True Grit

A few weeks ago I wrote a post about getting attacked by my rooster, who has since been named "Marshal Cogburn" by my husband. I disagree with the name, as I don't believe the rooster exemplifies True Grit, but anyway...

Things have been pretty quiet on the rooster front and I have not been having panic attacks since I started wearing jeans and sneakers instead of shorts and flipflops to the coop. I have also started packing heat when I go out there. Well, I have been carrying a plastic t-ball bat, but it gets the job done.

So this morning my parents were visiting and I headed out to the coop, yellow Little Tykes bat in hand. I let the chickens out, and the hens, who have pretty red combs now and are laying four eggs a day, ran to greet me. The rooster ran too, but not to be friendly. I tried to look non-threatening and walked slowly toward the house, but he matched my pace. We were neck in neck for a minute or two, and then he struck. It was classic Cogburn, talons outstretched, wings flapping. But this time, I was ready. I swung Little Tyke at him and thunked him in the side. Undeterred, he lunged again, and this time I brought the bat down square on his head. He ran away, bawking.

Victory!

But then, he started making this unearthly bawking-gobble sound and flapping his wings. He stumbled sideways and fell over in the grass, dead as a doornail, his neck extended and legs sticking up in the air. My face flushed hot and my hands started shaking. I killed him! I didn't mean to KILL him! I just don't want to get scratched! The hens ran over and looked at him, curiously. I put my hand over my mouth and ran to the house. Once inside, I leaned my back against the door and sunk to the floor. What would I tell the kids? What would they think of me, now that I was a murderer? "It's ok", I told myself, "you had no choice. It was self-defense" I went into the dining room, where they were playing with my mom. "Hey guys, " I said softly. "I...I accidentally killed the rooster." They looked indifferent. "Oh good," Gracie shrugged. "Now he can't scratch us." I sat down at the table, still shaken. "I've never killed anything before," I told my mom. "I really didn't mean to. But he was coming after me, and I just wanted to stop him..." as I sat, staring out the window, the rooster's head poked up out of the grass. A second later, he was back on his feet. "IT'S A MIRACLE!!!" Gracie shrieked,  "HE'S RAISED FROM THE DEAD!"

I watched the rooster shake himself, then walk around in circles for a few minutes. He finally regained his composure and made his way to the woods to rejoin the hens. "Well look at that," I said, "I guess he really does have True Grit."

                                                                             

The Day the Rooster Kicked my Butt

We've been keeping chickens now for about five months. We brought them home when they were two weeks old, held them, pet them, and handled them a lot in hopes of having very docile chickens. And it worked. As soon as my hens see me come out in the yard, they run right up to me, clucking as if to say hello. Until the rooster comes along...
                                                                             
I was warned about roosters. I even had a little experience, as my husband's parents had one for a while, until it started going after Gracie. I know they can be mean, they have to be the boss, etc. But I did hope that by handling him so much when he was young, he would be more, approachable. And you have to have a rooster if you want to have chicks, which we do.

Everything was fine with the rooster until we started letting the chickens roam the yard. Everytime they came out, Caleb would charge up to them, excited to see what they were doing. Of course this scared them, and the rooster started looking suspicious. I warned Caleb, but in typical little-boy fashion, he ignored me. One fateful day, he charged up to the rooster, bent his thirty-inch frame over, and screamed, "BAWK!" right into the roosters face. That was the last straw. It fluffed its feathers, took a flying leap, and pecked Caleb on his leg, leaving a blue bruise in the shape of a beak. Caleb ran to me, I picked him up and stomped at the rooster, and it backed down. However, the incident left Caleb a marked man, and he is never safe in the yard if his winged arch nemesis is loose.

A few weeks later, Caleb decided to help me feed the chickens and put them up for the night. He was humbled by his first experience, and was keeping a respectful distance. Nevertheless, when the rooster saw him, he charged up to Caleb and started dancing a fluffing and jumping at him. Mama bear instincts were pumping through my body as I ran over and sent the rooster sailing with one swift kick. When it regained its composure, it ran for the pen, and when I stuck my head in the coop to get the water, he darted out the door, scared to death of me. "You better run sucka!" I yelled.

Things calmed down a little for a few weeks. Caleb won't go near the rooster, and I continued tending the chickens without incident. But over 4th of July weekend, I started noticing something- I was being stalked. The rooster would literally hide behind trees and poke its head around, trying to calculate my coordinates. "Oh it's like that, huh?" I would shout. "BRING IT ON". It would sneak up behind me as I was walking through the yard. It tried to be all stealthy, but it's getting fat and I could hear his feathers swish-swishing. When I turned around, it would stop and start pecking the ground, trying to act nonchalant.

Then last night, I made a mistake. I got lazy and let my guard down. I was outside, talking to Jeremiah about some stonework we just had done. He had worked late. We were both tired and I felt like I was starting to catch a cold. "Well, I better go put the chickens away," I said. I started back for the pen. I should add here that I was wearing SHORTS and FLIPFLOPS. "Here chicky chicky chickies!" I called. They all ran up to me, eager for me to tuck them into their little chicken beds. The rooster ran up beside me, leading his ladies like a pimp in Atlantic City. As we got to the pen, I crossed in front of the rooster to open the coop. That's when it happened. Behind me I heard the familiar swish-swish of feathers. As I spun around I saw the rooster was airborne, sharp talons aimed at my bare legs. "Argh!" it was like a dream where everything's in slow motion and your limbs are jello. I jumped back just in time and grabbed a stick. It came at me again, and I wacked it on the head but MY STICK BROKE! I felt claws and beak on my bare legs again and again, and I was unable to kick because of the flipflops! Everytime I stuck my leg out for a kick, it scratched me! I had no choice but to retreat. I started to walk away, but it came from behind again. I walked faster...faster... finally I broke into a run. The rooster ran too. That thing is fast. It got me again. "AAH! AAH!" I continued running, my flipflops snap-snapping in mockery. I came around the hill and saw Jeremiah by the shed. "What's wrong?!" "AAH AAH!" I managed. I ran behind him. He of course was wearing Carharrt pants and work boots. "Thunk" he kicked the rooster. "Thunk thunk". It retreated for the pen. He followed, flexing his muscles like the Incredible Hulk. "Oh yeah! who's a big man now? this is MY hen!" (??????)  he threw a duck decoy at it ( the longer I write, the redneck-ier this sounds) "I'm the rooster here!" He turned to me. "You have to think like a chicken," he explained. Oh.

Jeremiah of course wanted to know why I was running from the rooster in the first place. "Isn't it obvious? SHORTS and FLIPFLOPS!" Then he told me I need to show the rooster who's boss, which I would have done, but again, SHORTS and FLIPFLOPS!

I would like all my readers to know that my daughter actually witnessed the whole attack, and was standing at the back door laughing her head off.

One often experiences great clarity after a near-death experience, and I learned several important lessons:
1) chickens do indeed have large talons
2)  they run very very fast
3) I can still run surprisingly fast
4) never, ever wear SHORTS and FLIPFLOPS around a rooster

IT IS SO ON!

The Still Small Voice of a Screaming Baby

I love big families. I always have. Growing up with just one brother, I always dreamed about having a sister. All the kids I knew with families bigger than mine always seemed to have so much fun, and they usually had these cool parents who did fun things with them, like bust out guitars and have campfire sing-alongs. Being at their house was like a constant slumber party. So by the time I was twelve, I had established that I would have a large family.

Fast forward 17 yrs and big families are "in", thanks to the Duggars, Jon and Kate, and a bunch of other TLC shows. I am not the kind of person to be swayed by the media or current trends. I actually pride myself with how disinterested I am in Hollywood and reality TV. But the big family shows draw me in with their siren's song of happy, crazy, messy, fun lives. Add to that the growing number of friends and acquaintances I have who are adding to their families, and my head is full of uncertainty.

This is something I've been struggling with for a long time. About two years I would guess. Some of you who follow my blog may remember I've written about my struggle with family planning (or lack thereof) before. My struggle is still going on, but I feel like it's reaching it's end, that I am finally coming to the conclusion that, as much as I would love to, and as much as I admire and respect large families, it's not for me. More specifically, I don't think God wants it for me. Elijah listened for God's voice in wind and fire, something dramatic, and found it in a still small voice. I keep waiting for an answer to my prayers, a big sign or deep conviction. I feel like He speaks to me through a small child named Luke.

Again, if you follow my blog, you will remember I've written about Luke, and how absolutely trying he is. Gracie and Caleb were, and continue to be, happy, easygoing, little kids, full of laughter and wonder. Luke is not like them. He is one unhappy kid. Almost all the time. Without being dramatic, I feel like I shuffle through life in a constant state of exhaustion. I constantly have tension in my shoulders. I can't do the things I used to do. My husband and I take turns sitting in church, because he screams non-stop in nursery. I can't go to the store anymore. Last time I tried I had to leave a full cart of groceries in the middle of BJs because he wouldn't stop screaming and bashing his head into Caleb. I can't wear my glasses even though contacts bother me, because he smacks them off my face. I have not sat through a meal in months. And it doesn't just affect me. One night after Luke went to sleep, Gracie covered her ears and said, "Ugh! I can still hear Luke screaming in my head."

Before you write me off as the worst mom ever for complaining about my son, know that I'm not really trying to complain. I am saying all this in a matter-of-fact way. I have come to terms with this. This is how my life is, and that's ok. I love my son so much. He is my little snugglebug. He gives the best baby kisses and hugs and sings the sweetest songs. He makes me laugh with his dancing and bawk-ing like a chicken. But he makes me realize I have reached my limit.

                                                                              

Last night I went to visit a friend a her beautiful newborn baby. I wondered when I held her what I would feel. Longing? Sadness at the thought of no more children? She was perfect and tiny and pink and soft. And I felt nothing but happiness for my friend.

There is a movement in the church right now to abandon family planning and let God do it for you. I agree that you should let God plan your family. I think it's something you need to pray about a lot and seek Godly direction on. God has a special place in His heart for children, and we need to have the same heart. But I don't think it's necessary to abandon the physical planning of your family. God has a different plan for every family. Like homeschooling, I think it's something God will call you to. Some people are called to have a large family. Others are not. The important thing is not the size of your family, but letting God lead you. Some people (and I agreed with this for a while) argue God commanded people to "be fruitful and multiply"- but commands are for everyone. Why would God command that, and then render some people barren, unable to follow His command? I believe "be fruitful and multiply" is a blessing, not a command. I certainly count every one of my children as blessings, especially Luke. In the beginning of my pregnancy it looked like we might lose him. Now I thank God for him every day. But I'm starting to think my family is perfect just the way it is  :o)

A Great Many Things

One of my favorite movie quotes is from "Little Women". A man at a dinner party tells Jo, "You should have been a lawyer, Miss March" and she replies, "I should have been a great many things".

"I should have been a great many things"

I feel that way all the time! I don't think it's that I'm discontent with my life, because I'm not. I love my kids and staying home and teaching them more than anything. It's truly a dream come true. It's just that there's lots of other things I'm also interested in. Some of them I will try one day, others are just dreams. Here they are, in no particular order:

farmer with a farm stand
beekeeper
run a hand-made goat milk soap business
potter
library assistant
dog breeder
go on missions trips
travel to every state in the US (right now I'm up to 33!)
write an updated book about the Pine Barrens
own my own diner I cook in and I get really fat and every one calls me "mom" (actually that sounds pretty similar to my life right now, hmmm....)
own a "fruit ice-cream" shop where I make everything out of frozen fruits. I'll call it "The Whole Fruit" and paint, "The Fruit, the Whole Fruit, and Nothing but the Fruit!" on the wall, and it will look really funky and have rainforest animals painted everywhere.( I'll hire Megan Benson to paint them and she will get free ice cream for life) : )
children's book author
run a petting-zoo birthday party business called "Zoo to You"- instead of just pony rides, I take a whole petting zoo, but I think I will need lots of insurance for that one

Well that's my short list anyway. I think it's enough... for now.