Along the way to work I have been noticing a lot of road kill recently and it really eats at me. Squirrels, possums, raccoons, skunks, groundhogs and the occasional out of season deer some moron has killed and left by the side of the road for someone else to clean up. I can't properly describe the feeling inside me when I pass the carcass of some unfortunate creature that has been struck down and repeatedly flattened by passing traffic. I was talking with a woman at work about totem animals and she brought in a book to show me. As I was flipping towards the section on ravens, I saw a blurb about what it means if you have been driving past lots of dead animals lately. According to an old hippie legend, when one notices lots of roadkill it means the animal spirits are unable to rest and move on due to nature of their deaths. There was no purpose to their deaths, it was not to feed another nor due to old age or disease. They were simply crossing the road and crushed by a passing vehicle which did not see them. To put their souls at rest, to allow them to move on; the book says all that is required is that you acknowledge seeing them and say a prayer for them. I have followed that bit of hippie wisdom but I can't say it has made me feel much better. Other than arming small mammals with heat seeking missiles to even up the odds a little bit, the only thing I have been able to come up with is to drive a little slower and pay more attention. I should be clear that it's not death that bothers me anymore. Not after a year and a half of seeing chickens killed by foxes, hawks, broken legs and my own axe. Death is sometimes natural, merciful and necessary. It is the senseless violence and suffering that I am still coming to terms with.
Farming's greatest gift has been preparing me for fatherhood. In learning to care for animals, plants and the land itself; I have had to learn to put the needs of others before myself. I never came close to understanding how necessary that was in San Francisco. There were always distractions. More fancy restaurants than I could ever eat at, limited edition sneakers to wait in line for, open mike nights to drop rhymes at, soccer to play in the park, another tattoo to get, the Friday night roller blade around the city with roller brigade, a concert, festival or perhaps a foreign movie? It was all great, I loved it and I miss it. But it was all about me...April and I actually. We were living it up and enjoying every second. There were no chickens to feed and water, no trees to prune, no grass to mow and no home repairs to make. When the weekend arrived the work was over and the fun began. Now it's different and I have plenty of time to think about how while I shovel mulch, cut down trees and pick fruit. While I try to coax the stupid chicken who always gets underneath the coop back inside at night. While I raise the axe to kill the suffering chicken who broke its leg. And especially while I'm driving. The places I've been, the things I did, the person I was all seem distant yet within my grasp. Like the details of a pleasant dream you just woke from. But while responsibility has won out over recreation on the farm, I feel like I am better for it. The father my daughter will be raised by will show her that caring for others, be they animal, human or plant is an art. That we can express ourselves and create lasting beauty with sweat and a shovel just as with a brush or camera. That bringing out compost scraps for the chickens, pitting cherries & feeding sourdough sponge can all be poetry. I will show her that there is artistry in stewardship and learn from her all the joys only a little girl can teach.
the last polish golden crested and an italian ancona pullet posing for the camera
the wolf spider living in our chicken coop
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