Rest in peace to the last three little old farm hens. 💔

They lived good lives for more than 8 years. I loved them and did my best for them. I started out with 23 baby chicks. I don’t make an announcement every time I lose one. I didn’t want to be the bearer of sad news 23 times. But this time, the last time, I have to share it. I will miss their sweet faces, their quirky antics, and all their many kinds of sounds. I will miss being a chicken keeper. Maybe I’ll be one again, but not for a while. I need time to mourn, to re-group, to re-design, re-evaluate.

A predator found a way inside the coop. The electric fence was broken for the umteenth time. I have spent thousands of dollars on electric fence components over the years and they never lasted long, never were reliable. Even when the fence was down, the coop was well made. As long as the automatic door was working, nothing ever made it inside during the night when they were locked in. Until now. I have many feelings about the way this happened. Guilt and grief, mostly. But also… a complicated jumble of other feelings.

One of the most difficult things for me about being a chicken keeper is that it has put me at odds with the community of nature I’m simultaneously nurturing. I love and want the raccoons, the possums, the hawks, and the eagles. But when you have livestock, those beautiful wild creatures are also kind of the enemy. They’re predators. It’s a paradox. So what did I really want? I wanted them to eat another animal that I didn’t have a personal relationship with? I wanted them to all become herbivores like me? But they’re not herbivores, and could never be. And are the other animals, though wild, not also under my care? I think really, I knew the risk of this. I hoped I would be able to protect my chickens from the wild, but I knew it might not always be possible. In truth, I worried about my chickens every day they were here. Every morning I braced myself for this possibility. At the same time, the chickens also brought me great joy. Every day I saw them alive and well, doing happy little chicken things, it was a bright day. This is just life. Messy, complex, many-sided.

Farming immerses you into the cycle of life in very tangible ways. You repeatedly find your limits. You navigate death and disease, new birth and new life, and you see one feeding into the other like the Ouroboros. You find yourself right in the middle of it all, participating in unexpected ways, being changed by it. You can “toughen up” and block those feelings or you can choose to let it all flow freely through the cells of your body, moving with it and through it, letting it change you. Sometimes you do both. It’s harder than I could have imagined when I got started and for reasons I never would have expected. At the same time, my work on this land makes me feel more alive than I ever have before. I feel more a part of the Earth than ever before. I feel my own fragile body and my own expansive soul and I am so incredibly grateful for every single day and every single experience.

Rest in peace, my sweet feathered friends. Thank you for the lessons you taught me, the joy you brought, and the ways you have made me grow. You will never be forgotten.