Yes, the title of this is nearly as long as the book itself. This book was created from Walker's blogs about her chickens who became like family members to her. She named them, observed them, respected them, grew to love them, mourned the ones who died, and wrote "letters" home to them while on trips abroad, telling them of meetings with the Dalai Lama and others. The lives of the chickens become a metaphor for the joys and struggles of life itself. And, as the title says, the chickens become a vehicle that sparks memories of Walker's past that she had forgotten. This book is charming, sometimes funny, sometimes sad, and will probably teach you more about chickens than you ever wanted to know, unless you decide to raise them.
My contact with chickens pretty much ended at age four when my grandmother built a new house and no longer had a chicken yard. I do have memories of gathering eggs with her, watching her mix up mash, and feeding them. My brother and sister remember her killing chickens for dinner but they are several years older than me. I don't know that Grandma ever sat in the yard just observing the chickens while pondering their lives like Walker. I'm pretty sure she would have viewed it as a waste of time.
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