Tending chickens in freezing weather is no picnic. I tote hot water to four coops, and offer extra corn just as an apology for the biting winds.  Last weekend I filled two bottles of water, then thought better of it and prepared a third. My fingers and armpits gripped the jars and both cans of feed as I scurried down to the hopeful hens. They started squawking as soon as the side door squeaked open. Thirty chickens all calling your name is enough to make anyone hustle. When the dishes were full of liquid and food, and my pockets held two brown eggs I trudged back up the hill. 

And slipped. 

The bottles and cans went flying, my face splatted on the frozen ground with a thud so loud I expected everyone in the house to come running. Which they didn't.

I moaned, and left the paraphernalia where it lay, got to my booted feet and stomped in the door. Clearly I should have held less, and slowed down. Noted. 

The past few days have been heavy. Besides the heartache in the community, the deflating task of clearing the Christmas chaos left me edgy about how much or little help was forthcoming. Coincidentally, Ben has been agitated. He smashed his head on the desk in frustration, breaking open an inch long cut on his forehead. Now my heart was tangled with empathy as well as annoyance. And sadness. And loss. 

Too much to carry.

One of his therapists left for Indonesia for a month, where I daresay no chicken keepers need carry warm water, and the other one rescheduled because of the snow. When she arrived, I was, well, brusque. She invited me to talk.

Finally, someone able to listen. My words came out like a cracking egg. But after a single sentence, she interrupted.

"It makes sense that you are frustrated. We will work on Ben's self harm, and I am so sorry you are having to go through this."

She rambled on for awhile, and I had one of those floating on the ceiling moments, where I looked down on the absurdity of it all.  

Had I expected her to swish away my troubles? Explain the unexplainable? She took Ben out for peppermint hot chocolate, and to calm down. When they got back he quietly placed a warm drink beside me at the sewing table, and a written apology. In his inimitable curvy script. 

I walked outside to bring a handful of corn to my flock. The wind had subsided and I sat for a moment to watch them enjoy the treat. Then I heard it. A flock of buoyantly glad birds were singing in the branches. 

Fear not, you are of more value than many sparrows.

Matthew 10