Blessed Are the Beaked, for They Shall Inherit the Earth

Dan Olson came over. He seemed open-minded, and we had a honest talk. I told him that I’d talked to my neighbor directly. (As a sidenote, I also spoke to another neighbor yesterday; I approached her with some trepidation since she will call a spade a spade. Anyhoo, she said she hasn’t ever smelled or had a problem with the chickens.) He seemed pleased and said that that often helps in neighbor complaints. We stood by the coop and talked for nearly 20 minutes. I pointed out where I’ve planted some mock orange and told him I am willing to grow lavender around the coop, too. I gave him a rundown of the upkeep we do: rake out the poop weekly, compost it, and add fresh pine shaving. And twice a year, I rake their run (outdoor area) down to the dirt, shop vac out the coop and bleach the hooey out of it. I then asked him what the ordinance says regarding chickens and told him I was confused about the messages I was getting. Here’s the deal: the code was written thirty-ish years ago when people “didn’t do this sort of thing” so the code is not explicit about chickens so they (City) are interpreting it as best as they can. He said that he’d told me that chickens were not permitted because he interprets chickens as being agricultural and agriculture as not being allowed—save crops and forestry—in the residential zones of town. If, however, he looked at another part of the muni code, residents of Northfield may have three animals. More than that requires a permit from the City Council. Since we have a dog and a cat, I asked if I needed to request a permit. He said I could just wait on that at this time. For now, he said we should try to solve the smell problem. And his assessment of that problem? “While I’m no expert in chickens or what they should smell like, I don’t really smell anything.” As confetti and balloons dropped from the sky and I stepped up to the podium to accept my medal, he cut my celebration short by adding that my neighbor told him it was in the hot summer months that it was really noticeable. I wanted to yell “THE EMPORER HAS NO CLOTHES!” but refrained instead asking what he thought would help, short of evicting the chickens. He thought I should try cleaning up the feces (yes, feces—it was kinda cute) twice per week during the summer months. He asked if I was willing to do that.


After all this fuss and stress and worry, he wants to know if I can swing another couple minutes each week composting my chickens’ poop?!


“Sure thing. That’s no problem, Dan.”


Queue the balloons and confetti. Look for me on a Wheaties box in a store near you.