Chickens in a Kitchen

A lesson in opportunity.

When I started this, I sort of wanted to catalog a process of healing and be honest about what it looked like recovering from two major things: politics and PTSD. What does it look like when you do a job for 20 years and then just, one day, have the kind of life event that forces you to reconsider everything you’re doing and you’ve done — and then just…do something different?

But the thing is, that takes planning, and I’m a planner. I like everything to be settled and straightforward before I start. But the thing also is that, in my life, that’s nearly impossible. I have three children under the age of 6. I have an unpredictable job. And, like, it’s also just life.

I’m working on starting a podcast, right? And I’ve been working on it for months. Is it the right time? What’s the right format? What should we talk about? What should our branding be? What is the plan. I love a plan. What’s the plan for my life? What’s the plan for this Substack? What’s the plan.

And then, I spent a whole summer making content on a tiny farm in Nashville and didn’t use any of it, because there wasn’t a plan.

And then, some chickens broke into my kitchen.

I mean this literally. Four chickens of varying levels of intelligence saw an open door and knew that inside, somewhere, were blueberries, and then they waited until we were at church and they broke into my kitchen. They weren’t subtle, either. Since chickens have no sphincter, they left calling cards everywhere. They pecked the dining room rug for crumbs. They investigated the fridge. They watched a little TV. They didn’t go upstairs because, apparently, stairs are intimidating to chickens.

Satisfied they’d taken their opportunity, they went back out the door they came in, except for Kevin, who was found still eating cat food in the sunroom.

Its not really a profound event but maybe the walnut-brained dinosaur successors have it right, and I’m just overthinking it. Like, I had a plan, and we all know how that went, because I’ve spent the last 18 months talking about it.

Again, a few days ago, I pointed out on Twitter (X?) after a particularly busy day, that a bunch of new news and politics followers were bound to be disappointed because my social media accounts are now almost exclusivly chicken content. I was kind of embarrassed, to be honest. I made my living on news and politics. And then a bunch of people responded by saying they liked the chicken content better. The world is full of politics, mostly content that divides. Chickens, though, are universal.

And then a bunch of people asked if I had a Substack.

Of course.

I mean, even people who subscribe here occasionally ask if I have a substack.

So instead of explaining to you, today, what’s happening and why I have a plan for the coming weeks, and wow, wait until you see what I have in store, I’m here to tell you I’m taking some different advice. Chicken advice. When the door is open, go through it.

Welcome to my personal farm diary. It has no plan. It will have recipes, and very soon, I’ll figure out what should be paid content so that if you’re on the Emily Zanotti Support Subscription, you get something for your efforts. But get ready, because it’s coming every day. The plan is no plan. You’re just gonna get primo farm content. From a tiny farm in the middle of a medium-sized city, living a country life down the street from the Dollar General.