It really is a nice moment of the day, when I have time on a weekend morning to take my coffee out to the barn and sit with the animals. For whatever reason, most of the chickens want to stand around me. The goats too, so I sit on an antique milking stool sipping coffee surrounded by three affectionate goatlings and 6 or 8 chickens that are cooing and clucking softly. It's a nice time of peacefulness.
The happy sounds of an animal is balm for my soul. I spend so much time around people in crisis, people who are complaining, venting, demanding, neurotic, that the calm and contented sounds of our little farm family go a long way to making me feel like there is some balance in the world. In contrast to many of the people I work with, our animals ask for very little. Food, water, shelter, a scratch behind the ear, and in particular they just seem to want me near them. On some primal level they feel comfort from having their humans around and in turn, providing for their basic needs becomes a form of meditation. You don't have to think long and hard about cleaning out a stall, filling a water bucket, refreshing a feeder with alfalfa pellets or chicken crumble. The animals stand around watching you shovel and lift and tote and sweep without a single critical thought in their head. They don't offer a better way to spread the lime. They don't try to top you with stories about how back in the day they used to clean 100 stalls in the winter without gloves or a proper coat. They just watch and then they move in to enjoy the comforts of your labor.
I think of them being appreciative but I know the response is really more basic than that. Assuming you are a good and responsible animal owner, your presence translates into a full belly and clean stall. Good things happen when a particular biped comes on the scene. The bowl magically fills, the water becomes clean, the cold wind is lessened, and they are soothed by pats and scratches and kisses.
People look at us funny when we tell them we have goats and chickens. Generally speaking we don't run in those kinds of circles. My husband is a manufacturer's rep for a high-end product and I run a non-profit with my Master's degree diploma hanging on the wall behind me. But you say "goats and chickens" and I think people lock on an image of a goat tethered to a junk car in the front yard nibbling on tin cans, a rooster perched up on the roof crowing loudly and annoying the neighbors. Instead, what I have is a lifestyle that is part fleeting pastoral serenity welded to modern comforts and convienences. We have these animals because we want to, not out of necessity. They are a hobby and a source of pleasure, not survival.
Becoming a gentleman/woman farmer is a new adventure for us. I feel like I've been blessed with so many interesting and varied chapters in my life -- this adventure with my husband feels like a comfortable warm coat as I move into the second half of my story here in the village.
The happy sounds of an animal is balm for my soul. I spend so much time around people in crisis, people who are complaining, venting, demanding, neurotic, that the calm and contented sounds of our little farm family go a long way to making me feel like there is some balance in the world. In contrast to many of the people I work with, our animals ask for very little. Food, water, shelter, a scratch behind the ear, and in particular they just seem to want me near them. On some primal level they feel comfort from having their humans around and in turn, providing for their basic needs becomes a form of meditation. You don't have to think long and hard about cleaning out a stall, filling a water bucket, refreshing a feeder with alfalfa pellets or chicken crumble. The animals stand around watching you shovel and lift and tote and sweep without a single critical thought in their head. They don't offer a better way to spread the lime. They don't try to top you with stories about how back in the day they used to clean 100 stalls in the winter without gloves or a proper coat. They just watch and then they move in to enjoy the comforts of your labor.
I think of them being appreciative but I know the response is really more basic than that. Assuming you are a good and responsible animal owner, your presence translates into a full belly and clean stall. Good things happen when a particular biped comes on the scene. The bowl magically fills, the water becomes clean, the cold wind is lessened, and they are soothed by pats and scratches and kisses.
People look at us funny when we tell them we have goats and chickens. Generally speaking we don't run in those kinds of circles. My husband is a manufacturer's rep for a high-end product and I run a non-profit with my Master's degree diploma hanging on the wall behind me. But you say "goats and chickens" and I think people lock on an image of a goat tethered to a junk car in the front yard nibbling on tin cans, a rooster perched up on the roof crowing loudly and annoying the neighbors. Instead, what I have is a lifestyle that is part fleeting pastoral serenity welded to modern comforts and convienences. We have these animals because we want to, not out of necessity. They are a hobby and a source of pleasure, not survival.
Becoming a gentleman/woman farmer is a new adventure for us. I feel like I've been blessed with so many interesting and varied chapters in my life -- this adventure with my husband feels like a comfortable warm coat as I move into the second half of my story here in the village.
