simple pleasures – Page 5

De-Stressing

Stress. We all have it. It attacks us at different times and for different reasons.
I’ve been feeling a tad bit overwhelmed lately. When I stop to think about my life, I realize that in the last 3 weeks I have buried my dad and have (am presently) moving to a new house, while not selling my other one. Two semi-large stressors added to my life. Then, if you add in the new baby chickens, that’s like additional family members right there, ain’t it? I’d say they rank right up there with birthing a new baby, wouldn’t you? I mean they have their own nursery for crying out loud. I check on them constantly, make sure they’re breathing, and listen to their peeps through the baby monitor.

Kidding, kidding.

About the last part anyway.

Instead of packing, cleaning, unpacking my belongings, organizing for a garage sale, and doing things to help RELIEVE my stressors, instead I google stress just to see if I’m really stressed. You know sometimes I need to confirm my thinking. If I think I’m stressed, well by golly, I need to prove it to everyone else.

There’s a little test you can take online. It’s a simple inventory where you check off a few things that have happened in the past 24 months. So I clicked away, and discovered that actually I’m not as stressed as I think I am. So I must tell myself to Get. Over. It. and Get. On. With. It.

In my google searching, I found a little article however that talked of the small things that actually stress us out more than we realize, and sometimes more than the big stuff. Things like co-workers and facebook. Can you believe facebook can be stressful? Why yes, yes I can. It is the absolute zapper of time, leaving us feeling more stressed because we don’t have time to do what we should’ve been doing while we were busy stalking and poking others. This article also says it can play a big part on your emotions, leaving you feeling inadequate when you read that someone just met Their Mr. Perfect, while you’re still waiting by the phone.

So what do I do when I’m feeling overwhelmed, overcome, and overextended?

I hit the road walking. I unplug myself from the busy world via technology and head out. Now that we’ve moved outside the city limits, I have nothing but wide open spaces and a long country road to walk. No cars and no dogs. Just the singing of the birds and the blowing of an occasional train whistle falls on my ears.

I walk and I pray. Out loud. I thank God for everything. I start counting blessings. Being out in nature just makes me feel so blessed and thankful. Lately I’ve been feeling so close to God the Creator. I’m in awe of Him.

Look at this picture of brown dirt road, meeting green hay field, meeting blue sky.

This view speaks to me.

It says, “Hello, I’m God.” And I speak back and simply say, “Thanks.”

While walking and talking with Him, He grants me peace and lets me know it’s okay. Everything is okay. It’s as if He says, “Angel, look around you. Look at all this. I did it. Nothing is too big for me. See the size of this Texas sky?”

Let me give you a link to this beautiful song.

It’s saying what I’m trying to.

Kindred Spirits

Tonight I am dragging in after a wonderful visit with my old friend Erin, not old in terms of years of age, but old in regards to years of friendship. I hope you know the kind of friend; no matter the distance of time or miles that separates, we seem to begin right where we left off. Even if it was years before.

We went to supper and ironically ordered same entrée. As she was ordering, I was thinking, “That is exactly what I want too.” Afterwards we went to her little house and talked for hours. Literally for hours. We laughed and at times even teared up a bit. We talked about things of old and things of new. We talked about love and hate. About life, aging parents, death, and tragedy. We shared our hopes, our dreams, our hurts, our mistakes, and regrets. It was a breath of fresh air to me.

On Monday, a friend whom I have never done anything with, never shared a coke, or gone on a ride came to visit me. He is mostly an online friend, but true to the core. It’s the same situation. We realized we’d been sitting on the same couch cushion for hours just talking away. It’s as if someone just unzips your skin and reveals your soul, and there is a glimmer, a flicker of recognition in the other.

My husband says it’s not like me to talk so long, and I have to say there are just some people who I can chat ’em up with.

Although I can count the number of my friends on one hand, they are true blue. And no matter the time or distance that separate, we always remain.

So tonight, I lay my exhausted head down and count my blessings, my friends.

10 Photos that make me smile

1. This is my niece Ashy holding her brother. He skinned his forehead earlier that day. That bruise might make him look tough if only he didn’t have a bow in his hair.

2. This is me about 30 years ago. My dad, whom we buried a week ago today, commented on this photo: “when i think of you as little, this is what i think of.”

3. There’s not anything cuter than a baby calf, even when it has a booger in its nose.

4. I’m thankful for this book and it’s promises. I stand on them.

5. I’m thankful for this man, who loves me so. (That’s my dad in the back window, checking out the ride.)

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6. This is my sister, who ironically thinks she’s smarter than me. I don’t recall ever sticking MY head in a mud puddle. It’s great that my mom grabbed her camera before grabbing a washrag.

7. This note hangs on my mom’s front door.

8. Three of J-Dub’s friends. I love the joy in this picture.

9. My earthly dad.

10. My heavenly Father.

Keep smiling 🙂

Warning: Roller Skating May Lead to Gullible Bones

This is a great song. I first heard it at a teacher training about 4 years ago for incorporating music in the classroom, and I bought it as soon as I got home. It’s by a girl named Melanie, whose voice is a little Janis Joplin”ish”. That makes me love it even more.

Me and my niece Ash laced up our roller skates last night.

She’s been hounding me to take her skating for a couple of weeks now. Yesterday I conceded.

Since it’s a 30 minute drive to the nearest roller rink, I thought it would be wise to call ahead for the times and cost, so I handed Ashlynn the phone book and asked her to look up skating in the yellow pages.

Please note, she is an eleven year old who likes to get out of doing brain related activities as much as possible. She likes short cuts and tasks that don’t require much thinking. She’d rather look at a digital clock or ask you what time it is, than to study an analog clock. I might even go as far as to say she is gifted at the art of manipulating others to do for her instead of having to do for herself. Add to that a touch of argumentativeness and a lot of energy and you’ve got Ashlynn in a nutshell.

I handed her the phone book and here’s how our conversation went:

Me: Look up skating in the yellow pages.

Her: What does it start with?

Me: (dragging it out with an air of astonishment, knowing how lazy she’s being) OOOOHHHHH.

Her: O?

Me: (very sharply) Ashlynn!! Skating????

Her: (matter of factly) You said O.

So, after three hours and thirteen and a half lessons of “Hooked on Phonics Worked for Me”, we arrived at the skating rink.

Roller skating today and roller skating when I was just a sprout has changed some, except maybe for the skates.

I might have nightmares if I think about how many people’s stinky feet (including mine) have been in this particular pair of skates.

Although the lights, the rink, and the skates carried an air of familiarity, I was disappointed to find there was not Another One Bites the Dust playing like there was in “my day”. Rather the bass was heavy, the techno was loud, and Lady GaGa was in da house, which isn’t necessarily a good thing.

The skating commenced.

At times I felt like I was in a club, especially when some teenage girls showed off their dancing skills with a pole over in the seating area.

I was one of 4 grown-ups there. Apparently most parents drop their kids off, which I might too if I didn’t have a 30 minute drive home. Even with a lack of chaperones, with the exception of the Dirty Dancing episode, the kids were very well-behaved. I didn’t see any fighting. Or kissing. Or hear any bad language.

Which is more than I can say of the skating rink in “my day.”

Before the night was over, Ashlynn was already asking if we could come back next weekend. It was good clean fun and despite falling and busting her butt more times than I could count, she skated her heart out, feet scooting and arms flailing wildly about. As the evening progressed, so did she.

This morning at breakfast she made sure to report that her wrist was really sore and possibly broken.

Me: It’s not broken. You have strong bones.

Her: But I’m skinny.

Me: So. Your bones are still strong.

Her: But they’re little. They’re very gullible.

(Me and Jason glance at each other and bust out laughing.)

Her: Whaaaatttt? They fall for things easily.

Oh dear me.

I’m considering writing a new program. I’m calling it “Hooked On Vocabulary Worked for me”.

Let’s pray it works for Ashlynn.

Soap #2–The Old and Curmudgeonly: Sleeping Through the Storm

My little town got 8.5 inches of snow Tuesday night, and they cancelled school. And as an added bonus, we don’t have to start school until 10:00 this morning. Yippee Skippee!!

Snow days don’t come around often, and I try to enjoy them. I spend my day in lazy gear, reading, writing, facebooking, napping. My husband on the other hand, is like a fish out of water. He turns the TV on, then turns the TV off. He sits in the recliner, then sits on the couch. He lets the dogs out and lets the dogs in.

Finally, he got still long enough to sleep a little. I decided a picture of these three old dogs was in order.

He didn’t work because he took care of everything the day before.

He double-fed the cattle and put out hay, but I’m sure those cattle will be glad to see him and the cake wagon (aka the feed truck) today.

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He was prepared for the approaching storm.

It reminds me of a story I once read by an anonymous author:

Years ago a farmer owned land along the Atlantic seacoast. He constantly advertised for hired hands. Most people were reluctant to work on farms along the Atlantic. They dreaded the awful storms that raged across the Atlantic, wreaking havoc on the buildings and crops.

As the farmer interviewed applicants for the job, he received a steady stream of refusals. Finally, a short, thin man, well past middle age, approached the farmer. “Are you a good farmhand?” the farmer asked him. “Well, I can sleep when the wind blows,” answered the little man. Although puzzled by this answer, the farmer, desperate for help, hired him. The little man worked well around the farm, busy from dawn to dusk, and the farmer felt satisfied with the man’s work.

Then one night the wind howled loudly in from offshore. Jumping out of bed, the farmer grabbed a lantern and rushed next door to the hired hand’s sleeping quarters. He shook the little man and yelled, “Get up! A storm is coming! Tie things down before they blow away!” The little man rolled over in bed and said firmly, “No sir. I told you, I can sleep when the wind blows.”

Enraged by the old man’s response, the farmer was tempted to fire him on the spot. Instead, he hurried outside to prepare for the storm. To his amazement, he discovered that all of the haystacks had been covered with tarpaulins. The cows were in the barn, the chickens were in the coops, and the doors were barred. The shutters were tightly secured. Everything was tied down. Nothing could blow away. The farmer then understood what his hired hand meant, and he returned to bed to also sleep while the wind blew.

So it is with life. Can we sleep while the wind blows? Are we prepared when the storms of life arise?

There’s marital troubles, financial troubles, job troubles, relationship troubles, health troubles.

There’s pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, pepper shrimp, shrimp soup, shrimp stew, shrimp salad, shrimp and potatoes, shrimp burger, shrimp sandwich.

Sorry. Bubba came to mind. It happens.

Here’s my SOAP for the week. It’s my new way of Bible Study. S stands for scripture, O for observation, A for application, P for prayer.

Scripture: In Luke Chapter 4, Jesus was sleeping during the windstorm.

³⁵ On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.” ³⁶And leaving the crowd, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. And other boats were with him. ³⁷And a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. ³⁸But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion. And they woke him and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” ³⁹And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. ⁴⁰He said to them, “Why are youso afraid? Have you still no faith?” ⁴¹And they were filled with great fear and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”

Observation: Even the disciples who had seen Jesus do miracle after miracle were afraid during the storm. Their faith was tested, they didn’t feel prepared. They didn’t think Jesus cared about them.

Application: During storms in my own life I have cried out that same lament, “Do you not even care?” But he does. I know he cares for me. He had told the disciples to get in the boat, we’re going to the other side. He’s with us every step of our journey. Side by side, through all kinds of weather. Through the sunshine and the rain. When we give our lives to Him, ask Him to direct our steps, strive to follow Him, read His word, and pray, then we can be prepared for the storms of life. Knowing he’s in the boat with us, taking us to the other side, through the storm and all will help us feel peace.

Prayer: Dear Lord, I love you and I thank you. I thank you for my good times, and I thank you for the storms that you have seen me through. I thank you because I know that you will be with me in the storms that are inevitable. I pray that through You, I will always be prepared when the winds toss my little boat. Hide your word in my heart, that I might not sin against you. Guide me on my journey. Keep me safe.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.

Wabi Sabi

Yesterday I wrote about an avocado green canister that is banged up, rusted, and just plain ugly, but beautiful despite it’s imperfections. Rather than the reactions I was expecting to receive, several folks said they loved that canister.

I’m wondering if this green canister falls under the term Wabi Sabi. That word in itself is just fabulous to say. Wabi Sabi. Try it. It rolls off the tongue like Obi Wan Kenobi, not that I have any idea who that is. I’m much too young.

Or Ping Pong. Ying Yang.

Cheech and Chong.

Wabi Sabi is a Japanese philosophy of appreciating things that are imperfect, primitive, and incomplete. I understand it as a “less is more” mind-set. A place where non-essentials are weeded out and only essential items are left regardless of their imprefections.

Pared down to its barest essence, wabi-sabi is the Japanese art of finding beauty in imperfection and profundity in nature, of accepting the natural cycle of growth, decay, and death. It’s simple, slow, and uncluttered-and it reveres authenticity above all. Wabi-sabi is flea markets, not warehouse stores; aged wood, not Pergo; rice paper, not glass. It celebrates cracks and crevices and all the other marks that time, weather, and loving use leave behind. It reminds us that we are all but transient beings on this planet-that our bodies as well as the material world around us are in the process of returning to the dust from which we came. Through wabi-sabi, we learn to embrace liver spots, rust, and frayed edges, and the march of time they represent.~~architect Tadao Ando

Robyn Giggs Lawrence has written a book called Simply Imperfect: Revisiting the Wabi Sabi House. I read an article she wrote recently that helped me realize this is what I’m aiming for. This is the direction I’m heading. I want Wabi Sabi!!

The two words wabi and sabi have different meanings and have not always been used together.

Wabi means humble and simple. Someone who is perfectly herself and never craves to be anything else would be described as wabi. A common phrase used in conjunction with wabi is “the joy of the little monk in his wind-torn robe.” A wabi person epitomizes Zen, which is to say, he or she is content with very little; free from greed, indolence, and anger; and understands the wisdom of rocks and grasshoppers.

Can’t you just see that little monk’s weathered, aged, grinning face?

Sabi means rusty and weathered. It’s the understanding that beauty is fleeting. Sabi things carry the burden of their years with dignity and grace.

In home decor, wabi-sabi inspires a minimalism that celebrates the human rather than the machine. Possessions are pared down, and pared down again, until only those that are necessary for their utility or beauty (and ideally both) are left. What makes the cut? Items that you both admire and love to use, like those hand-crank eggbeaters that still work just fine. Things that resonate with the spirit of their makers’ hands and hearts: the chair your grandfather made, your six-year-old’s lumpy pottery, an afghan you knitted yourself (out of handspun sheep’s wool, perhaps). Pieces of your own history: sepia-toned ancestral photos, baby shoes, the Nancy Drew mysteries you read over and over again as a kid.

So yes, I’d say this green tin is very wabi sabi.

And I’m keeping it.

Words to describe a wabi sabi philosophy.

Simple
Uncluttered
Beautiful
Authentic
Slow
Clean
Quiet
Imperfect

I cling to my imperfection, as the very essence of my being.

Anatole France (1844 – 1924)

The Memory of a Sound

I recently purchased this magazine.
I say recently, but it was way back in 2010.

I have no idea why I would purchase a magazine called Do it yourself, since I don’t do anything myself. There must have been something that caught my eye on the cover, but now…..who knows? This is one of those mags that if you have nothing to do all day except create adorableness from egg shells and paper, this is your heaven.

It does have some extremely cute crafts in it.

See, I even dog-eared this page on crafting with felt. Felt makes me happy. Not that there’s even a remote chance I’ll be frolicking with felt in the future.

This is an old railroad tie used as a mantle. I love it. We have a similar piece of rustic roughness found in an old building that we are going to use as a mantle in our little trailer house on the prairie. Maybe in 23 more years or so.

But the point of this whole post is this:

These canisters.

My old grannie had an ugly-as-sin, avocado green tin canister just exactly like the one in the back of this picture.

It sat on her countertop next to the stove, and she sometimes stored goodies such as homemade peanut butter cookies in it.

I remember stealthily trying to lift the lid off to sneak a cookie or treat. The “swoosh” of the lid coming off the canister echos in my head. I would try not to make a sound, and inevitably always would pling, plang, and gong one against the other, giving myself away. Like sneezing during a game of hide-and-seek.

Sometime during my childhood, we got a new step cousin in the family. He wasn’t one of us, and I remember treating him as an outsider. When memories like these flood back, I always try to blame my sister. But truthfully, I don’t know who was the instigator of being harsh with him. It could’ve been my idea, or my cousin’s (his step-brother) or my sister’s, regardless I remember the four of us being outside huddled under a tree, being ugly to our new family member and telling him that “WE (the privileged real grandchildren) knew our grannie’s secret hiding place for goodies and that he had better be nice or we wouldn’t let him know.”

I wish I could go back under that tree and change that conversation. I hope he doesn’t remember. I’m ashamed.

Seeing these burnt orange canisters in a magazine stirred something inside me. I asked my mom, who now lives in my grannie’s old house, if she knew where that avocado green canister was. She said it was around there someplace. Then about one week later, I received a call, and lo and behold, the little criminal she has living with her (another story for another time) was cleaning out the garage and it turned up.

Here it is. On my kitchen countertop by my stove.

It’s not in as good of condition as the orange ones in the magazines.

Why I have this in my house, in my blue and yellow kitchen, is something that I must explore deep within my soul. And maybe discuss with my therapist, which happens to be Marie, my school librarian.

Why, when I am desperately trying to simplify and minimalize, did I bring this old junky, unfashionable, semi-unpractical item out from the dust and mire of a dirty garage to sit purposeless on my already cluttered kitchen counter?

Why do I sometimes go to my kitchen for no other reason but to lift the lid just so I can hear the pling from my childhood?

I know why.

It’s so I can see my grannie sitting in her chair with a poodle on her lap.

Or standing at the kitchen counter pressing out the peanut butter cookies. She would let me mash on the cookie dough with a meat tenderizer to create the little indented designs and then sprinkle sugar on top when they came out of the oven, soft and warm.

I’m suddenly having a peanut butter cookie hankering.

And I need a tissue.

Sugar….bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, ah, Honey, Honey

I’ve discovered something that I want to share.

It has to do with the Bible.

And honey.

“If you find honey, eat just enough–too much of it, and you will vomit”. Proverbs 25:16 NIV

This happened to me once, and it almost happened again last night. I love honey, but eat just one teaspoonful too much and you’ll be ralphing in the flowerbed.

The Bible also says this:

“My child, eat honey, for it is good, and the honeycomb is sweet to the taste. Proverbs 24:13.

but if you look in The Message, it says it like this.

“Eat honey, dear child—-it’s good for you.”

I just love that. In our society’s search for healthy foods, nutritious choices, and apples on the McDonald’s menu, right there in the Thirty Precepts of the Sages in Proverbs in the Word of God, lies an answer.

I believe in my pea picking little brain, that our world is generously blessed with cures for many, if not all, illnesses in the form of foods, flowers, herbs, and other G0d-given gifts. Simply put, I believe there is something on this earth to cure what ails us.

Among these foods is honey. Honey has been called a super food. Raw honey is one of nature’s purest foods.

I try to remember to eat a spoonful of raw honey every day. Except for days like yesterday, when after one bite, I had another, and after a second bite, I had a third. And after a third bite I got a stomach ache, just like the Bible said I would. I did actually vomit once after eating too much honey. It just made me sick. The Bible knows. Listen to it.

What is the difference between raw honey and “regular” honey? Raw honey has nothing added or taken away. It contains pollen, propolis, honeycomb, and live enzymes. It hasn’t been heated or strained. Basically, it is honey from the hive straight to the jar. Plus, it’s way more expensive. But worth it!!

When you open a jar of raw honey, you will find a very hard, crusty, layer.

It may gross you out at first, it did me, so prepare yourself. These are called honey “cappings” and they are crunchy bits of honeycomb, pollen, and propolis. According to Wikipedia, propolis is “a resinous mixture that honey bees collect from tree buds, sap flows, or other botanical sources. It is used as a sealant for unwanted open spaces in the hive. Propolis is used for small gaps (approximately 6 millimeters (0.2 in) or less), while larger spaces are usually filled with beeswax.”

This crusty capping is hard and you have to break through it with your spoon.

The first time J-Dub looked at it he remarked, “that looks like vomit.” And then we remembered that honey is actually a form of bee vomit, something they’ve regurgitated, but you just can’t think about that! So stop, right now!

These cappings are a little hard to handle the first time you put them in your mouth, especially if you’re a texture person. My jar of honey says you can chew them like gum, and that just sorta turns my stomach. I try to mix mine up so it isn’t extremely concentrated, but after a while I got used to it.

Honey is antiseptic, antibacterial, antibiotic, and antifungal. Plus it never spoils. It has been used as a medicine since ancient times, probably way back when the Dead Sea was only sick and Moby Dick was just a minnow.

Health benefits of raw honey:

Aids stomach and digestion
Can be used on cuts, burns, wounds, and rashes
Treats allergies
Soothes coughs and sore throats
Natural source of energy

Some studies have even shown honey to contain anti-cancer and anti-tumor properties.

So sugar, what are you waiting for? Go eat some honey!

My Tree Harbor

There is a mimosa tree and an evergreen tree growing in the yard at our new place. They are both young sprouts right now, but I hope they grow big and strong and formidable. I love the mimosa tree, never tried the drink, but I adore the fuzzy, pink flowers that bloom and the rattle of the seeds in their pods that fall from the tree. I love the way they close their leaves at a touch. A mimosa tree makes one of the best climbing trees. Of course this is just my opinion, but I am as close to an expert on climbing trees as you’re likely to find. The limbs of a mimosa branch off the trunk low and you can practically step up into it.

My grandmother had a mimosa tree on a perfect square patch of green lawn in her front yard. I spent much of my childhood in that tree. Each branch was, in my mind, a pretend room in an imaginary house. I flitted around from branch to branch passing the hours.

There was another climbing tree at the back of my grannie’s house. A tall evergreen. Probably 30 feet. This tree was by far the absolute best climbing tree around and also my dear friend. Sap on my hands and bare feet were as common as dirt under a little boy’s fingernails. The branches of this evergreen hung nearly to the ground. It was necessary to duck underneath the heavy green limbs, but once underneath it was like a secret place. A shady, quiet, dark circle of dirt. The limbs of the tree grew straight off the trunk nearly parallel to one another practically forming a ladder. A tree climber’s dream! Once up in the arms of the tree—off to the right about 20 feet up, one branch curved and crossed over another branch forming a little settee, a cradle if you will. The perfect size for a little girl’s body to recline in. It was possible to squeeze another person up there too, out towards the edges, and I shared this branch, my branch as I like to think of it, occasionally with my sister, cousin, or friend. Here nestled up in the branches of the tree I could spy on things down below, but I much preferred to gaze upward. I would recline back and peer upward through a little window of branches imagining the angels sitting on their fluffy white clouds, watch the birds flit in the sky, and dream my dreams

This tree was my oasis from divorcing parents, my retreat from a big sister, my reprieve from boredom.

The mimosa died, and someone cut it down. Then one day I came to visit my grannie to find my beloved evergreen hacked. She had hired someone to trim the trees and they had sawed off my trees ladder-like branches at least 10 feet up. Tears poured down my cheeks as I gazed up and realized I couldn’t reach my sanctuary. I wrapped my arms around the tree hugging it, pressed my cheek against the trunk, and using the sawed off nubs as foot and hand-holds, I shimmied up, much like a bear would. But the bark scratched my skin and hung on my clothes. It was so much effort and getting down was no longer as simple as climbing down a ladder.

I don’t remember ever having an ill-thought towards my grandmother before that day. But at that time I was furious because she had hurt me. Not intentionally of course. She apologized when she realized how much it meant to me. She said she didn’t know they were going to cut it like they did. To her it was a tree, to me it was my harbor, my haven, my hide-away. I told my secrets to those branches, swayed in the breeze in its limbs, imagined I was an angel floating on my own fluffy cloud right up to Jesus. I eventually accepted that I had no more trees to climb.

My mother now lives in my grannie’s house and the tree is still standing. The other day I grabbed my niece Ashlynn and said, “Help me climb this tree.” I discovered I’m too heavy to hoist myself up, and she is too little to boost me. It was so effortless 25 years ago. But I was winded in 2 minutes and never made it off the ground. She decided to shimmy up and perched on the lowest branch, but I looked up at her, paranoid she was going to fall and break her neck and demanded she get down.

It’s probably for the best that I couldn’t climb it. I’d probably be disappointed once I got to my sitting spot. Adult experiences are always so vastly different from our childhood memories.

But writing this makes me want to get a ladder and get up there anyway.

Find my sitting spot and recline

And put the fire department on speed dial just in case I need them to help me down.

Here chicky, chicky, chicky

It’s cold today. The sky is dressed in a blanket of gray clouds. The trees have long been stripped of their flashy wardrobe. They look bleak against the gray of the sky. But there is a sense of beauty in a bare tree. A glimmer of hope for the coming spring. The smell of snow hangs thick in the air. The birds are low today. They are perched in the trees and sitting on the lawns. An old weather lore claims, “when birds fly low, expect rain and a blow.”

Speaking of birds, I want a chicken farm.

I said a chicken farm, not a chicken ranch guys.

After scouring the internet, perusing magazines, and reading old books for information on everything I need to know about chickens, I still have no idea what I am doing. But I’m learning.

So far I’ve learned I’m scared of chickens.

And the snakes their eggs might attract.

And racoons, coyotes, hawks, and owls.

Our new place already has a hand-made, southern-engineered, make-shift chicken coop and some nesting boxes, but it needs some work. My plan is to fix it up, but not buy anything new. I’m going to use all old materials that I can scrounge up.

I have a few pictures of what I have to work with.

This is the front of the coop, which I’m going to leave alone. I like these rugged, half-painted side board planks.

Here are 10 nesting boxes for the little layers. Throw in some straw and make it cozy for them.

This prickly pear needs to be dug up.

The back and the side is made of this old tin, also the roof is tin.

I’m going to leave that alone as well. There is chicken wire surrounding the coop and there is a little chicken run for the flock to get out to get some sunshine. I’m going to secure the wire and make sure predators can’t sneak in, I also plan on covering the top with chicken wire to keep the hawks and owls out. On the days I’m home, I’m going to allow them to free range out on the acreage.

I’m going to add some perches on the inside of the coop and I’m going to add on one side of the coop a little window with a ladder so they can climb in and get in their nesting boxes.

Kind of like this coop. But not at all, really. Isn’t this the most elaborate chicken house you’ve ever seen? It’s nicer than the trailer I’m soon to be living in.

Last night I ordered my chickens. I am giddy with excitement. They are expected to arrive on March 14. I scheduled them to arrive spring break, since I have to be their little chicky mama. They will only be 1 day old when they arrive. They will need a brooding box for several weeks while they grow. I had to get a minimum of 15, which is entirely too many for my little family of 2, but I am preparing myself for some fatalities. Death is a part of living. I made sure that I ordered cold hardy birds, with a docile temperment, who are decent egg layers. All female. I’m not quite ready for a rooster yet.

I got 5 Barred Plymouth Rocks,

5 Buff Orpingtons, they are the color of man’s golden pocketwatch.
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And 5 Black Australorps.

Of course like everything else in my life, this will be a learning experience.

Boy, oh, boy, am I excited. March 14th can’t get here fast enough!!