I like Alice Walker. I like chickens. Or actually, I think I have learned that I like the idea of Alice Walker and the idea of Chickens. There’s a slight difference and I think it took Walker’s The Chicken Chronicles for me to learn it.
I’ve always been a fan of Walker’s writing but while reading her books or poems, I always find myself troubled by something. Some niggling little something that I shush away because I LIKE ALICE WALKER.
I’ve always been a fan of chickens and I’ve told TW and those kids who want chickens that someday we could have them. But some niggling something about that troubled me. But, I shushed that away too because I LIKE CHICKENS.
So reading The Chicken Chronicles, I have finally decided to those niggling little feelings that something’s not quite right or not quite as wonderful as I might wish. I no longer want chickens. I’d like to visit them. I’d like to babysit a few for awhile. But I don’t think I really want to own them. I’d get attached. They’re messy. No. I’ve decided I don’t really want chickens.
I’ve also decided what it is that has troubled me about Walker – I still like her writing. I still admire her as a woman. I’ll keep reading what she writes. But I don’t think I’ll be overlooking the little things about her that do truly bug me. Like calling herself mommy while writing letters to chickens. That’s totally an Alice Walker thing and that’s fine, it’s who she is. Great. But I don’t really like it. I don’t feel it. I’m not that kind of woman. I’m ok with her being the kind of woman who writes that way, I just don’t have to pretend I like it.
Other than that, The Chicken Chronicles was interesting. I liked it – overlooking the mommy stuff, of course. I liked the idea of her writing to chickens. I like her honesty when it comes to learning how to live with the chickens, how to take care of them, how she didn’t always do the best job or take the best care because she didn’t know. Didn’t understand. Had to learn. That’s really what I like about Walker, that’s what always keeps me overlooking the little things that really bug me about her work. Underneath it all – she’s real and she’s honest and there’s not enough of that in the world.
And I’ve re-subscribed to her blog because I liked the book enough to want to keep reading more of Walker’s letters to her chickens. Check it out at Alice Walker’s Garden. (Thank goodness Agnes of God is ok… the most recent entry scared the holy hell out of me. Not Agnes of God!… )
Between this and Woefield you’ve had a lot of poultry in your reading diet lately.