Feathers and letting go (Febuary 2007)

For nearly a month I've been waking up and falling asleep to Pacific waves crashing against giant boulders on the rocky coast of Muir Beach, California. I often find myself musing: I never thought I'd do...this, that, the other thing. Gradually though, its seeming that the expansive ocean is a reminder that if I just let go and accept, unexpected discoveries are abundant and can be expected as such.

Letting go is a challenge for me. Finishing up at Macalester, struggling to overcome difficulties at Common Harvest, feeling lonely and dull at home this past fall...during these phases, I tried practicing Letting Go. And boy, I had a time of it. But at Slide Ranch, its perhaps easier to let go because its so obvious that I cannot control the weather, the tide, the wild animals, other people. I can make efforts to nurture the land and the animals that we all take care of at the Ranch, but nature is going to trump me every time. So, it really comes down to how I want to use my time and how I can act in beneficial ways.

Needless, maybe, to say: I'm undoubtedly learning this through experience.

It hit home when a hungry and vicious bobcat leaped into the chicken yard and reaped havoc in the coop. He left victorious with a hen clenched between his teeth. It was sundown and about the time that I typically close the coop, collect the eggs, and say goodnight to the fowl. (And for those of you aware of my fear of chickens, let me say that when I finally worked up enough courage to hold a lovely and warm hen, my heart was softened and opened to the godliness of fowl. Soon, I was assigned to head the chicken coop task force).

Instead of doing my chore at sundown, I ran to the grocery store for a couple things and planned to close up shop when I got back. It was too late. Someone closed the coop up while I was gone. As I finished the rest of the chore (bringing in the food, new water, counting eggs, sweeping), I knew that something was wrong. Excess feathers in the dustpan, hens huddled against the coop frame and in the egg nests...something was up. Sure enough, Matje (the animal manager at Slide Ranch) informed me that a bobcat had gotten a hen. "Which one?" I asked (hoping secretly that it wasn't my favorite Fluffer Nutter (fondly named by moi)). "A brown one." Although relieved it wasn't Fluffy, a sadness overcame me and I had to hold in tears. "I am so sorry."

Of course I'm aware that a bobcat's attack is intuitive and can happen any time, but the fact that it happened when I was slacking on the job is a wake up call. There isn't so much I can do to prevent the stealthy bobcat from stealing chickens (although, if I see that mother...hell break loose, I promise you that) but at least I can do my task with mindfulness, timeliness, and care.

The next day, I spent an hour in the chicken yard; bringing them greens from the garden, feeding them extra crumble, looking for wounds. The hens and roosters came around and I felt like they forgave me a little. Poor Fluffer Nutter was in shock and hid under the stairs. I think she might of hit the window with her head when the bobcat came in. She's a trooper though and I'm happy to informer that she seems to be perking up a bit.

It took me a few days, but I let go of this mistake and moved on. Chickens are going to die, trailer roofs will leak, yurt ceilings may fly over the cliff, hell, Slide Ranch itself will slip its annual inch down into the ocean, but I can still be happy.