There are currently five pens of chickens to open each morning. That may change when Toffee is finished being maternal and goes back to laying eggs with her peers. Then I will gradually integrate her three babes into another pen of young Silkies, and her into the main coop. 

In two of the pens there are no chairs, so I open up the doors, pour in fresh food and move on. With the other three there is a place to sit, on a cinder block or a lawn chair. So I do. 

It takes longer of course, but in those extra minutes I watch who is pecking whom, and whether anyone is being left behind. I pick chicks up, to keep the trust lines working, and simply enjoy them. 

The other day I noticed that I was feeling less in touch with the chickens in the no sit pens. If they were disgruntled I had no idea. That needs to change. 

John and I have our routines, and some of them run in parallel lines. Often we take two cars to church, because one of us is doing music, or preaching, or the kids are dragging their feet. Our lap tops are plugged in in different rooms, and that is where we perch to work. Our bedtimes are different, as are our wake times. 

I shake my head to recall the effort we put into making time for each other during our engagement, back when we lived eight hundred miles apart. Frequent letters, weekly phone calls. Bi monthly flights. Now that we sleep under the same roof, that effort can too easily dissipate. 

He is still asleep as I write this. Maybe I will go back upstairs and just look at him.