My Double Axel Saga in My...

This is 30.

WARNING: I'm going to have real talk in this article about my age that I'll forever deny in future clucks. 

Since I turned 30 and began my midlife crisis fading away from show hen life, I have been clinging to recording my go-to, somewhat-challenging trick: the double axel. The video recording started on my 30th birthday, when I thought it would be cool to capture me doing a double axel on this
significant, ancient birthday, as well as on a battered hip. (30-year-old birds bruise easily.) That same week, I left my Hen on Ice show of 4 years and faced midlife confusion, rejection, and existential dread, with some ice skating in between.

I Can't Keep Turning 21

Remember my huge comeback article? Me neither, but it's something I wrote recently. After coming back and pecking out a comprehensive guide for America's circus/presidential candidates, I've had another brief absence from Hen articles. It's easy to come back when I have nothing else productive to do. Now that I've found a new short stint of Hens on Ice work, I once again have paying work getting in the way of my volunteer enterprise I call "The Cackling Hen." This bird accepts donations, gifts, and bribes.

Since turning a milestone age that is no longer cool to announce, I've had multiple moments of realizing not only how old I am, but also that I'm acting the part. What happened? While I may or may not be 30 (I'm not; I'm 20-something!), here are some moments I realized I'm truly (not) 30.

Bon Jour! Where Am I?

What's going on?

Greetings and French phrases from Quebec City! In the tradition of reporting on my embarrassment in foreign lands, Quebec seemed like the perfect spot to dust off my writing wings and peck out a new article. From our first truck stop in the province, I knew it was only a matter of time before I made some sort of fool of myself in this land of francophones.

Having never been to Quebec before, I'd heard it is very French, but how French is that? French like France, or as French as Florida is "Spanish?" I had survived months in France my first year with Hens on Ice with a little more that "bon jour," merci," and "fromage," so I hoped our neighbor to the north would be slightly kinder than the Parisian waiter who chucked my dinner plate at me and wouldn't refill my water. Ah, the city of love.