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A quote: “Sooner or later everyone sits down to a banquet of consequences.” ~~ Robert Louis Stevenson
I’ll start with a story …
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Such a fierce little girl. She charged about the farm helping with the chickens, candling eggs, mucking the barn — all to her non-stop running commentary.
At 17 she fell out of love with the place. Acres of open space with the freedom to explore on her own were suddenly boring.
Dad and I weren’t surprised the day she came downstairs with a suitcase, announcing her move to The City.
And no surprise when she returned. We’re rural, but we aren’t stupid. We hugged her and prayed over a chicken dinner for those who didn’t make it out in time.
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Now, it’s your turn.
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. featured image, cropped, Adobe Stock standard license
Dupin says: “Daddy, look at the chickens.” Emma smiled broadly and tossed scratch out for them while I grinned and snapped a picture.
She dug her hand into the bag, and as she decided where to throw the next handful, a chicken pecked her leg.
“Daddy, the chicken pecked me.”
“Throw the scratch, honey,” I said, and she tossed it into the yard.
The chicken pecked her again.
Emma dove on the chicken. She wrestled it, standing up a moment later, dirty, scratched, and bleeding, but holding the chicken by the neck in both hands.
“Daddy, I want chicken nuggets for supper.”
Cameron says: “Honey, isn’t she in danger from being that close to the chickens?” my wife asked.
“It’s fine,” I replied. “She knows how to behave around them. And besides…”
The birds looked up as one and without warning, swarmed the coyote that had been stalking our daughter from the edge of the property. A minute later, they were kicking dirt on the body as she laughed at the sight.
“I paid extra for that training. She’s safe around them. Now let’s get the eggs.”
You can say what you want about farm life. I find it more entertaining than city life.
Kate grew up right here on our folks’ dairy farm, just like the rest of us. She knew darned well how babies get made, after all those livestock projects in 4H and FFA. But she still danced the mess-around with that boyfriend of hers, and she got herself in a fix.
I never understood what she saw in Joseph Karahidze. The only thing I can say is our folks raised her right enough that when everything blew up, she didn’t try to squirm out of it. She went over there with him, took her place by his side in the strange new world the Miracle of the Lightning Bolt had created.
And now perhaps some good will come out of her mistake. The doctors say that our daughter’s lungs aren’t forming properly, that she’ll be born only to die in our arms. But Kate says the same science that created the clones can also help our little girl’s body develop properly, if I’ll just let the doctors over there do it.
At dawn, nine-year-old Lily bravely explored the yard. She tended to her chickens, filling the air with clucking and scratching sounds. Chickens bustled, feathers brushing her fingers. The sun’s awakening revealed their dazzling feathers in a mix of gold and brown. With each name that she whispered, a soothing atmosphere ensued. Their trust brought her joy and gratitude. The vastness of the farm diminished her own world. She cradled the delicate eggs with stained hands. She discovered strength in their fragility, a quiet agreement between her and the brood. Life blossomed afresh at dawn, guided by her youthful, steadfast touch.
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