The anniversary

Thanks to Facebook memories I know that today marks our official one year anniversary of having chickens. Y’all remember when I was naive and so excited to get chickens? Now I know that they’re actually suicidal little maniacs. Honestly, chickens are crazy. We’ve had so many die from the dumbest things. Freezing to death outside the open door to the heated coop, flying into the walls of the coop breaking their necks, jumping into the waterer and drowning. I try so hard to keep them alive but I am constantly overestimating their will to survive. I mean to be fair to the little psychos, we lost two to Bella the chicken eater and three to some kind of weasel or something. But mostly they’ve just succumbed to their own antics. 

So we’ve been on the farm for a year, had animals for a year. It’s been the longest 365 days of my life. It seems there’s always some new challenge that we haven’t even begun to imagine, we attempt to have backup plans for our backup plans but none of our little critters care even the tiniest bit about our plans or sanity. Within the year we’ve lost a cow for months, lost two yaks, celebrated births and mourned deaths of our animals. 

I would have laughed previously if someone said they lost a cow for months. I mean you wouldn’t think it possible to just misplace a two thousand pound animal with two foot horns. It’s possible. So so possible. It all ended relatively well I suppose. JoJo came home thanks to a neighbour who had had her for months and didn’t know where she belonged, once he knew he loaded her up and brought her home. Much to her dismay. Our yaks were returned home by other neighbours, though some days I will admit that I wish they had just stayed wild. Yaks are mean little buggers. 

We’ve survived the last year not because we’re tenacious and brilliant farmers but mostly because our neighbours are patient and kind. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve called one neighbour or another for help. That concept in itself is a touch foreign to me, in my old apartment I never once met my neighbours. Which is surprising because we shared walls, halls and elevators. Out here we live a significant distance from the neighbours, all of whom have gone out of their way at some point to help us. I’m sure we’d have packed up and put the farm for sale months ago if not for all of them. 

Our lives have changed so drastically in a year and so have we. Some days are bad, some are good, sometimes there are more bad days in a week and sometimes more good. It’s like a roller coaster except not fun and you can’t get off. So maybe it’s more like Hotel California. 

Our home renovations have been progressing at a snail pace, but progressing nonetheless. We now have three out of six rooms completed or mostly completed, so that’s something! Last week I hung pictures up and now it almost looks like we actually live here. 

Here is what I’ve learned about the joy I was searching for:

• I can find it in the quiet of a sunset
• I can find it in the warmth of bed sheets after a long cold hard day
• I can find it in laughing with Dylan about how terrible/crazy we are at farming
• I can find it in the little tiny progress I make with our animals (like the yak taking hay from my hand without charging me first) 
• I still find it in having ridiculously long witch nails
• I can find it in my dirty muck boots when they keep my feet from getting wet and cold - I used to find it in my beautiful extensive collection of heels
• I can find it in little moments as long as I look for it, sometimes I have to look harder than others
• I can find it in the neighbours and their unwavering kindness
• There is immense joy in seeing Rocky and Bella and their pups enjoy freedom and not listening to Rocky howl endlessly because he’s bored and miserable cooped up in a yard. (Bella runs away so she mostly stays tied up, but still)

There are just as many things that bring me joy out here as there were in our old life, they are just drastically different. It’s a little bit easier to see the joy in a good dress than it is to see it in a barn, but it’s there. Most days.