August | 2015 | Space Between

We thought she was a goner…
Two days ago our 11 chickens were free ranging around their coop when I noticed one of the golden ladies was missing. I began my count again..2 blacks, 2 browns, 3 speckled, 1….2….3 golden. One was missing. I called to Justin, he recounted. Again and again we counted. We corralled them into the pin, recounted. We searched inside and outside the coop. Klud the rooster was crowing like a crazy bird but our little gaurd pup seemed unphased. Did she fly over the electric fence? Was she roosting in the trees? We finally came to the conclusion a hawk must have snatched her. No feathers, no signs of struggle, and with the fortress our chickens live in the only predators that can really get to them are Hawks and Snakes.
Losing animals was not something I was prepared for when moving to the farm. Sure I understood some of our animals would die. We (meaning Justin) may have to even choose to take the life of some. But losing them, literally not knowing where they are, was not something I planned on happening often.

Our little lady chick is not the first to help me handle this mystery of not knowing. Our cats are constantly challenging me to hold my care for them loosely as well. They wander, disappear, willingly leave to find a home that will let them indoors, who knows what cats do? At first I cried. I cried hard. It’s such a feeling of failure. We failed to care for them, failed to protect them, failed in knowing what we are even doing. But something about this farm and this pregnancy have been teaching me the value of not knowing. They are both slowly helping me hold onto things I care about lightly, with an open hand instead of a tight grasp.

I imagine that holding onto things loosely will be expontially more difficult in parenthood, maybe impossible. But God is giving me cats and chickens who seemingly disappear and reappear to help me find Him when I face mysteries and uncertainties, really when I have no control or understanding.

Grateful for the practice with chickens, because money, jobs, relationships, family… Those are the things I struggle to open my hands to. Thanks chicky for the practice and glad you came back from wherever God had you hiding.

Deep slow breaths. One of the many strategies I’ve been taught as I prepare for labor. Lucky for me the practice of slow breaths has been grounding me not just in pregnancy but in the everyday surprises and at times chaos that has become our lives before baby.

Most of this we have brought on ourselves, garden, chickens, a new puppy. But surprisingly those big things have brought a simplicity to everyday life. We have settled into a routine of letting chickens out of the coop at 7, taking the puppy on his walk around the perimeter of his “gaurd” area, feeding all the animals, and sitting quietly in the coop watching puppy and chickens as they build their bonds. Then it repeats all in reverse at night. It can be quiet and calming most days, a welcome routine that brings structure, stillness and space to breathe. Not to mention early morning routines provide escape from the blazing Oklahoma heat as well.

However simple routines feel more chaotic in the pouring rain. The first drops are welcome. They cool the air and bring relief to the garden and to this VERY pregnant lady. But soon, the cool rain feels like it’s bringing more than just relief. Specifically, in our case it brought mud and mold. It started last week with a small chip in some paint. A weekend girls project of painting the nursery turned into scrapping paint off walls to uncover tiny spots of mold hiding underneath. (Apparently, mold is not the best for lungs or new babies.) So a simple project turned into pulling up baseboards, then tile, then subfloor, then joist…. All to find a small river and pond of water sitting under the house. Not what we expected weeks before baby, a room of mud and mold and lots of unplanned chaos around us.

And so I’m reminded of those slow, steady breaths. Reminded to find stillness and peace among the many things that are out of my control. Reminded that I can choose to be grateful even when I think it’s the last feeling I can find. And reminded that from the uncontrolled will come something new, something beautiful, both to the physical structure of our home and the very soon addition of new life to our family.