Mud Walking

Both of my parents were born and raised in Harlem, New York, but the military carried my dad across the world, landing him on the west coast, while books, magazines, and movies seduced my mom into falling in love with the weather and the vibe. California was never my thing; I disliked the constant heat, the dry air, and the facade of beauty, but I did love agriculture. Growing up with horses, chickens, cows, and everything in between sparked this memory. I’ve got some stories about mean roosters—Rhode Island reds, to be exact! Maybe one day I’ll tell you about the time my dad tore the chicken coop down with a 2x4 because he didn’t believe the rooster attacked! Anyway, I’ve managed to tuck these events away until my mind decides to spew them out onto some sort of canvas. This guy is not a Rhode Island Red but he’s a rooster nonetheless.

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