Yeah. Yeah. Here's My Solstice Post

Of all the pictures I deleted, there were as many of chickens as of anything else. If there is a theme to my photography, it is sunsets and chickens. I shit you not. I have a million sunset pictures. Dog Island, Cozumel, Roseland, Florida.
And chickens- well. Up until Owen they were the main focus of my lens.
Of course now that Owen is here, the chickens do not get as much photo-time as they once did but I still like to take their pictures. They still delight my heart, these fine, fat domestic birds of mine. This morning as Mr. Moon was leaving they were in the flower bed beside the kitchen, scratching away with great industry. Mr. Moon said, "You haven't had to weed that bed all year, have you?"
"Nope," I said. "And they fertilize, too."
They're like miracles to me, those crazy hens and that crazy rooster Elvis. Organic bug and weed control, organic fertilizer, all in one delightful package of comedic seriousness. And they lay eggs for us to eat!
I swear, whoever invented the chicken should be hailed as one of the major saviors of mankind.
Or, perhaps it is just the chickens themselves who should be hailed as such. Let me ask you this- who has done more, in practical terms, for the human race? Jesus or chickens?
No contest there, babies. Not in my mind.
Jesus may have fed the masses. ONCE! Chickens have been providing us with protein for hundreds of thousands of years, good perfect protein and they can do that with nothing more than the bugs and weeds in a yard.
Maybe this should be the Church of the Chicken Shit Crazy.
I'll think about that.

Yesterday was the summer solstice and I didn't say one damn thing about it. It's been so hot here for so long that the solstice had no meaning to me. So the earth was tipped a bit more this way, the day was the longest of the year? My legs did not register the tipping and I fell asleep on the couch at nine o'clock. I'd spent an hour or so weeding in the garden, forgotten my afternoon shot of espresso and ate a nice meal.
Knock-out!
I slept right through that extra one fifth of a second or whatever it is.
I'm not a very good Druid, am I?

Tonight, though, there will be a bit of a ceremony over at Kathleen's. She is having to help one of her dear dog children into the light on Thursday due to old age. The precious dog is blind and confused and as much as Kathleen hates to do it, she knows that if the situation were reversed, she would want to be held and let go. Wouldn't we all ask for that when the time comes? And Kathleen is the most responsible animal owner I know of. Her animals are adored and better cared for than most children. This is going to be very hard for her and of course, there is the matter of the grave. A Lab is a big dog so Mr. Moon and Rich and another friend are going over to help get that ready tonight. And on top of that, Kathleen has three roosters which are making life hell for her sweet hens and so Mr. Moon is going to turn them into meat for her. Two other friends are coming over and there will be food and beer and champagne and a celebration of life and a liberation of the hens through rooster-death.
Kathleen will freeze that meat and when we have our Jezebel party, she plans on making a dinner of cock to serve. Kathleen is like that- the tenderest of hearts and a streak within her as mean as Jessie's. You can just look at both of them and know how mean they are, Jessie and Kathleen. Both as pragmatic as accountants, both as ethereal as moonbeams, both as tenderhearted as...well- you know what? I can't think of any thing or any one as tenderhearted as those two.
So this is going to be a hard week for my friend, Kathleen but tonight we will try and help her in whatever way we can, a few of her friends. Second day of summer and we'll be gathering to kill roosters, dig a grave, eat some food, comfort our friend as she is about to lose one of her best friends. One of her kids as she calls her dogs. Kids without opposable thumbs.
Her kids have never let her down. Not once. And she has never let them down either. And on Thursday she will do what has to be done in order to do the best for her kid that can be done.

Life can be cruel and so can summer. One of the most beautiful passages in the Bible tells us that to everything there is a season. I take great comfort in this.

It is the season of the heat and the dark breathing green. It is the season of the afternoon thunderstorms and the season of the harvest of too many cucumbers. It is the blackberry season and it is the season for the chickens to rest long hours under the shed in the cool, sandy dirt of Lloyd after their work of scratching.

Death has no season. It is with us at all times. But so is life. And tonight we'll gather and celebrate that while Kathleen's dear kid is still with us and we'll prepare for her death.
Her release.
As death and life have no particular season, neither does love.

We will celebrate all of that in this season of summer tonight and it will be hot and the people digging the grave and slaughtering the roosters will sweat. We will all sweat, in fact. There is no way around sweating here in Florida one day after the solstice.
Part of life like tears and blood.

And we will put our sweaty arms around Kathleen and her still-living old kid and my friend's heart will hopefully be comforted, even as it pumps the blood around her body, even as she cries, which I imagine she will.

And her hens will be happy and will scratch around their yard with their one good rooster to watch over them as mine do here and there will be meat in the freezer, cleaned and ready to cook to sustain us in the future and well, to everything there is a season and we should all be comforted in that.