This is a little video I made this morning when I went to let the chickens out. Before I let them outside to the whole great big world, I open the little sliding door from the henhouse into the coop where they can eat and drink and greet the day on a more limited basis. The young hens and Elvis bust out as quickly as they can but the old hens like to stay on the roost and chat and gossip about whatever it is that hens chat and gossip about.
I suspect it's the wanton ways of the younger hens and the foolishness of Elvis. "Why he's old enough to be their great-great-great grandfather," I can almost hear them say. "Did you SEE the way she was flirting with him? Shameless."
Anyway, you can hear Miss Trixie's song and witness the always THRILLING flight of the hens from the roost.
Another Friday night without my sweetheart. He's gone back up to the hunting camp to hopefully get that plot planted before the rains come in tomorrow. He'll be back in time for the big party tomorrow afternoon. And it will be a big party in that tomorrow is Lily's birthday as well as Vergil's although Vergil is still in Asheville. We shall be sending him best wishes, though.
I made Lily a vegan chocolate cake today. Well, I baked the cake itself. I have not yet frosted it. I will do that tomorrow. Such a simple cake and it looks to be beautiful and smells delicious. Cocoa and almond milk, coconut oil and brown sugar. Flour, of course. A little red wine vinegar. I'll let you know how it turns out. It made my heart happy to bake. Lily is making Owen's cake.
I like that. Owen's mama is making his cake, Lily's mama is making hers.
Very quiet here tonight in Lloyd. The twittering of birds, a goat next door calling out for supper, the church folks arriving for services. I have a sense of melancholy but it is not depression. I think about the fact that twenty-nine years ago I was about to go into labor. I had made crab salad for dinner that night. I remember that. I remember going to bed and waking up in the early, early hours, knowing that my labor had started truly, going outside and looking up at the stars, wondering how all of this would unfold, holding my belly, breathing with the universe.
Quite nicely, it turns out.
Maurice comes up for one of her quick kisses and cuddles, then returns to her nap. She still pretends she has no real interest in us and perhaps she truly doesn't. Either way, she is at the door when I come home, she sleeps for at least part of the night tight against my legs. She offers her head for scratching, she closes her eyes as I oblige. She keeps me good company, uncomplaining and steady as my shadow.
My ovaries worked fine when I needed them though. There is no doubt of that.
And I tell you this- it is a joy of my life that I live next door to a church where praise is expressed through drums and singing. Shouting and testifying. Where chickens scratch and sing and squirrels scramble and hawks cry and cicadas buzz and frogs croak and the sun goes down with its light caught in the branches of oak trees which are older than the presence of white people on this land.
Can I get a witness?