I pulled an assortment of things from the fridge this morning to heat up for the chickens. I'd saved them leftovers I knew they'd like but I didn't want, like meat scraps/fat from the organic meats we'd eaten, a cup of pumpkin puree I didn't make muffins with, the bowtie pasta that was a little too al dente. My girls are molting and need all the help they can get. Then I saw the containers in the back of the fridge. I couldn't remember the origin of most. But I opened each and none were fuzzy and none smelled bad. So I added them to the pot warming on the stove. I should've used a bigger pot! Then I added the remains of the oatmeal canister to soak up fluids. And as I stirred the mess of meat & veggie & pasta studded sludge on my stove, I started thinking of this rhyme: Pease porridge hot Pease porridge cold Pease porridge in the pot Nine days old. Have you ever looked up the origin of that poem? My chickens were eating better than some peasants used to long ago. Pease porridge was anything anyone found to eat, all cooked in a pot that was added to each day. Some of the stuff in there WAS 9 days old. Some was recent. Grains were added to extend whatever meats and veggies were available. It was mush and it was better than nothing. My chickens really were were eating better than some peasants used to long ago. And then I realized my chickens were eating better than some people do NOW. Wow. Counting my blessings and about to give my daughter a history lesson on food, before we go tend my flock. And I'll be thinking a little differently about food all day today. I'm really spoiled, you know? Most of us are. Wow. Thanks for letting me ramble, and have a great day!!