a dream

I know you've got one . . . everyone does. A little dream that you've held on to for a long time that may not make sense at all and may not be in the least bit realistic, but it's a dream. When you think of it, it makes you smile. You know what I'm talking about. I've seen that faraway look in your eye . . .

I've got a silly dream, one that I've had since I was a little girl.

I want a chicken. Maybe two or three.

Definitely not to eat, mind you. But to cluck and scratch and peck around my garden. I would like to get up in the morning and greet my hens with the sun, gather the fresh eggs for the day, and then sit and watch them cluck and scratch and peck around the garden some more. Doesn't that sound perfectly wonderful? I think so.

There are many barriers to this dream, most of all being my sweet hubby's disapproval, not to mention the city ordinances against farm animals in backyards. However, there's a reason this dream keeps coming to the surface of my thoughts day after day. Let me introduce you to Dr. Phil.


Not what you expected, huh? :) She is the pet chicken of one of our neighbors, living in peace in their backyard (with a very tall fence). She's very sweet for a renegade and even let me hold her recently. Sometimes when I'm on my morning walk, if I'm lucky, I hear her soft, happy chicken sounds. I am in love.

So, in honor of my dream and Dr. Phil, today I made scrambled eggs for dinner. They were delicious. Whip a little soy milk into your eggs while scrambling and you will not believe how fluffy they turn out. Yummy.

And so, to round out an already unusual post, I leave you with an excerpt from a poem by Barbara Kingsolver - one of my favorite authors and a fellow chicken aficionado. (Didn't know she wrote poetry, too, did you? She's a genius. If you have not yet read Prodigal Summer, go now and get it from the library. One of my all time favorite books.)

APOTHEOSIS

There are days when I am envious of my hens;
when I hunger for a purpose as perfect and sure
as a single daily egg.

If I could only stand in the sun,
scratch the gravel and blink and wait
for the elements within me to assemble,
asking only grain I would
surrender myself to the miracle
of everyday incarnation: a day of my soul
captured in yolk and shell.


Amen, sister.