Just Arrived!

We were down to one chicken--Henrietta--a feisty, healthy Rhode Island Red. Since the passing of her sister a few weeks ago, she's been hanging out with us, aligning her self-image with the importance of the other two pets--Faye, our dog and Spiffy, our cat. She's attempted a couple of times to enter the house, but we draw the line at that, not wanting to gain a reputation as the contemporary version of "Ma and Pa Kettle."

I do feel that it's important that you know that those who have died of our original six chickens with which we arrived on the farm 3 years ago, have died of natural causes and not as a result of the need for a roast chicken dinner. Truthfully, we regard them more as pets than as livestock.
However, we really love the fresh eggs. Henrietta is still providing them for us, mostly at the rate of one-a-day.

This past Tuesday morning, I announced to Chris that I was going to "pick up chicks," which got very little response from her, other than, "I'd go with you, but I have too much to do around here this morning."

Anyway, I went to one of my favorite places, Rosedale Mills, and purchased ten little baby chicks (just in case you were wondering) of the "Red Star" variety. When they grow up, they'll produce nice large brown eggs. Right now, they are snuggled safely together in a box in the chicken coop. Henrietta doesn't seem very interested in them, which is curious, but Faye is fascinated. And so far, Spiffy doesn't know they exist or is playing it cool, perhaps hopefully waiting for us to get careless in our care of them.

There's no real deep spiritual message to be drawn from this story other than the fact that life is surely filled with delightful simple wonders for all who have eyes to see. And you're welcome to come by and see for yourselves that really good things come in small packages.

Self-Image

I attended a writer's workshop up in the Berkshires a few weeks ago. I spent five days at Kripalu, a retreat center just outside of Stockbridge, MA, getting inspired to write that great American novel that so far has eluded me since retiring in 2009. Actually, I'm not a novelist--I discovered that--but I am a writer. Someone specifically told me that as I was walking the labyrinth one morning before our session for the day had begun.

I went to class that day feeling like I really belonged there and that, when I returned home, my writing life would begin in earnest. And it has. Oh, I don't mean that you can expect to find me on the New York Times best-seller list or to see one of my books on display in Barnes and Noble. If either of that happens, I would certainly have no objection. However, one of the things that I discovered at the workshop is that being a writer takes many forms from simply keeping up a personal journal to the writing of that great American novel I mentioned earlier, and that it's all legitimate. In other words, if someone asks me from now on what I do, I can honestly say, "I'm a writer," and leave it at that.

That, of course, is a bit misleading. If I gave that answer to someone who asked me that, in their minds they might think of me much more highly than they ought to think. Yet, I do write a sermon every week; I do keep a journal; and I am working on a book, which may or may not eventually materialize. The point is, though, that it matters what we think of ourselves as to what we actually make of our lives.

I learned that to some degree when I retired. Identifying yourself as a retiree can lead you to minimize your existence to sitting around watching a lot of TV or just sitting around. I didn't do either of those things, but I did start to wonder if I should somehow be giving up anything that resembled work-like responsibilities. In my case, I actually became semi-retired rather than fully retired, taking on a part-time appointment to a small church. I think that that was a smart move.

But whether we're talking about identifying yourself as retired or as someone who's not very creative or as someone who is not very healthy, what you think of yourself pretty much determines how your life will be. "Retired" may not be a good choice of words; "not very creative" may not be a good way to discover new things you can do; "not healthy" may be a mindset that is responsible for never feeling well. All of those kinds of self-images are very limiting to our personal well-being.

Oh, that reminds me: remember at the beginning I said that I was not a novelist? Today I begin to change my self-image because last night I had a dream about having written the great American novel. You might be able to find a copy of it in Barnes and Noble by next year. Just sort of kidding, but who knows what any of us are capable of if we just think more highly of ourselves than we might otherwise be inclined to do.