On Chickens and Their Priorities

There are many things we like to believe about chickens.

That they enjoy the sunshine.
That they live peacefully in open pasture.
That they are, in some quiet way, content.

All of this is true.

But it is not the full story.

The truth is that our hens are deeply, unapologetically obsessed with bugs.

Not in a casual way. Not as a light snack.
But with the intensity of something closer to sport.

Every morning, as soon as they’re let out, there is a brief moment of stillness. A pause. A scan of the land. And then—without warning—the work begins.

Scratching.

Relentless, deliberate scratching.

They tear through the grass with surprising precision, kicking back layers of soil in search of movement. A single discovery—one small worm—is enough to trigger a kind of frenzy. Others notice. They gather. There is a chase. Sometimes there is theft.

There are no alliances.

It is, in many ways, the most honest part of their day.

This instinct—this constant foraging—is exactly what makes pasture-raised eggs different. A hen that spends her day moving, searching, and eating a varied diet of grasses, seeds, and insects produces eggs with deeper flavor and richer yolks.

But standing there, watching them run full speed across the pasture in pursuit of a single worm, it’s hard not to see something else.

Not just instinct.

Joy.

There is something unmistakably enthusiastic about the way they do it. The urgency. The commitment. The refusal to give up even when the bug has clearly disappeared.

If you’ve ever wondered what your eggs looked like before they made it into the carton, the answer is this:

They looked like a small group of very determined hens, absolutely convinced that the next patch of grass holds something worth chasing.

And, more often than not, they’re right.