Feral to Finery

The best mornings start with puttering. In the winter, that usually means making coffee and a fire, meditating for a bit, and writing. But in the summer, I can't resist heading straight outside. I like to put the coffee on, open the back door, let the chickens (and newly revealed rooster) out of their coop, and then peck around the yard myself.

I visit the kale, lament over  the state of the tomato plants, and stretch my toes in the cool damp grass. These days, I'm not one for much direct sun, so the shaded moments before it crests the hill east of our house are my refuge; I linger as long as I can in the contagious, contented clucks of the chickens, and the entertaining attempts to crow made by the rooster, who, as my friend, Kate, says, sounds like a broken squeeky toy.

This morning, I weeded for a while. It felt so good to crouch down in the dirt and tend to things, coffee at my side. Then I fed the chickens the fruits of my weeding, watered a bit, and headed back into the kitchen.

I decided to take the compost out, which is a serene and glorious task in the summer as it involves making my way through a long grassy path and then over the bridge to the field out back.

 I may regret the compost location come winter, but for now, it's a pretty luxurious operation. The grass in the field is waist-high, except where sleeping animals have bent it down to make their beds. By the time I arrive, the animals are long gone, leaving me to imagine what tired neighbors might have accompanied us through the night.

This morning, as I rounded the corner to the compost pile, I saw something small dart off into the trees. I thought it must be a raccoon, but then heard this odd alien calling sound, and realized it was a kitten. After creeping through the brush to the trees along the creek, I discovered two tiny kittens hiding up on a branch.

Really, who can resist? I'm completely allergic and even I was hooked.

Much stalking - and chicken hot dog bits - later, I made my way back to the kitchen, just in time to serve up a little double kitten cuteness to go along with the pancakes Chris was frying.

I'm pretty sure Zoey and the babysitter didn't leave the kitchen - or the kittens - once all day.

From feral to finery in under three hours.