Coming Home to Roost

we got baby chickens for the boys about 6 weeks ago. for a couple of reasons:

* i told caleb that i need a baby every spring. now that my tubes are tied and i can't have anymore of my own, i need baby animals. so this year, it was chicks. caleb doesn't agree with this yet, but this year he went to san diego and the boys and i got a massive cart at murdochs and filled it with chick feed and bedding and poultry waterers. we facetimed him as the chicks cuddled together with their tawny yellow fur and he rolled his eyes and went with it.

*caleb and i watch these millenials at a close distance because of our jobs. the problems they have with entitlement and commitment make us feel like the boys might need some kind of responsibility and to realize there is actual life outside of themselves and that life either lives or dies based on if they give them actual food and water.
 and that the chickens don't survive based on the number of hearts and likes they get on an instagram or facebook post. they survive because they got layer feed and their water was filled up.

 

 

here's what I've learned so far:

* chickens are unreasonably fun to watch. from when they are just a few days old, they establish hierarchies and pecking orders. we got four chicks total. in my usual disorganized fashion, i just let the boys pick out two chicks each. i had no idea the names or origins. i just knew they laid eggs. they turned out to be rhode island reds and wyandottes. fraser has the silver laced wyandottes and named them both "catflap."  (don't ask, I have no idea; fray marches to the beat of his own drum). i can't tell them apart but one of them is the leader of the rest. the lead one takes risks and wanders into the neighbors yard and flies out of the run.

 

i might be writing for awhile about these chickens and how they parallel my life. anyway, my favorite thing right now about the nature of them is that

chickens always come home to roost

they make their way from free ranging in the yard into their coop, up their little ladder and they all huddle in a line and perch together with their feathers puffed up and they sleep for the night.

 

isn't that just the truth? we always come home. to what matters to us, to what comforts us, to the people that are our tribe, to our true voices and our true selves. despite anxiety and trauma and seasons of depression, and marriage issues and the ways we numb out, we always go

home.

 

right now in the season of tiny kids and work and life being mach speed, coming home means relationships. they are my fuel and my motivator. relationships with my gals, with my boys, with caleb, with my work, with my mom and dad, with my family. cuddling with fray in his feety jammies, tickling hank and melting at his baby smile, reading books to gunny. picking up and straightening the house, hanging clean dishcloths on the oven. those little rituals and time with my people matter more than anything to me.

 

what home is for you? what do you always return to? when you are disoriented, or when you have been in a particular season or period that feels foreign, what do you come back to? 

art? exercise? processing? quiet?

 

today i'm thinking it’s really important that we define what home is to us. define what anchors you, what brings you back to your true self....

Palisade, CO

Rickelle takes joy in the simple things in life and can often be found pointing out things of beauty–both big and small. As a licensed Therapist, she enjoys helping others find truth and breakthrough. However, Rickelle's main loves are Jesus and her family. She and her husband, Caleb, have two adventuresome boys. Rickelle also delights in conversation and time spent over coffee with treasured friends.