. I’d lost three roosters and nine hens in a single night. The fox hasn’t returned, but the memory stays with me—a sharp reminder of the fragility of life and the cost of complacency.
A Garden Transformed
My garden, once lush with flowers, herbs, vegetables, and frogs, has changed. Pollinators came, friends walked barefoot through its calm. Now, thanks to my flock’s foraging instincts, the plants are gone, the frogs have left, and the grass is a memory. It’s become their playground. The grape and kiwi vines still thrive—and are constant sources of amusement for them.
I’ve come to accept that the space now belongs to them. Even as I miss my old garden, I’ve embraced the new energy, the noise, and the joy. Still, boundaries matter. I’ve created a “poop-free zone”—a fenced-off patio area where friends can relax in a restyled calm.
Finding Balance Through the Flock
In a world that often feels chaotic and heavy, my chickens offer grounding and calm. I may not be creating art as prolifically these days, but in their quiet company, I’m rediscovering balance. Without words, my observation skills have sharpened. Creativity is still here—waiting, just like that first chick that hatched on the summer solstice.
I know it will return, not only through paint or photography, but also in the love and care I give to this feathered family.
My learning curve has gone steep. As my responsibilities grow and interest deepens, everything has started to connect seamlessly. Between online communities and my obsession with research, I’ve found a rhythm that fuels my growth every day.
Here’s the thing: despite the lack of financial gain, the joy and fulfilment from raising happy, free-range, organic hens far outweighs any profit. I’ve gained something more valuable—peace, purpose, and a surprising sense of community. These chickens have taught me about life, patience, love—and for that, I’m endlessly grateful.
Have you ever considered raising chickens? Or do you have a story about how animals have transformed your life? Share your thoughts and experiences!
Some useful links:
Backyard Chickens, Sourcing Pets in UK
