For the Love of Chickens

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The sight of a chicken pecking at the ground while cooing sweetly.  Watching the joy of finding a grasshopper and laughing as one run away with it in it’s beak while the others run in single file trying to retrieve it.  The dust rising as the girls lounge luxuriously in their dust baths, their glee evident.  The sun glinting off of their lovely feathers.

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It is interesting how the universe prepares us for our paths.  We went from nearly having our dream of being self reliant to hoping we had friends to live with.  To hoping we could get our own apartment and our own space.  To wanting any land of our own after having a community garden plot. To finding a new city to set down roots.  A small part of us mourns the lost farm we had so dreamed up.  We may not have goats or sheep, but we can have chickens.

Who knows why we are to move south a little.  Perhaps we are supposed to meet someone.  Perhaps we are supposed to expand from Elizabeth across the corridor to Pueblo so that our daughter has plenty of space to be an herbalist too.  Perhaps one of our kids will follow us down there and they are to meet someone or fulfill some gift or receive some blessing.  We won’t know until we look back.

For now we will rejoice that we will be in a home (perhaps we found one?) that has a cozy place to sit on the porch to wave at neighbors from, to have a huge garden and room for fruit trees, and of course, chickens.

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As I throw away the pulp after juicing I think, “Oh, the chickens would love this!”  Old melon?  A particularly good treat.  The just past stuff in the fridge?  Heaven.  I miss those little garbage disposals!  And I as I throw away perfectly good chicken food and watch my neighbors fill sacks of it to be taken away, I get all the more giddy to feel those tiny fluffs of chirping joy in the palm of my hand come spring.  The promise of warm eggs and entertainment.  For the love of chickens.

 

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