disappointment and chickens

I didn't expect frost overnight, but waking up, I see that there is frost out on the fields to the east of us.

November is the month for those cold nights, for crunchy morning walks to the barn, with puffs of steam leaving you every time you let out a breath. 

I'm thinking -- frosty mornings are hardly noticeable in the city. Okay, you may need an extra layer to protect yourself from the cold, but concrete sidewalks look the same, buildings and shop windows look the same, cars snailing along in rush hour traffic look the same. But here, in the country, a frost creates a whole new landscape for you. Dare I say it -- it's just a tiny bit exciting!

I open up the coop and feed the chickens. They know the routine. And here's the thing: they know me! I listened to an NPR segment yesterday (so much time in the car, with the radio on!) that revealed stuff about chickens I hadn't known: like the fact that a chicken has the capacity to memorize and remember up to 100 faces (animal and human). Can you believe it?! These hens of ours see my eyes, my nose, mouth and they know it's me. They also know each others faces, and those of the cats who live here, and Ed's of course, and even the faces of the two kids that come charging into their space every day after school. (In the cited study, the researchers found that if you cover up or camouflage the face, the chicken gets confused.) And this I knew about them -- they have memory. They remember where good things happen (the concrete slap by the garage where I give them bread treats). And they remember their safe resting places (under the lilac right by the porch). And their territory (they never go into the neighbor's yard). And of course, their routine (where to lay, eat, sleep, drink water). That's a lot of thought processing for such pea size brains!

 

 

Breakfast, in the kitchen.

Ed's not hungry, but he joins me. I watch his face and I feel so terribly bad for him. In my nineteen years with him, I have never seen him to be especially sad. He's not a guy with big feelings. Even keel, steady as they come. But today, his sadness is palpable. Calling off the sail that was to take place this coming week because of a flare up of his kidney stone (the sail is from Rhode Island to the Caribbean) was a stunning blow to him.

The thing that is just such a gut punch from my perspective is that this guy never really wants anything. He's not one to buy stuff or go places. He has always been content with sharing space with me, learning a new skill. Nothing needs to be added to make his time on this earth worthwhile. Ed just is.

But he really wanted this trip. A good boat with a good captain and a solid crew -- that's hard to find and he had found one this year that seemed just about perfect. And then wham! He wakes up with that telltale pain of a stone and it's all taken away from him. He asked yesterday -- should I cancel, so the captain can find a substitute, or should I wait a day? I said -- wait a day. But Ed's a good guy and he wanted to give the boat owner ample time to find a replacement. So he cancelled.

And now I watch his sad face. I can offer him nothing and of course he asks for nothing. But for the first time since I've known him, he admits it -- he's bummed. When I prod him though, he says -- there was a car accident not far from us yesterday. Five people, killed. I have nothing to be sad about.

In the afternoon, we get ourselves moving. We get ready to go for a longer hike. And wouldn't you know it, minutes before we set out, Ed's kidney stone comes out and he is suddenly fine! He quickly calls the boat captain, but we know what the upshot will be -- the guy has found a substitute for Ed. He had to do it of course. The boat is leaving port in five days. He needed to act quickly. A good boat is hard to find, but so is a good crew. Ed grins one of those not too happy grins -- you told me to wait a day, he reflects. But you know, I did the right thing.

Yes he did.

Our walk, out on the Ice Age Trail cutting through the Brooklyn Wilderness Area is just beautiful!

You heard it here -- the November forest can indeed be stunning.

For me, the day is otherwise restful. And this is important. I hadn't really had time off since Labor Day weekend. The weeks have been full of kids, travel, pneumonia, kids, travel, kids. None of it (well, except the pneumonia) was terrible or even especially stressful, but it was packed. I need a breather. This weekend I'm getting a breather.

with love...