do, be, do?

Spring came and seems to still be here.  The wildflowers aren’t out in as much profusion as they used to be, but the green of the grasses this year is extraordinary.  There’s a blue note to it that makes everything look almost flourescent, and the periodic flowering cherry trees look like angels or clouds dipping down to earth.  The two pigs on the road into town have grown exponentially; from the rear they look like a pair of wrapped sausages.  I don’t suppose they’ll be around too much longer but for now they look to be enjoying their life of eating, sleeping, and backtalking the ducks.

We’re planning on getting some chickens soon.  I’m pretty excited since we’ll be able to get a type of chicken that lays colored (blue, green, brown) eggs but is adapted to this area.  I’m really in almost everything for the color, after all:  Atomic red carrots, purple beans, brown peppers, rainbow tomatoes.  Green eggs are just a natural addition.  The Partner has also made some murmured references to perhaps having our OWN pigs.

While on the one hand, a supply of on hand good organic manure will be nice, on the other this venture into further raising of one’s own food brings up a big question.  Eventually, the animal is killed and eaten.  Which means one has to actually kill the animal one has raised and played with and bossed around and told one’s life story to.  In a larger perspective, this is completely as it should be.  We should have enough respect for what keeps us alive to participate completely in its trajectory and know what it has experienced and ingested.   Still.  I’ve never done anything like this before and it’s just the tiniest bit scary.  Killing something, I mean.  And really it isn’t going to be fair to stick the Partner with always having to wield the axe.

Still, I am getting ahead of myself here since at this point I have not even pulled weed one in the garden and the chicken coop still has to be created.  My fantasies of ready to hand chicken manure are still in the thought bubble phase, and our tenure on this land continues to be full of uncertainty, not to mention downright weirdness.

This, though, is the nature of life, isn’t it? At least now?  I was reading a text the other day and saw this sentence:  Comfort accommodates tension.  If we get too comfortable, which seems to be something of a goal which we are charged to achieve in life, we stop looking deeply at things.  We don’t pay attention to the headache or whatever it might be and then, things happen “unexpectedly”.  I’m coming to see the unexpected in this context as anything but- clinging to comfort can blind us to impending realities but that doesn’t make them unexpected.  The situation we find ourselves in here is clearly geared to non-accommodation of comfort, so I guess that’s a good thing.  We’re basically forced to evolve and become more conscious in this place, or  we simply won’t make it.  Balancing the need to have some dynamism in our situation (getting chickens) with the instability of our situation (we don’t own the property we live on) requires a constant assessment of what, exactly, is really needed.  That turns out to be quite a bit less than I originally thought, which is good.  But the vertigo attaching to letting go? Is really something else. We are all in this position whether we realize it or not, and our goals must be to keep our hearts and minds as clear as possible.  Some days that is easier than others.

Nonetheless, there will be chickens soon, I’m pretty sure.  The other thing that’s for sure is there will be absolutely no roosters and how we’re going to keep our hens in crickets and romance remains to be seen.

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