On our little homestead, this season marks the turning of a page, and the start of a new chapter. The closing of the last chapter is a hard one. But it still comes with gratitude.
As I walked from the garden Saturday evening, a shovel in one hand and an empty pet carrier in the other, I was hit by the juxtaposition of my feelings. You see, as the sun set, I dug a hole in which to lay my sweet, tenacious Gracie. She was the oldest hen in the flock after what felt like too short a time from losing Mine and then Toot, who were both Gracie's age.
Nine years ago Gracie was the first chick I ever picked out. A little ball of black fluff darting around the pen at the local feed store, she caught my eye becuase she stood out from the rest. "I want that black one," I told the girl catching four chicks for us. My son had already picked one. The other two were random.
Gracie turned out to be an amazing hen in so many ways. She was beautiful, of course, with cheek tuffs and black feathers laced with bronze, and her eggs were a bright blue. She was also dominant and watchful. When a fox was out in the field behind the coop, it was Gracie, not our rooster, sounding the alarm. When we lost our first roo, Gracie even made crowing sounds. She was a survivor, too. When a fox did attack the flock, Gracie led the counter attack while Toot ran the youngest to safety. We were without a rooster then, and the rest of the hens fought back against the fox. Eventually, though, that furry beast took off with Gracie's huge body in her mouth. She did drop our girl in the garden where I was able to calmly approach and catch her for examination. After only a week in the infirmary, Gracie was back with her feathered sisters.
Mine was my son's first pick chick. (Thus her name. 😊) This girl also sported silvery cheek tuffs and deep golden feathers that shifted to silver toward her tail, and she laid green eggs. She was a middler in the flock. Not dominant, but not at the bottom either. She would snuggle in on the roost, and even let younger pullets nestle under her wings. She was an easy catch, and so calm and gentle in our arms. When the folck would free-range, Mine was always at the front of the pack for bedtime. In fact, Mine always went to bed while everyone else was still out looking for food.
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| Mine & Gracie |
Then there was Toot. Toot came to us with our first order from Meyer Hatchery. She was a Buff Orpington, chosen for her golden color, friendly nature, and frequent laying of big, brown eggs. We had three originally. Toot outlived Buffy and Pumpkin by many years. She earned her name because every time we'd pick her up as a chick, she would squawk loudly. At some point in her life, she had damage to her eyes that caused her pupils to always be pinpricks. Despite this, she could at least see light and shadow and was still a strong forager. And she was the very best mama hen. Toot hatched and raised Fluff, Cheerio, and Dinky, and she mothered all of the other young pullets we introduced over the years. (Orpingtons are known for this quality.) But, woo! Do NOT approach a broody Toot! She turned into a dragon when she was broody or mothering, and she would actually chase us! Signs of a good mom, right?
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| Toot with baby Dinky |
This spring I returned all three of these wonderful birds to Mother Gaia. I did so with both the deepest sadness and profound gratitude. Sad, of course, because they were gone. But profoundly grateful that they chose us to spend this lifetime with. They each gave us nine amazing years full of love and wonder. We are so very sad that they are gone, but they will forever be in our hearts, warming us with memories of their individual and fantastic personalities.
I need to also mention Gatelocker. She was also one of the first group of chicks from the feed store. Her coloring was similar to Mine, but she was golden throughout with silver lacing. She didn't have the cheek tuffs, but instead had a gorgeous shape to her head feathering that made her look elegant. Like an Egyptian goddess or a ancient carving of a lion. Her personality was much like Mine within the flock, but she was anything but calm in human relations. She ran as fast as she could to avoid capture and would flap her wings to make hodling her difficult.
In August 2021 Gatelocker got sick. She held on for a while, but as we prepared for vacation I found myself writing a note to the sitter on how to handle the situation if she passed while we were away. She took that responsibility away the morning we were to leave. I found her limp, her comb purple, and her breathing extremely labored. She was dying, and I knew I had to end her suffering. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done, but I knew I had to do it. I prayed for her, and I spoke to her and told her how much we loved her. Then I dug a hole and laid her inside. (She was released before burial.)
Understandably, I was a mess, and as I kneeled in the damp morning grass beside the fresh grave, I prayed. I asked for forgiveness and for a sign that I had done the right thing. At that moment, a small creature rustled the grass in front of me, and a peaceful knowing settled over me. All was as it should be.
As I have evolved, I have become hyper aware of what our flock provides us. Eggs, sure. But there's so much more. There's love just because they are living creatures. There's wonder at how much they transform as they grow from fluff-ball chicks into regally-feathered adults. There's amazement at their individual personalities. There's humor in the little things they do with those personalities. They are part of our family.
And it's because of all these things, along with my own expansion, that I return them to the Earth as I do. I open space and speak to Spirit before breaking ground. It's setting the intention of returning the physical body to the womb of Mother Gaia for transmutation and transformation as the soul is set free. As I lay our beloved bird in the ground (and I did this for our Betta, too), I do so with love and gratitude for the time we had. And I ask the Mother and Father to welcome her (or him) with their unconditional love. At the closing, I say a little prayer of thanks again. For everything. Because this life may have some really tough times, but in the end I am so deeply grateful for each and every experience.
So we enter this summer season (2023) with all of our original flock passed on to greener pastures, where the treats are endless and there is no threat of predators. Cheerio is now our oldest at 7 years, but we have 9 new chicks feathering in and 8 more coming in June. Time passes and always leaves its mark, but we have the power within to see the gifts even through the hardest changes.
