The other day my Triscuits came with a package of basil seeds glued into the box. According to the instructions, these could be used to start my very own "home farm" (sic): "Let’s all join in and help grow the Home Farming movement together. It can all begin when you plant your free basil and dill seeds from Triscuit today!" It's ironic that the distant manufacturers of the most highly processed food in my cupboard are exhorting me to get back to the land. Something to think about as I plow the window box...

Writer Peggy Orenstein recently discovered that four of her friends have started raising their own chickens to ease the tedium of their domestic lives. You see, Orenstein's friends dropped out of the workforce to raise their kids and they're going a little stir crazy:

"All of these gals — these chicks with chicks — are stay-at-home moms, highly educated women who left the work force to care for kith and kin. I don’t think that’s a coincidence: the omnivore’s dilemma has provided an unexpected out from the feminist predicament, a way for women to embrace homemaking without becoming Betty Draper." [NYT]

Apparently, getting back into the kitchen is much more romantic when the kitchen lacks running water. Orenstein dubs her friends "femivores"--a hybrid of "feminist" and "locavore." She argues that they are at the forefront of a new movement to infuse homemaking with personal meaning and political significance:

"What’s more, though today’s soccer moms may argue, quite rightly, that caretaking is undervalued in a society that measures success by a paycheck, their role is made possible by the size of their husband’s. In that way, they’ve been more of a pendulum swing than true game changers.

Enter the chicken coop." [NYT]

I'm sorry but the chicken coop is not a game-changer. Orenstein's argument is condescending to homemakers and farmers alike. Our society loves to romanticize mothers and farmers, but we prefer to keep the mundane details of their work in soft focus.

Either raising kids at home is an inherently worthwhile pursuit, or it isn't. Adding retro chores isn't going to change that equation. Yes, caregiving is undervalued, but shoveling chicken shit isn't inherently more ennobling than driving kids to Little League. If the latter doesn't do it for you, the former isn't going to magically imbue your life with meaning.

Farming is a real job. A backyard chicken coop is a hobby. Hobbies are great. But why exalt chicken coops above water colors or martial arts or ballroom dancing? On this point, Orenstein succumbs to wishful thinking. She tries to convince us that raising a few chickens is a serious investment in the future: