I hope y’all took your crazy pills for this one because I sure didn’t. No, I opted to abandon all logic and took the road less traveled, straight into Crazytown, USA where I now reside as mayor. Let’s just say that, If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to take a two hour road trip with twenty-five live chickens in the back seat, then look no further as I am here to put your curiosity to rest. Go ahead, take your time and read that last sentence as many times as you need to… I’ll wait. Good? Good.

So grab a straight jacket and make sure you booked a room with a padded cell. Might not hurt to check in with your therapist, either. Everyone strapped in?

Let’s Go.

From Austin, we head north on that dreaded stretch of highway they call I-35. Now I don’t know about you, but I’d rather take a hot tar bath than drive even a mile on this parking lot they call an interstate. I’ll admit that it had been years since I’d traveled north on I-35. For the better part of a decade, the stretch of I-35 between Austin and Waco had been under heavy construction and was the stuff of nightmares. However, I was pleased to find out that they’ve recently finished that construction, something I never thought I’d see in my lifetime. More on this to come, but I’m getting a bit ahead of myself.

As I’ve stated in previous posts, we live on a small farm on the outskirts of Austin. Our primary products are pasture raised poultry and free range eggs, and our processor is located in Hillsboro, hence this day trip.

It was an early rise; 3:00am, to be exact. After the usual morning routine, it was time to load the birds for transport so I could be on the road by 5:00am. This is where things got weird. Somewhere in the planning process, I decided to take my daily driver, a short bed Ford pickup truck. After loading the large ice chests and other needed items, there was no room left in the bed for the birds. However, their transport crates fit perfectly in the back floorboard area due to the back seats being designed to flip all the way up and out of the way. Remember, this was all part of the plan. This is where I should also remind you that I have a perfectly good long bed farm truck that I could have have fit everything in the bed of, perfectly. But no, I refuse to include logic in my planning! With the birds loaded in the back seat, off we went.

Let’s talk a bit more about this farm venture of ours for a minute. I’ll keep it brief, but it lends itself well to the insanity that is about to ensue. We’ve had the land for about a decade now and we never intended to build it into a farm; we simply wanted to have a place that was still close to everything, yet provide some peace and quiet and room to stretch our legs, so to speak. Well, one thing led to another, and here we are… farmers in training. My wife has had egg laying hens for years now and she is very knowledgeable when it comes to chickens. I, on the other hand, am learning but still right next to clueless when it comes to anything chicken related. The meat birds are my project, and this was our maiden voyage to the processor.

One of the things that you must do when preparing your birds for processing is stop feeding them anywhere from fourteen to twenty-four hours before they arrive at the facility. This is for obvious reasons as you wouldn’t want them to be stuffed with digesting food, making the processing that much messier. In my naive mind, I figured that doing this would stop them from pooping altogether. Oh contraire mon frère, they indeed continue to poop. The fun part is that their poop is no longer of a solid nature yet a runny, watery, splattering mess. Here’s where the fun begins…

Back on the road, I’d driven for about fifteen minutes or so when my sense of excitement quickly turned into one of wonder. I heard what resembled the sound of a squeezed ketchup or mustard bottle that is nearly empty. We all know that squirting sound that, if you’re still twelve years old at heart like me, typically results in that chuckle followed by “Ewww, who did that?” as your family rolls their eyes at you. My newfound sense of wonder was almost immediately confirmed as that unmistakable smell quickly filled the cab of the truck…

Chicken SH*t.

Ah yes, that tried and true smell that will turn even an iron stomach like mine as it infiltrates your nostrils and soon finds its way into your mouth. Oh, the fun we’re having now as we settle in to the fact that we still have an hour and a half to go.

It was a cool and drizzly morning, not the most ideal situation for driving with your windows down but it was the more pleasant option, so down they went. It was at this point that I learned another valuable lesson in how not to be stupid when planning the logistics of transporting live chickens. You see, when your doing seventy-five miles an hour down an interstate with the windows down, there’s a lot of wind. No, I’m not an expert in the field of aerodynamics, but I’m flattered at the thought. The second part of this equation involves chicken feathers. Lots and lots of chicken feathers. You can probably guess what happens when gale force winds interact with the feathers of a chicken, right? Right. They fly.

So let me paint this picture for those of you that might not have the most vivd imagination. Here I am, at 5:30am, doing 75 miles an hour down I-35, windows down, with chicken feathers billowing out of the truck and, as an added bonus, floating around the cab of the truck and sticking to EVERYTHING. My soundtrack? The soothing sounds of squirting excrement along with a rhythmic cadence of clucking. You won’t hear that on Top 40 radio, I assure you. If I had a dollar for every person that slowed down as they passed me to take a second look at the lunatic with the feather factory, I could’ve filled up my gas tank… twice. I can only imagine how many stories were told over dinner that evening as the faces across the table were frozen with looks of disbelief.

All the shenanigans aside, although that’s easier said than done, the drive north was uneventful and quite nice as the recently completed construction gave way to multiple wide lanes and well lit roadsides, almost as if I had the spotlight the whole way there, although I would’ve preferred total darkness on this trip ;). On a typical weekday morning commute, most folks forego the traditional cup of coffee and opt for a nice, steaming hot mug of stupid before they venture out on the roadways. Well they must have all taken this day off as the drive offered considerate drivers, zero traffic jams, and merging that was straight out of the driver’s ed handbook. I never thought I’d say this about I-35, but I enjoyed the drive. This just may be the beginning of a love story where everyone is rooting for the underdog. We’ll just have to wait and see.

I arrived at the processing facility at 7:00am and checked in with the front office. Next, I was instructed to unload the transport crates and place them in the receiving area. Remember that part above where I spoke of the runny, watery, splattering mess? Well that mess was all over the crates… that were in the back of my truck… which was part of my plan. I unloaded them as carefully as I could but some of that mess still made its way onto my clothes. Now that, my friends, is a good time (somebody please help me). I made it through the unloading process and was fortunate to have an audience of seasoned pros that were also dropping off their birds. They all had a good laugh at the rookie, but they were friendly about it. I then made my way to their restroom and gave it the ol’ freshman try as I frantically wiped away at the numerous blobs of excrement on my shirt and pants. As meticulously as I planned this sh*tshow, you would think I’d have thought to bring a spare shirt in the least. Nope, not this guy. I wore those stains as badges of honor.

I bet you think this is the end of the story, don’t you? Absolutely not. We’re only getting started.

I had about four or five hours to kill before I could pick up my birds and head home so I took some beautiful back roads into downtown Hillsboro. I’ve driven through the eastern side of Hillsboro countless times as I-35 runs right through it. There on the access roads you’ll find every big box store, an endless array of corporate restaurant chains, and a hotel at every block. I never knew Hillsboro to offer anything more than this and boy was I wrong.

As I turned onto Waco Street, the main strip through downtown, I was greeted by one beautiful historic building after another. The main square is a picture perfect example of small town, USA, complete with antique shops, an old movie theater with that classic marquee straight from the 1950’s, and one of the most impressive county courthouses I’ve ever seen. I’ve long been a sucker for a Texas County Courthouse, and I’ve remained convinced that the Williamson County Courthouse, located in Georgetown, Texas, is the most beautiful of them all. Well, today I stand corrected. This courthouse takes first prize, hands down.

After a brief stroll around the square, I decided to grab some breakfast. Having never been to this part of Hillsboro, I relied on Google to guide me to the most revered place to eat and it pointed me to the R & K Cafe, just north of the main square. I hopped out of my truck and, as a reminder of the recent lunacy, the wind stirred up a nice batch of chicken feathers as they flew out of my truck and floated in the surrounding air. There was a group of State Troopers walking out into the parking lot as this happened and they all had the same “double-take and head cocked to the side in confusion” look as they witnessed this not-so-proud moment. I nodded as I walked past them, praying that they didn’t get hit with the aromatic hints of what lied within the stains on my clothes. Anyways, back to the cafe.

Little cafes like this have a special place in my heart. From the warm greetings upon walking in, to the bustle of the small town regulars talking about the most recent goings on about town, you can’t help but feel warm and welcome. Time slows down in places like these, and I implore you to experience this for yourself as you’re sure to find one in almost every small town in America.

I ordered a coffee and a water, and went with my usual breakfast order… Two eggs over easy, with bacon, hash browns and toast, and a single pancake to top it off. As I’ve eaten at many a small town cafe, I’ve found that it’s hard to screw up a good old fashioned, traditional breakfast. I can’t recall a time that I’ve ever been let down and today was no different. That being said, I almost became emotional as I took bite after bite of possibly the most delicious breakfast I have ever had. I even told the waitress that I was certain that they’d brought my great-grandmother back to life and had her back there in the kitchen doing what she loved most… making good food for good people. I don’t know how you can make something as simple as eggs, potatoes, and bacon taste as if you’re trying them for the very first time, but they have somehow figured it out. I am lost for the right words to describe this experience, but I was literally almost brought to tears as this meal took me back to an incredibly special time in my childhood. I took it all in, savoring every bite, and washed it all down with one of the tastiest cups of coffee I’ve ever had. I was one happy individual.

After paying my tab and thanking the amazing staff for such a wonderful experience, I decided to take a drive through the downtown neighborhood streets. The drizzle had turned into a steady rain, so it was a fitting next step. In addition to a picturesque main street, the surrounding neighborhoods were filled with many amazing old Victorian homes, most of which had been well kept and/or recently restored. Each street offered its own unique beauty, and every passing driver offered that increasingly rare small town wave. I would’ve gotten some pictures of this but the rain had picked up quite a bit so I just kept cruising instead.

I found a quiet parking space on a side street near downtown and decided to do a little bit of writing in my truck on my laptop. A seemingly silly observance, but one worth mentioning, was the old-style, timed traffic light that hung over the intersection of two mostly quiet streets. As I sat and watched the intersection remain empty, the lights went from green to yellow to red like clockwork. It brought with it the realization that the exponential population growth in the Austin area has made these old timey lights a thing of the past so it was nice to experience one again. If you haven’t guessed it by now, I’m a fan of the simpler things in life.

After an hour or so of writing, I felt like getting out and walking around a bit. Unfortunately, the rain had settled in so that wasn’t an outdoor option. I decided to look for some local museums that might be open on a weekday and came across a Google listing for the Roadside America Museum. Upon arrival, even though the hours showed the museum to be open, it was locked up. I called the number on the listing and it was immediately answered by a friendly voice. I explained that I was in town for the day and hoped to take a tour and, to my astonishment, the kind gentlemen came to the door and let me in! How’s that for small town service?!

Once inside, the proprietor, Carrol Estes, started flipping light switch after light switch. As the main room slowly lit up, I was amazed at what I saw. This place is home to one of the most impressive collections of 50’s and 60’s memorabilia that I have ever seen or heard of. From statues of the many corporate mascots of yesteryear to countless old signs and toys, it was impressive to say the least. The collections are so vast that you could spend an entire day here and never come close to seeing everything.

As the tour ventured from room to room, the jaw dropping increased and the eyes continued to widen. Mr. Estes was a custom street rod fabricator in his earlier years and his classic car collection was the coolest that I’ve seen to date. One of the most notable stops on the tour was at a General Store that he built inside of the building. From the moment you walk in and step on the creaky old wood floors, you’re met with the wares of old. From old hardware offerings to glass medicine and soda bottles, you’re granted a glimpse into a much simpler time. The thing that struck me most was the smell of the place. I don’t think I can accurately describe it, but it was a smell that only time can produce. That woody overtone mixed with hints of tin and a bit of dust almost froze me in my tracks. My old man and I used to love visiting old places like this and this smell was present in every one we ever stepped foot into. If he was still alive and with me on this day, he would have sat there and taken it in for hours if you’d have let him. It was a wonderful reminder of some of the good times we were able to have together.

I greatly enjoyed walking and talking with Mr. Estes. He’s an old soul and, as we talked more, it turns out we know many of the same people as I’ve been a part of the welding and fabrication scene for over twenty years now. It was a nice connection that served as a reminder of just how small this world really is. I bought a t-shirt, left a small donation for the museum, and thanked him for his time. This experience will be with me until my dying day. It was a wonderful way to spend an hour. If you’re ever in the Hillsboro area, you have to make this a stop on your list. There isn’t another place like it on earth.

A short time after the museum tour, I got the call that my birds were ready for pickup so I headed back to the nearby countryside to retrieve them. I was very pleased with my first experience of working with this processor and I told them as much as I loaded up and headed out. I look forward to continuing that relationship.

A quick pit stop for some ice and I set my sites toward home and headed south. Another peaceful drive through country backroads was soon greeted by the chaos of interstate traffic. You remember all of those people I mentioned that enjoy their morning cup of stupid? I found them. Turns out they just opted for the afternoon shift and they brewed it up nice and strong on this particular day. Every mile was even more miserable than the last. I took all that I could take but cried uncle somewhere around Jarrell, Texas. I exited the highway and found a backroad that would take me the rest of the way. Back to the friend zone you go, I-35.

For those of you that aren’t familiar with a Texas backroad, I’m here to tell you that you’re missing out. There is therapy in a backroad drive that will cure even the highest levels of stress. It is impossible to feel any other way than relaxed and at peace on Texas backroads. If you’re ever given the chance, take the long way home on a backroad. Kick back, turn the music up, and enjoy the ride.

I arrived back home, tattered and torn, and covered in feathers and sh*t. I told the war stories to my wife, but she was unimpressed. She just shook her head and most likely had an internal chuckle at my rookie adventures. We stocked the birds in the fridge, I cleaned up the mess on the crates that could only resemble a Jackson Pollock painting, took a shower to wash my failures away, and spent a lovely evening with the family.

I didn’t realize how much I needed this day. Even with the early morning shenanigans, this day offered something I’ve been searching for for a long time. It offered a glimpse into the life that I long to live someday as a full time farmer. It offered a recharge of my soul as I was able to spend time in a small town community and revisit some cherished memories, all while making precious new ones. Last, but not least, it served as yet another reminder that adventure awaits at every step and around every corner. Traveling doesn’t require passports, high-priced air fare and accommodations, and exotic destinations in order to find adventure. It can be found in a trip to a nearby town or even in a walk through the town you call home as you discover new places or reconnect with the people and adventures of your past. Whatever it may be, adventure is waiting, you just have to have the wherewithal to find it. So, as I always say, get up, go outside, and do something. Go find your next adventure.

Thanks again for tagging along on this wild, feathery ride. We got a bit crazy on this one, huh? Feel free to check out some of our other adventures and be sure and stay tuned for more!

As of this time next week, we’ll be back in Port Aransas for some wintertime fun at the beach. We’ll also be spending Thanksgiving at a one-of-a-kind AirBnB destination so be on the look out for that stop as well. Until next time!