The last time I dug a grave for one of our animals was exactly three years ago. Ed was sailing, I was home with a clowder of still mostly feral cats and a flock of chickens. In the space of his three week absence, I lost two young kittens -- one to disease and the other to the car (she'd been hiding underneath... who knew...). Since that year, we have had predators attack the coop. Last year, Java was taken down by an opossum and Tomato was hauled away by who knows what animal. Coyote maybe? But the cats have thrived (and avoided cars) and the other hens are bonded and laying and overall happy as can be. Well, Cherry, sometimes called Cinnamon (she is of the Cinnamon Queen breed) was not pleased with the addition of the Bresse girls. She was boss! But eventually they knew how to stay happy and healthy.
Until a few days ago when Cherry Cinnamon lost her oomph.
I could tell she was not well. I tried to clean her derriere up, even as I'm not sure that this would help. (We did that with Unie and she recovered from the same type of inflammation that now hit Cherry.) In the last couple of days she got to be so weak that I carried her into comfortable places. To a sunny spot when it was warm, to a clean roosting box when it cooled down. Yesterday I did not even carry her up to the roost with the others for the night. I could tell she was no longer capable of managing anything at all. I found a spot for her in the coop, left her a handful of corn which she had no interest in eating and left.
This morning she was dead.
Funny how we had purchased four Bresse chickens for possible slaughter (that idea is no longer even floating around) and yet, here I was absolutely saddened by the loss of Cherry.
She was young! We got her when she was just two days old, in the middle of the pandemic (February 2021).
She was a reliable layer and a good pack girl, though turning bossy toward the white newbies this summer. Still, we liked her! She was part of the farmette family.
Sigh...
There was nothing more to do but to clean out the coop as best I could. Shovel out most of the wood shavings. Ed would have told me not to bother. Unless you really disinfect a coop, you're not going to get rid of whatever is there. Still, I'm giving it a good shot. I dumped fresh shavings into the roost and then dug a grave in our little animal cemetery. As before, I played Sinatra's Moonlight Serenade, shed a few tears and said my goodbye.
Breakfast? Well, alone, though not for long. Ed is coming back earlier. The sail is over. He wants to get home. Tomorrow.
Snowdrop had been picking up stray feathers, pretty ones that she finds in the yard. I think they're Cherry's. I gave them an honored spot at the table and lit a new candle with the very light scent of Honeycrisp apples.
* * *
Then I clean the house. With lots of music playing. I can absolutely guarantee that Ed will not notice the wiped down refrigerator, the dust free walls, books, paintings, toys, the vacuumed spaces beneath the vents -- none of it, so I cannot say that I did this for him. I suppose I'm giving myself a clean house until tomorrow when we will resume our more lackadaisical approach to farmette life.
In terms of housekeeping, I suppose we are not unlike the mismatched couple, where one is Republican the other Democrat. We are not entirely on the same platform. It's not that he doesn't know how to be neat or clean (no one cleans the stove as thoroughly as he does!), it's that this is not where he wants to place his effort on a day-to-day basis. To an outsider, he is inconsistent: he'll be bothered by neatly wrapped gifts piling for the holidays. Too much clutter. He hates clutter. But look at the stack of papers along his side of the couch. And screws and cords. and cat combs and books he's been meaning to read. And the ever present dish that should be washed and in the dish rack, but instead rests all day long on the coffee table. I'm still using it!
I'm not obsessively neat and he is not hopelessly messy, so I suppose we are like the moderate Republican/Democrat pair. Still, I have to smile at what I come home to each time I return from a trip: the first thing I do when I enter the house is tidy up the sink, the bathroom, the countertop, whatever detail that has been too neglected in my absence. No matter how many dozens of hours I've been traveling, this is what I do. He, on the other hand, will he coming home to a clean farmhouse. And he wont care.
We have this in common: neither of us ever tells the other how to live their lives and only rarely do we feel compelled to comment on lifestyle choices. If his light messiness bothers me, I simply tidy up. He'll say (as he will say tomorrow when I will tell him that I cleaned) -- thank you gorgeous, and that will be that.
I am reminded of the song I posted the last time he was coming home from a sailing trip. It was the one time in our entire seventeen years together that we had a rather emotional spat, over what was a stupid misunderstanding. We were both terribly in the wrong. But in the end, I reminded myself (as did he) why it is that, despite all these irrelevant differences, despite everything, we are consistently and steadfastly so very happy together. I like being with you -- he'll say. I like being with you too. Here's the song.
Some people live in a house on the hill
And wish they were some place else
There's nobody there
When the evening is still
Secrets with no one to tell
Some I have known have a ship where they sleep
With sounds of rocks on the coast
They sail over oceans five fathoms deep
But can't find what they want the most
Even now when I'm alone
I've always known with you
I am home
For me it's a glance and the smile on your face the touch of your hands,
And an honest embrace
For where I lay it's you I keep,
This changing world I fall asleep
With you all I know is I'm coming home,
Coming home
(Vanessa Carlton)
* * *
Yes, I do take a walk. It's cool -- just 50F (10C), but hey, by the end of this coming week 50F will seem like summer. We are in for a very cold rest-of-November.
Favorite park time! Just to clear the head and fill my smart watch's exercise circles. Rather than posting a photo of my path, I'll put up a few pics of Sandhills that I met along the way. They are with us all the warmer months of the year, but in these last days before leaving for the south, they seem to congregate more. Perhaps rehashing their plans for the trip ahead.
* * *
I put away eight cheepers tonight. Because now they are eight.
And I cook a fish for supper. The young family isn't here today -- they have another commitment. The house remains tidy and waiting. But what matters more is that Ed had a fantastic sail and he is coming home happy.
with so much love.
