I have no idea how those birds could come up with so much shit in the course of a week, but it was spectacular. Jenn and I would put on our face-masks, crawl in there with our scraping implement and shop vac and proceed to fill up a wheel barrow with the cakes of droppings.
On our last dirty (wednes)day we took care to clean particularly well because it was time for a little renovation. You see, the coop had no perches. We had read that chickens needed to perch in order to be healthy and avoid bumblefoot. So we took a little trip to Lowes and got some wood and hardware to add perches to the coop. Despite the simplicity of the project, I was proud to see them perching in there at night when we finished.
So, today is Wednesday again. But I’m not cleaning out the refitted chicken coop. And I’m not taking Lucy for a walk around the pastures, or playing with her puppies. Nor am I moving the pig enclosure to a different area in the garden to give them more rooting room. I can’t do any of this because I’m not at the farm anymore. I miss these activities in my bones. Seeing Sabine’s butt wagging with excitement. Watching the goats’ mischief. Hearing the ewes telling me it’s dinner time (Fee’s unmistakable voice in chorus with the others). The way the chickens looked as they ran toward us in the morning (especially Fancy Pants!)…
I’ve been through a storm of sorts, and I don’t know what to say about it. I don’t know what can be said.
What I can say is this: I am back in Pittsburgh. Back with my love and my kitty. Back with my loving and supportive community of friends and colleagues. I’m excited about the possibilities in front of me. I’m happy to be alive and well.
I’m working on healing and realigning. I’m mourning some dreams and whispering to others. I’m taking time to be still.
Here’s my final farm haiku:
Bird Haiku from Eleanor Graham on Vimeo.
1 comment:
though it's not easy
when staying's not an option
it's time to move on
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