Perhaps I am in the entirely wrong frame of mind to write this, but getting it on paper (figuratively speaking) is helpful to me. I just buried Bonnie, one of my favorite chickens. She’s on the banner above. She laid our first egg. And this morning, she died in my arms. She was killed by a neighbor’s dog on the back deck of our house.
That it happened on the first day of spring, and likewise the fifth anniversary of the beginning of what we are calling The Iraq War is a bit ominous. Today is also Holy Thursday: a high holiday of hand-wringing in the Catholic and other Christian churches. Spring is supposed to be such a season of hope, of new beginnings. I hope that hope finds me somewhere, sometime, soon.
I ask myself: am I going around carrying a bagful of expectations? A file folder of Entitlements? I wonder.
Yes, I suppose it was not unreasonable of me to expect that a dog would come into my yard and find the chickens interesting: chickens ARE everyone’s favorite dish, after all. But why not take an obnoxious guinea, or one of our not-so-friendly chickens? I likewise expect (stupid of me, but there it is) my marriage to be a strong one, that my child grows up healthy and hearty and curious and happy. I expect my own health (mental and physical) to be good. I have a hope (can’t consider it an expectation) that we can continue to earn enough money to cover our basic needs.
I do expect my government to at least TRY to get out of this wasteful war. As an outlier, I expect it to admit that it was a mistake of our own making, so, hey, sorry to fuck up your country, why not just keep your oil profits from the oil you sell to us? We’ll gladly buy your oil, you know, as we’re too bullheaded to consider an alternative.
So this morning finds me considering the trappings of war in terms of electrified fences and other means to contain and secure the landholdings around here. I do not like this military mindset. Should the worst fears of many really come true, and Peak Oil and other disasters (all man-made of course) flesh themselves out into our worst nightmare, I suppose this is a mindset I need to embrace and keep. It wasn’t, believe me, why I moved to a farm.
I wish I had a job, though, where my main responsibility was to worry. Wow, would I be raking in the big bucks!