HEN vs. HOA

As you should have read by now, I recently bought my first hen house! It had been a long-time goal of mine, and now that it's accomplished, I can proudly say I'm an adult. And as much as I love it, I'll tell you it's not all sunshine and rainbows like the educational mortgage and homeownership video told me. Some growing pains were quick fixes: from a minor DIY AC repair to overcoming the existential dread of living alone. And with all the fun of buying toilet paper and waiting on couch deliveries came an unexpected battle: the HOA.

Hen's Guide to Buying a Hen House!

My latest excuse for not writing: Buying a hen house!

It's true. I recently bid farewell to all my money and bought my first hen house. The experience was an all-consuming emotional roller coaster that truly gave me respect for adults. I don't know how they do it daily, but I applaud them. I must have done a respectable job pretending to be one, because I now hold keys to the private hen house of my dreams! (within my modest Hen budget)

After spending months consumed by adult terms like "mortgage," "interest rate," and "house," I decided to create The Hen's Guide to Buying a Hen House so you can learn and laugh from my stress and triumph.

#FirstWorldProblems

Since assessing how embarrassing my room decor is, I'm home again to the embarrassment after a Hens on Ice rehearsal period. It's always nice to get out of a hotel room and enjoy the comforts of the coop. That is, when those comforts work. As much as I hate leaking hotel room toilets, busted faucets, and sensitive smoke alarms that detect my indoor smoking habit, at least the front desk or fire department will send someone to fix the problem. At home, my parents either cope or don't notice the problems, and they don't like when I call them at work with complaints. These household problems may be trivial and the epitome of "first world problems," but they still piss me off and long for a hotel repairman.

Home Is Where the Stalker Is

A place for lucky ducks.

While I was in Colorado for my hen friend's wedding, I also had the freedom and free time to flutter around my old pecking grounds. When I did the math, I could hardly believe it'd been 9 years since I moved away from Colorado. Time flies when you have wings.

Like any return to an area we've called home, it's bittersweet. It's joyous to visit some favorite spots, it's sad seeing some beloved places that are changed and unfamiliar, or no longer there. All the sights are filled with memories, both good and bad, but memories from home are strong, and I enjoy revisiting and reflecting. It's also nice that I lived there long enough to not get lost or need a GPS.