Being a chicken keeper in the summer is not a chore. Hens love to hunt for bugs, and dust bathe. Keeping their water clean is a consideration but not difficult. The sunshine lingers late into the evening, and I love to sit outside with my girls and the dozens of wild birds that come to share the spilled grain. 

But last week there were two solid days of pelting rain and being a chicken lady was arduous. The puddles grew into lakes, and their food kept getting soggy. The birds themselves ventured out from under cover and were as soaked as my kitchen sponge. As was I. At one point I let the flock out into the yard, if only to catch the troops of worms that wiggle out of the saturated ground. But then I had to lure them back into the pens, and felt like a fool chasing chickens in the downpour. It was miserable. 

I thought of a young couple who are still feeling the sunshine. Do they know that rain falls on marriages too? Is it worthwhile to mention it? The person who convinced me to raise chickens said nothing about thunderstorms. Or snow. Or foxes. So I jumped in with some obscurity about the inevitable strife. 

But I have gained significant momentum from two years of mostly enjoyable days with my feathered friends, and it helped me to plow through the mud. Not only that, the rain did eventually end. Today the temperature will climb into not-even-a-sweater weather, and I will bask with my birds in the back yard. 

Maybe I could invite that young couple over to sit with me. And send them home with a carton of warm eggs. 

Love, 

Lori