I know what you’re thinking: “Oh, no! It’s that Carden kid again! What I don’t need is another lecture from this guy who tries so hard to be funny!” So I’m going to disguise this lecture about the joys of working and learning together as a family by talking about what my family does for a living:

We raise ostriches.

I’ll give you a few minutes to wipe away those tears of helpless laughter.

      Seriously, for the last three years there have been ostriches on the Carden family farm. You may be wondering, “How did 9-foot birds known for their long necks, valuable leather, and meat which tastes like beef but is as healthy as chicken end up on a ranch in Texas?” Actually, there is no way you’re asking that ques­tion because you don’t know that much about ostriches. At least I didn’t at first. When I thought of ostriches, I thought of all the time I would save only having to crack one egg in the morning to make an omelet. I had a lot to learn.

It all started as my dad’s desire to make a living on a ranch of some sort, without having to work in the city as well. He called a friend who ran the largest wildlife preserve in Texas to ask him what kind of exotic animal we could raise and actually make money. My dad’s friend said, “Carden, I’ve been in the exotic animal business for seven­teen years, and I’ve got one word to say to you: ostrich.” My dad maintains that, until that moment, no one had ever used the word “ostrich” in a polite con­versation with him. We began to look into the various nuances of ostrich ranching. The first thing that we found was a nearly unlimited demand for the three ostrich by-products: meat, leather, and feathers.

The second thing we found out was that there are fifty gazillion ways to raise ostriches. (I know I’m exaggerat­ing. The exact number is 49.675 cazillion.) From the different fenc­ing to the different incubators, everyone has his own ideas and methods.

    But before we could bring the birds home, we had to build their pens. Texas weather in the late spring/early summer is not exactly conducive to working outside. (Peaster, Texas, Heat Capital of the World. Pop: 72 and dwin­dling) My dad, Jason, and I spent many hours driving eight-foot T-posts into the ground to support our new fences. Since a T-post driver weighs about 75 pounds, we learned how much of a blessing taking turns can be! Jonathan and Jennifer were a great help carrying water and providing moral sup­port. (“Dad, hurry up so the ostriches can get here!”)

      Once the fences were up, it was time to build the barn. Out in the country, people will use anything that they can find for building material. We were no exception. My dad showed up one day with sixteen telephone poles to provide the main support for our pole barn. After we dug sixteen holes approximate­ly where we wanted them, we stood the poles up in the holes. Unfortunately, as we stood the fourth one up, it missed the hole and fell on top of our pastor, who was helping us for the day, breaking his shoulder blade and collarbone. In the pulpit the next Sunday he told the con­gregation, “The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Jim Carden. . .and I knew I couldn’t be in heaven!” (He was just kidding.)

Working on the second story of an uncompleted barn is always exciting, by which I mean something only insane people would do. My brother almost fell off the roof due to an event for which I must take the blame. While we were taking a water break, I slipped a four-inch grass snake into Jason’s nail pouch. He got back onto the barn, grabbed a nail that was not a nail at all, and made a noise not unlike Pavarotti hitting a high C. Needless to say, my dad was not happy with me at all, and I wound up spending more time than I had planned up on the barn that day.

With construction nearly finished, our first ostriches, six in all, arrived on July 4th, 1991.

Nearly three years have gone by, and I am proud to say that I know more about ostriches than I wish I did. My dad has written articles for various ostrich magazines, and he has spoken at several ostrich seminars. Jason and I have been able to attend some of those seminars and listen to our fellow ostrich ranchers share their experiences and tri­als. (“Say did ya hear ‘bout them ostriches in Lebanon?”)

But after coming this far and reach­ing this incredible height of ostrich expertise (Warning: this column is mov­ing into a lecture mode!), I’ve realized that the real joy in it all was the journey. Building the pens and the barn, working with my family, and almost killing my brother were the real beauty of it. Sometimes in our lives we become so focused on our goals or the destination we’re headed towards that we forget to enjoy the journey—and that can be the best part.