Empty Cages

Our most recent foray into backyard chickens led us to someone who was moving and needed to reduce the number of chickens in his flock. Chicken George, as we refer to him to this day, treated his chickens to microwave popcorn on many afternoons. He personally drove over the three hens we picked out and placed them on the roost one at a time while re-assuring them everything was going to be fine.

The hens, which we promptly named Miss Marple, Jessica Fletcher and Nancy Drew, provided eggs for our consumption and tilled the yard for theirs. We enjoyed the cooing, clucking and cackling of the girls. Their egg production slowed with their age, but they continued to produce more than we consumed.

It was a good relationship, but like all good things it came to an end. Jessica met the fate of the minor guest star on "Murder, She Wrote", as she contracted an avian illness of some type and we draw the line at taking chickens to the veterinarian. We will be moving from this house in the relatively near future, and the perimeter of the yard, which belonged to the chickens, needs to be landscaped; Miss Marple and Nancy were re-homed yesterday to someone who already had chickens, as well as lambs, ducks and bees (and that was just in the front yard).

The chicken tractor will be next to go. The coop purchased with this set of chickens was transformed into a tractor so it could be wheeled around the yard and the chickens moved from one place to another, allowing time to scratch and peck while eating the grass and looking for bugs. Now vacant, we spent some time making a few repairs and it is ready for the next owner.

Chickens are relatively low-maintenance animals, produce better eggs than you can find in the grocery store, and provide chicken poop, which is great for the garden. Ever let a chicken loose in the yard so they can look around and curiously explore every nook and cranny? It's pretty entertaining.

Someday we will have chickens again, of that I am sure. Until then, I will till the soil myself and thank the hens for starting it for me.

Yesterday's Men

September, 1981.  I arrived at UC Davis, my residence for the next two and a half years.  Up to that time I had never been away from home for more than a few weeks, and never by myself for more than a couple of days.  When I opened the door to my dorm room, there was a pile of clothes on the bed under the window, but I didn't see my roommate for a couple of more days.  The first person I met was from directly across the hallway.  Long straight hair, glasses, three days growth on his face, Birkenstocks without socks, a fan of the Grateful Dead, from Encino, CA, home of the valley girl and "the mall".

Little did I know that Casey and I were to become fast friends.  We went off campus for dinner one night and ended up at a Chinese restaurant, which was the first time had ever had Chinese food.  We both laughed about my inability to use chop sticks and my wanting to know if you really ordered one from column A and two from column B as I had heard on some television show.  The biggest laugh was my trying to make sense of the designs on the tables, which looked like the head of a bull.  Armed with the new knowledge that I liked Chinese food, I wanted to know what the designs meant, so I asked the waiter, who promptly informed me they were steer heads and the restaurant used to be a steak place. What a schmuck I was (something else I learned from Casey).

Casey listened to a wide range of music, and while my tastes were pretty middle of the road, we did have some overlap, reveling in The Concert in Central Park by Simon & Garfunkel, which happened the weekend before we met.  I listened to mainstream pop and British Invasion while he listened to heavy metal and something called ska, the walking bass line accented with rhythms on the upbeat of Madness performing "One Step Beyond" passing through the concrete walls of the dorms.

Birkenstocks.  Chinese food.  Madness.

While I don't wear Birkenstocks, they are familiar to me and no longer unusual.  Chinese food is a staple in our current household, and I remember being home one day from college and talking my parents into Chinese take-out.  And I continue to listen to Madness, which lead to other third-wave bands such as Let's Go Bowling and The Mighty Mighty Bosstones.

"Hey you. Don't watch that watch this." And so began the sheer exuberance of it all.  They were great times.

Second Chance

Dr. Oliver Sacks wrote in "Awakenings" how the philosopher Immanuel Kant spoke of music as "the quickening art". I have written about music before, how it stirs my soul and how I can feel it with my very being and my heart.

Here is your chance to stir the souls of others who need it most. Music & Memory is an organization that trains caretakers on incorporating individually relevant music into therapeutic care and raises funds to help provide the resources for that care. Watch the clips on their web-site and prepared to be moved.

In "The Dry Salvages,” T.S. Eliot wrote "It is not heard at all, but you are the music, while the music lasts." I pray the music lasts forever. Help it last by giving a tiny machine that can bring a spark back to someone's eyes and stir their soul again and again.

Sunshine on My Shoulders

While the rest of the country had unseasonable warm weather in March, we waited, perhaps a bit jealous and envious, for our turn. It was a cold and soggy March, and while appreciated by many (including moles and vampires), we finished the month on the cold side when compared to average temperatures.

Spring is typically a bit cool and unsettled in the Great North Wet, or as I recently discovered, also known as The Zone of Filtered Sunshine.

Written in 1924 to promote economic and demographic growth in Seattle, In the Zone of Filtered Sunshine proposed to investors and immigrants reasons why to make their new home in the Puget Sound, making a virtue out of the cloudy weather of the coastal Northwest. This type of weather apparently had been shown throughout history to be the most conducive to economic prosperity and achievements by civilization. “Filtered sunshine -- sunshine filtered thru the clouds -- and only a moderate degree of intense sunshine, as exists in the Pacific Northwest, is best for all, and vital to the development of the most energetic peoples.”

I always thought it was the coffee that made the people of the Pacific Northwest energetic. Who knew it was filtered sunshine?

Be that as it may, Spring has arrived in Bellingham, just in time for the opening of the Farmer's Market, one of the largest farmers markets in Washington State. Our day in the unfiltered sun has come. I, for one, am happy.