Jordan Poulsen's Batesville Project

The raughten smell filled the air with delight. Eggs being made every second, hearing bwak bwak for hours upon days. The white feathers glittering as they run, there yellow feet strutting left..Right..Left...Right. As the people walk up and down the isles picking up the eggs sorting browns from whites, as i prepared to taste the eggs the chickens had layed i noticed the smell was getting worse. Day by day more and more eggs racked up serving Batesville with fresh eggs. The soft feeling of the soft chicken feathers that reminded me of cotton, were white and black with a white stem. Ignoring the noise as I was talking to the owner, he told me he had picked at least 1000 eggs a day, i was very amazed at what he had to say.