On Chickens and Eggs
After only making it out of bed because my friend was dropping something off for me and I wanted to give them a hug (both of us in our pajamas, because, well, solo parent solidarity), I turned the fire on under my mini cast-iron skillet before realizing I didn’t have any eggs. I pulled on my galoshes and traipsed out to the coop, certain that there would be at least one egg after nothing yesterday.
But, despite the fact that it was already after 9 am, I could find no eggs. On this of all days, no warm gift of life? No protein boost to kick me into action and calm the rising dread? How dare my ladies refuse me a symbol of hope as I try to process what another four years of a Trump presidency might mean?
Now, chicken productivity can be affected by multiple factors. And no hens lay every day – even the most productive varieties hover around 313 eggs per year. That’s a life lesson for us in and of itself!
Chicken egg-laying is dependent on the length of light exposure, so when days get shorter, production plummets. I could experiment with a light inside the coop, but I also worry about stressing them during a time they are meant to be resting.
We’ll see. Last year, I definitely was still getting some eggs through the winter, so maybe it’s because my hens are aging. Nine of them are one and a half, and one of them is almost three years old. Most chickens stop laying between four to five years of age, but egg production decreases each year.
Lastly, many chickens in my flock are currently molting, shedding old feathers and growing new, which needs lots of energy that might otherwise be directed toward egg-laying. Besides there being enough feathers flying around to make me wonder if a predator got inside the coop, the chickens just look funny when they are molting – awkward and scraggly!
Two years ago, I had a hen molt late in the fall, and when one night we suddenly dropped into subzero temperatures, she froze inside the coop. I hope these ladies can get their feathers back on before it gets too cold.
I may seem to be digressing into chicken-land, but that is because, in times of overwhelm and stress, our small, ordinary interactions with nature and with each other are what keep us grounded and at peace. I am trying to pay attention to the lessons the chickens share with me. I have become so accustomed to their gracious gift of eggs that I take them for granted, even feel entitled to them. When seasons change or circumstances shift and the gift pauses, I realize it’s time for me to reorient how I relate to the chickens. I don’t just deserve or receive the gift – I share in the gift. Alongside the birds, I am one part of a cosmic system of interconnection.
One of the first things I knew I needed to do today was reach out by text to people I love, checking in and sending them blessing. I didn’t get to everyone, but I feel really grateful for all the brief connections I had today via my phone. It reminded me of early COVID and how we so desperately needed to enact the fact that we are not alone.
My workplace held an impromptu staff call to help process the news, and, even on zoom, it felt good to be talking with coworkers and friends in real time, hearing their feelings and being energized by their ideas about the work ahead. Inspired by our time together, I sent an email to members of a focus group I am currently convening, checking in and encouraging them.
I knew virtual wouldn’t fully cut it for me today, though, so I went over to a friend’s for an hour and sat by the fire and drank tea, attempting to work but mostly just talking and petting the cat. Sometimes we humans just need to be together.
I had great plans for skipping my zoom class and going to a community sing, but, per usual on Wednesdays, it felt like too much on the kids’ first night back. So we had a brief playdate, I cooked a healthy dinner (during the eating of which there was much tantrum-ing by the five-year-old), people read books, watched YouTube, and my oldest worked intently on his Google Slide presentation to run for 5th Grade Student Council. I tried to attend zoom class on my phone while facilitating baths, and I had a relaxed attitude about bedtime. Although I wanted to be together with many people from my community, I realized that the togetherness I was called to tonight was just with my children, inhabiting the routine spaces of life together so that we can remind ourselves that we have each other.
Tomorrow (or today, when most people will be reading this) is my birthday, so I decided I wanted to make some sort of cardamom bun recipe for breakfast tomorrow that I could continue to eat through the weekend. I got the butter out to soften, then realized yet again that I didn’t have any eggs. It’s hard to make an enriched bun dough with no eggs, so I slipped on my shoes and padded over to the coop door, flashlight in hand. Surely there would be eggs – it’s been 72 hours!
But no.
So I discarded the idea of baking tonight, deciding to take this as a sign that I should grab a birthday breakfast treat from my favorite cafe tomorrow morning.
But really? Still no eggs?
It’s hard to expect and look for what is just not there yet. But that doesn’t mean that things won’t change and what is looked-for won’t come. The organizing path ahead is daunting, and it’s also full of joy and togetherness and rest.
Today was just a no-eggs day for me, and emotionally, that meant owning experiencing my grief and disappointment. I also know that there will be egg-days coming in which I am energized by doing the hard work of building community and common cause. It is okay to have both – I try to remember that no chicken lays 365 days/year. We need some no-eggs days and some egg-days, time for grief and time for action plans.
There are many great resources out there for people who are trying to process this moment. I’ll drop a few of them here, but feel free to drop others in the comments section.
There is Hope: 10 ways to be prepared and grounded for another Trump presidency from Waging Nonviolence
Guante Tran Myhre has a brief article and resource library for “Beyond Elections” on his website
Cole Arthur Riley’s grounding meditation for today to tend to the wounds
I think part of the reason that it was so hard for me to get out of bed this morning is that I had a massage last night for the first time in almost a year. My body was releasing all sorts of stuff, which can be physically exhausting even as I am unaware. Perhaps I was feeling grief so deeply in my body because my massage had opened up more space for me to feel. Whatever the case, I knew today that I had to move my body, so I took the dogs on a walk. I can already feel that I needed to move more than I accomplished today, so I’m making a note to try to cycle this sadness through my body some more tomorrow.
As I returned from the chicken coop empty handed tonight, I noticed that I’d accidentally left the tulip and garlic bulbs out in the rain, and an enterprising squirrel had already snatched a significant number of tulip bulbs. While I need to wait on the garlic since I have no idea where I am planting it, I headed to the front yard to deal with these wet flower bulbs that need to get in the ground ASAP. So I grabbed a pie server, since I couldn’t find a trowel in the dark, and I placed those little bulbs in the ground. I always say that this year will be the one I plant tulip bulbs, and, lo and behold, I have finally planted ten.
Doing it by feel and flashlight, I sowed flowers in the dark that will bloom in due time.
I have no wisdom but presence, no answers but faith, and no cure but community. Wherever you are in your grief-to-action spectrum, my prayer for you is the space and fortitude to hold both of those things together. Together, we shall overcome the narrative of fear and isolation.
Deep in my heart, I do believe. We shall overcome someday.
Listen: Walk with Me by The Porter’s Gate