05/20/2026
Well, the toddler did let all the chickens out of the coop (āI just wanted to hang out with themā) but at least asparagus is a thing, the realness of it, pan-fried with salt and butter and oil by my beautiful spouse.
Meanwhile, Iām out there with the nine year-old and his āchicken stickā, artfully herding everyone back after my nascent broccoli starts have suffered round three of chicken-induced pruning.
My gardening method is best described is āget stuff in the ground whenever you happen to have a spare moment and the toddler is occupiedā, then add goat p**p. Itās worked out pretty well so far. Weāre aided immensely by some gorgeously warm southern-facing slopes.
Winter really does a number on you, doesnāt it? Suddenly Iām out here with my hands covered in dirt, tucking in plant babies, swatting black flies, listening to the meadowlarks and rose-breasted grosbeaks and feeling that breeze come off the back meadow to my sweaty forehead and I remember, abruptly, how truly nice it is to be a critter on this fine planet. āI love Earth,ā the toddler says, throwing out his arms and casting his blue-eyed gaze across it all.
āMe too, little boy.ā I tell him.
I love the whole dang thing, with its black flies and goat turds, runaway chickens, apple blossoms just dreaming of opening their fragrant faces to that May sunshine. Puddles with shiny stones inside of them and unexpected cloud formations and owls laughing in the nighttime.
And a voice, calling from the kitchen - ābreakfast is ready!ā, then like some kind of magic, here we are. Around the table, hands joined, casting praise and gratefulness up to the atmosphere.
