Into my wintering den I shall go to hear more clearly the things I must know,
to see more deeply
I was awake before the Sun this morning, which is my preference. Although my sleep was rich with dreams, I slept well for the first time in quite a while, and I feel well-rested and eager to see what this day brings.
50-something years ago my parents started trying to teach me to always do my chores first. Those lessons never took hold the way they wanted them to, but these days, my way of doing things works well for me. I have been sorting out a morning routine that helps set me up for a good day because it allows me to focus on what I really want to do. In other words, I get my morning chores done first, then I can have fun. Thanks, mom and dad! You were right. (love you and miss you)
Yesterday I pulled chicken carcasses out of the freezer and put them in my stock pot on top of the stove. Then I added water, carrots, celery, onions, garlic, salt, pepper, and some herbs and let the whole thing simmer all day long. It wasn't long before the whole house smelled of comfort and care, so I used that as a little boost for a home energy clearing ritual. Multi-tasking kitchen witching is a lovely thing, friends.
At the end of the day, I separated the bones, meat scraps, and veg from the stock before pouring it through cheesecloth to strain out the tiny bits of left-behind stuff. The stock went into a pot to cool overnight in the fridge, and all the scrappy stuff into another for the same purpose. How strange when I woke at 6 am, that finishing up that kitchen work was the first thought on my mind.
I filled a glass quart jar with the rich stock so I can drop it off to a friend today and poured the rest into silicone molds to go into the freezer. Then I spent about half an hour removing the bones from the other goodness. The veg and meat mixture will go in the freezer so I can use it to supplement chicken feed.
Yes, this can be a controversial topic, and I gave it a lot of consideration before making the decision to give them the meat. The choice is between that or throwing it away, and I am working more diligently toward not wasting food or other resources.
The bones will go into the forest later this week, well away from human habitation. What isn't consumed by a critter or two will be consumed by the earth, and the cycle of life and death will continue.
I have a couple of other small projects to finish in order to neatly wrap up the remains of November. This time of year always brings an inward focus, and each year it seems I move ever more deeply into that space. This season is no exception.
I hope this day brings you whatever you want or need; peace, fun, quiet time, excitement, comfort, love.
Peace out.
"
It was 27 degrees when I woke at 5:30 this morning, which seems a fitting temperature for the first day of November. I knew it meant the end of the blooming Cosmos in the Cottage Garden, but hey...for everything there is a season. I also knew it meant I would have to thaw the chicken waterer once the sun rose and the birds were out for the day. But not in that moment. Not until the light came. Until then, I was willing to embrace my gratitude for my warm bed and the warm enough home that offers me safe holding. After the pup and the cats settled back down, I went back to sleep.
A few hours later, the chickens sounded the alarm. I looked out the window and saw them standing where I knew they would be, clustered around the waterer, raising a ruckus about the lack of service. The water in the shallow cups had frozen over, and they were unable to have their first-thing-in-the-morning drinks. Poor ladies. After I fixed their water, I offered scratch and mealworms to make up for the inconvenience they suffered, and they accepted.
All this time later, I have been at my desk. Reading and writing, thinking, crying, praying. When I felt cold, I was able to walk down the hall to fetch my sweater and gloves so I could be warm at my desk. If I really wanted to, I could turn up the heat, but I am being more mindful of the use of resources and budget than I probably have ever been. Plus, I'm a Gen-Xer on the cusp of being a Boomer, born to an upper-lower-class family. I grew up putting on slippers and extra socks, sweaters, or hats if I was cold. That's just the way we did things.
I had hot tea and warm bread pudding for breakfast. I made plans to go to an orchard tomorrow to buy apples so I can make homemade applesauce. I was able to text my children and message some loved ones. And nobody dropped a bomb on my house while I was doing any of these things. Nobody shot at me. It is most likely that nobody will shoot at me or try to kill me when I go to the market later on.
Part of being a GenXer/c/Boomer is that I thought the world would go one of two ways. Either the grownups would sort out all the hatred and violence and it would be done by the time I became a grownup, or we would all end up living some Mad Max kind of life. I thought we would educate and love our way out of racism, misogyny, and genocide.
But we haven't. And while I logically and practically understand it, I cannot, at any emotional or spiritual level, understand or accept it. It has been part of my entire life; it has shaped me and wounded me, burned and strengthened me, but still...I am left with mouth and soul agape at the seemingly casual response to the genocide being manifested in Gaza.
There are so many words wanting to pour out of my fingers onto the page, and I have to find the courage to let them out if for no reason other than maybe one person will read them and not feel so alone.
The meaning of this season is upon us. What shall we do with it? What shall I do?
It is 8:00 on Sunday evening and I just showered after cleaning the chicken coop, then put on my favorite soft, old pajamas. Having just gone outside to see a bear across the way and fireflies all over my gardens, I now happily have nowhere to go. It seems I am going to ignore the million things I have to do because my mind is traveling down memory lane and this is a trip I am happy to take.
My parents have been in my thoughts quite often recently, even more than usual. Of course, I miss them and often wish I could sit down at their dining room table to talk with them, sometimes about important matters, but mostly about everyday life which, I suppose, might be the most important matters of all. Funny and sad that I cannot conjure up clear images of what they looked like when I was a small child, in my mind they almost always appear as they do in the photograph below. I think they were both in their 60s when this was taken. I can piece together image memories by looking at other photos of them taken during my childhood but that isn't quite the same thing, is it?
Tonight my memories are focused on the Sunday nights when home was a safe and happy place to be. When I was little enough that coming in before dark to have a bath and put my pjs on was a source of comfort and not conflict, when my mother still washed my hair in the tub and used water running from the faucet to rinse it, when she was always careful not to get soap in my eyes.
I cannot recall how it was decided who sat where in the living room, but my favorite seat was always on the couch, safe behind the little comma of my mother's legs. Sunday nights were for Wild Kingdom and The Wonderful World of Disney and even my dad watched those shows with us. This all reminds me of his love of fudge ripple ice cream and how often that was the ice cream treat for everyone in the summer.
Too many memories to spill onto a page, electronic or written, but tonight they are filling my heart with feelings of being loved, safe, and happy.
I am grateful.
This is How the World Goes Round
I didn’t want to walk this morning.
But the swallows are flying over the water
and I needed to see the way their wings flutter,
the way their bodies shudder and stutter
until the moment they dive and become pure grace.
I didn’t want to walk this morning.
But a fish broke the surface near the edge of the lake
and the ripples are spreading,
changing the world without making a sound
and I needed to see the new pattern so I can find my way.
I didn’t want to walk this morning.
But a blue heron is flying overhead,
great wings stretched wide, great legs dangling behind,
going from one place to another without telling anyone where or why
and I wanted to wish him an excellent journey.
I didn’t want to walk this morning,
but the river is rushing along next to the path,
gems glistening and glimmering on her gown.
She’s singing a ballad, still drunk and happy from last night’s rain,
and I wanted to hear the story in her song.
I didn’t want to walk this morning,
but there woven between tall stalks of lambs quarter
a spiderweb shimmers in the sun,
here one moment and gone the next
and I must learn that ancient magic.
There’s a black snake slithering among the rocks
on the edge of the path, body twisting and curving as it moves.
The red-winged blackbirds are falling from the sky,
darting to the ground, trilling their songs.
Geese and ducks sail, turtles amble along,
and this is how the world goes round.
I didn’t want to walk this morning
but the bees are in the lavender, buzzing and humming
in ways that I am certain weave all of creation together
and I simply have to know their secrets.
(c) Sheri Barker
June 2023
After some disruption and schedule shuffling, I am finally easing back into my normal Sunday routine with the chickens. I find it comforting to be back on track, and I will anthropomorphize enough to say that the chickens do, too.
I still have 20 chickens, but the rooster, Mary, has been gone for a while now. He moved on to a small homestead with someone much more experienced in dealing with an aggressive rooster. There are three other roosters there to help keep him in line, and he's adjusted well to his new life. The Cottage chickens are a lot happier and more mellow now that he's gone.
In a funny twist that amuses and frustrates me, since his departure more of the ladies have gone broody than ever before. First Bree, then Bree and Gussie, then a break, then (surprisingly!) Jazz who is the oldest, then Jazz and Mae, then Gussie and Elke at the same time as J and M. There are currently four chickens sitting broody, with two of them hogging the nest box. What the ever-loving fluff, girls? Get over it. Jazz sits in there and purrs like a dinosaur from the first Jurassic Park.
The new watering system is great, and I am glad I made that change. This morning I added supplements to the system and it was so easy to do. I just turned off the water feed from the rain barrel, then drained the pvc system which holds about two gallons of water.
I added Hydro Hen (2 scoops) and Poultry Booster (2 teaspoons) to a gallon of water, poured it and one more gallon of plain water into the pvc pipe, and turned the system back on. Easy peasy.
They seem to like the flavor of this Kool-Aid mixture, as there is a lot of talk among them while they are drinking.
Greens from the gardens - both wild growth and things I've planted - are a great addition to their diet this time of year. This morning I pulled redroot pigweed, which is a species of amaranth, out of the south yard for them. I haven't seen it here before, so it must be a gift from some visiting birds. I also give them comfrey, nutsedge, lambs quarters, roses, bee balm, yarrow, salvia, and whatever else I find that they can have.
The world "out there" is overwhelming today. I look, sometimes simmer, acknowledge what is going on, and occasionally discuss a topic with someone I trust.
I am anthropomorphizing the behavior of birds in the garden. It is too early in the day to do anything that requires the use of such a big word, so I simply choose a different way of explaining my own ideas and behavior to myself.
Oh April, you brilliant, sassy goddess!
Spring is busy going through her wardrobe, pulling garments out of the cedar-lined closets built by a bored neophyte godling who was a carpenter in another life. She looks at each piece and laughs or sighs, delighted and wooed by the richness of texture and color.
"So much green. There is so much green," she says. "I love every bit of it!"
She tosses a light shawl on the branches of a tall oak tree, then drapes a dress across the top of a willow. Another for the elderberry and the roses. This ecstasy of viridity goes on through multiple turnings of the earth, and in between exploring shades of green, she rummages through drawers full of color. A patterned yellow, orange, and white scarf flutters over the top of the daffodil greens, and a pair of purple gloves call the creeping phlox into being.
My days are filled with reminders of patience and sudden blooms of joy. Reading the words of kindred spirits like Mary Oliver is part of that joy and also part of the root system that inhabits my being.
how can you help
of the world,
This is one of the rewards of being mindful, slowing down, and looking and listening. For seeing the untrimmable light of the world. I am part of a world filled with magic and wonder, and for that, I am grateful.
Peace.
Mindful by Mary Oliver
Everyday
I see or hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle
in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for —
to look, to listen,
to lose myself
inside this soft world —
to instruct myself
over and over
in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,
the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant —
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,
the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help
but grow wise
with such teachings
as these —
the untrimmable light
of the world,
the ocean’s shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?
