The Farm at the End of the Street

I live in one of the biggest cities in America. There's a major freeway just a few blocks south of me, another a few blocks east. Police helicopters clatter overhead and jets roar past, departing from one of the area's three international airports.

In this vast megalopolis, you can easily find cuisine from every corner of the world. It's no big deal to spot movie stars at the local supermarket. You get in your car and expect to do daily battle with the four bajillion other drivers who live in this city.

What you don't find, what you don't expect, what's quite unusual, is to see a little farm right down the street from your house.

A farm that has sheep...


and goats...
and chickens...


and even a Vietnamese Potbellied pig. (Trust me; the front end is not much prettier):

But what's odder, perhaps, than spotting a farm in the middle of the city is where the farm is. It's three blocks down the street, on the grounds of the local public elementary school.

The animals spend their day listening to kids playing kickball and tearing it up on the basketball courts just inches away from their little enclosure:



The little guy in the black socks, below, was born here at the farm:

So was this dude, who is still quite young. Like youngsters everywhere, he likes to goof around:

Errrrmph. Ooooof. Hnnnnnuh.

Aaaaargh! A little help, here?

He finally disentangled himself.

All these cuties are fed and cared for by the school's devoted teachers, students, and parents. Working with the animals, the children are learning valuable lessons about animal behavior and where our nation's food comes from. Not that these guys are in any danger of becoming food. They've got a secure future as teachers' aides.

That is, if the well-meaning neighbors don't kill them!