13~ A Happy Place

The chicas almost always come when I call them. Almost always. In the evenings, especially, they are ready and willing to be in their coop, safe, roosting. Tonight, they didn't come. I offered treats, and made a few insistent hails for them. A couple of the hens reluctantly sauntered up, but most were too absorbed in their own pleasures to even give me a glance. They were, it seemed, each in a happy place. And happily, for me, I didn't need to hurry them, and I didn't need to hurry myself, either.

Some hens were scratching the earth, looking for the bits of whatever that appeal to chickens. One hen was so engrossed in her dustbath, that I chose to sit beside her, and see if I could take that singular photograph that conveys the bliss and silliness that is a chicken's dustbath. The little golden hen met my gaze for a passing moment but she was too intent in her pursuit to be bothered, or dissuaded. Pepper, or Pippi, came along... and I can only tell the two Wyandotts by their toes. Pepper's toes are black, and Pippi's are pale. Pepper, or Pippi, walked over and around Ginger, curious, envious, determined to take a share. The activity attracted Fiona, then Koa. The dustbath became the place to be. Pepper gave up, and then a Thompson arrived. The Thompson left, and Liberty moved in. Liberty is one of the older hens, about four years old. Goodness, where does the time go? She was the one that always would take off in her own direction, fearless, a loner, with a turned beak, and a sweet disposition. Apolitical.

Mister Foo, our polka-spotted cat, came around, keeping a respectful distance, occasionally meowing conversationally. It seems this was a happy place for chickens, a cat, and me. We'd had a good dinner, with lots of fresh garden vegetables. Some laundry was done, and errands run. Inside, I could hear engaging conversations. Outside, birds were talking, too, and the air was both warm and cool, stirring. Not everything is going smoothly, not all of my worries are small, but in this space I was aware of the contentment of fine. A moment when things were good enough, and plenty of beauty surrounded me that I couldn't not be grateful. Sometimes "normal" sounds dull, or unspecial, but I have come to appreciate how refreshing and generous normal can be. The simple pleasure of not being hurried, of noting the feel of the air, watching the evening light, hearing laughter, the sounds of a safe and quiet time... and acknowledging that it's wonderful to have this space, time, freedom from fear, angst, hunger, pain, urgency. It's a happy place to be aware of normal, of quiet beauty, reflection, the simple activities of hens.

With Infinity More Monkeys, a picture a day.