The truth is that my bucket list is pretty simple. Today I put a large red check right next to one of those little items with the discovery of not one, but two exquisite eggs lying gently in a bed of straw.
It has been some time since I have written a blog…quite some time, actually. Like many boomers, the path of my life has exploded over the last year or two in ways I never could have expected. With my spouse changing careers, daughter and family staying with us for a while (awesome), acquisition of a home that requires an extraordinary amount of outdoor maintenance (also awesome) and working 24/7 building a business of my own, time has been at a premium, as has my creative energy. Yet if I have learned nothing else, I do know that life continues to shift and change like the tide. In and out, up and down, calm and stormy.
What does my bucket list have to do with chickens?
Well, it’s silly, perhaps, to feel so joyous at the completion of a goal that is inevitably attainable….after all, when you have chickens, you have eggs, no? Of course, the reality is that it isn’t just about the chickens or the eggs (never mind which came first), but more about the origin of the desire. As a kid, I lived in an old Victorian house well outside of the town where I lived. My grandparents had bought it back in the 30’s and retired there from NYC. There was a large carriage house/barn, a boathouse, a woodshed with a coal scuttle, and a kick-ass chicken coop that fascinated me as a kid. But no chickens.
I had a friend who did have chickens, and I will never forget the first time at her house we went to gather the eggs. It was amazing. There they were, just sitting there all different colors and absolutely beautiful. I felt like Dorothy Gale gathering them up, and the feeling stayed with me. If you were a country kid, you may have understand how the simple act of gathering eggs is an almost spiritual experience. I wanted chickens ever since that moment.
When my granddaughters came to us about getting some chickens, we readily agreed. We got the little chicks, fed them, kept them warm and watched them grow. My son build a gorgeous little cottage for the ladies. And of course, as life would have it, two of the ladies turned out to be gentlemen, and the 5:00 a.m. wakeup calls began. And today, as I watched Pat fuss and squat and cluck and produce a perfect brown egg, my heart just swelled. I love these stupid chickens!
Chickens may not have been at the top of my bucket list, but they probably should have been. More than money, more than possessions, they remind me that life is about the simple acts and events that are timeless and perfect.
Now, on to the scrambling….