I Don't Hate It | The Chickens are Coming
(yes, actual chickens—hens)
Hey there. How are you? Have you gotten your shot(s)? I’m scheduled for my second (Moderna) a week from today. If you’re eligible, I hope you’re making plans to get yours.
The Penny would’ve been sixteen two weeks ago. We honored her with a dinner of her favorite foods—rotisserie chicken, rice, peas, cheese, ice—toasted to her and sang Happy Birthday. I cried a little bit. I am reminded of her every time I look outside and see the two patches of grass, on either side of the front walk, where she did her business. They are the only two parts of the yard that are growing—they are a little bit out of control, to be honest—as though she fertilized it before she left.
It looks a lot like spring here, though temps were in the low forties last night. I sat by the fire and read.
Soon we will have two new beings to entertain us: chickens!
Did you know you can rent chickens? You can! Rent the Chicken will deliver hens, a coop, feed, and bowls, and they will pick it all up again five months later. They have locations throughout the US and much of Canada. If you are within fifty miles of one of their partners, delivery (and pickup) is free. I am looking forward to fresh eggs this summer and fall. They are still accepting reservations—if you call them, tell them I sent you.
Some other recs:
The book that kept me up reading multiple nights in a row last week was Maggie Shipstead’s new novel, Great Circle. It comes out May 4. You can pre-order it now (and you should!). A very simplified description of it would be to say that it’s a tale of women pilots in WWII, but that’s really only maybe 1/3 of the story. The book is centered on the life of one woman who decides very early in life that she wants to be a pilot. She lives in rural Montana, during Prohibition, and encounters some resistance to this dream. It is a must-read.
This short explanation on how to talk to kids about what it means to be transgender or non-binary (might also be useful for seniors or others who aren’t used to such conversations).
My friend Sidney Burris has a new collection of poetry out this week: What Light He Saw I Cannot Say. I have been savoring it, reading a poem or two a day since it arrived. “The True Subject: Self-Portrait with Dogwood” and the title poem both caused me to weep, and to miss my father immensely.