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Blessed Be the Tie That Binds
He arrived one morning in a cat carrier, the last duck at my son’s farm. His destiny was the chopping block if I did not adopt him. Why could I not make room for one more fowl? I reasoned with myself. I have three white chickens and a little hen-house. One more body would fit comfortably, and they could be a family. Gently placing the carrier on the ground,my granddaughter Lillian suggested that since he had hung out with her chickens, he would feel right at home with my chickens. With trepidation, I opened the door to the carrier. Will he stay here on our little patch of Kansas, or will…
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No Pretension
Authenticity. Reality. I think that was what drew us to our farm. Yes, it was badly run down. The farm had seen a lot of living. It had been used to raise chickens and pigs, to grow crops, to supply milk, to allow a tiny family of three with little outside income to live comfortably for years. The eighty-five year old farmer had told us when we noticed the huge stacks of firewood around the house, “In the winter I stay snug as a bug in a rug.” The tiny house had been a shelter, a place of love, heartache, joy, loss. No pretense, no desire to impress, just…
