Back at the farm after a few weeks away. The chicks have grown a lot in a short time. They seem to be in the later half of their awkward teens but they're becoming beautiful birds. Each is distinct, both in appearance and temperament. When I was here last most were still afraid of us but this time they came running up, some right onto my feet. I guess they finally noticed that we were always coming to feed them and not eat them. Nice.
They're surprisingly delightful to have around. The way they run around twittering cheerfully, huddling together when they get sleepy, and their growing curiosity and confidence in their abilities and environment. Some of the young roosters have even started practicing crowing.
All the animals bring their own value to our practice here. It's not something I expected beforehand but it seeps in while being around them. For one thing, just seeing them tends to bring on a sense of contentment. Spotting them happily going about their days while we go about ours - and they do seem happy, despite (or thanks to) the bare simplicity of their lives. They wake up, tend to their basic needs, explore and enjoy what's around, rest, and repeat. Pretty simple, and apparently enough for the most part. When I see the cats snoozing it slows my own body and mind, like I'm absorbing their ease by osmosis. The other animals have similar effects. I see them and my mind clears, making way for a gentle curiosity, affection, appreciation, admiration, and joy, not just for them but for life. Even if only for a moment, that's valuable each time.
It's inspiring to see them when they're more energetic and active too. Such focus and enthusiasm to go and do whatever they're off to do, like it's of utmost importance. When they rest they really rest, and when they move they really move (and when they eat they really eat!). Nothing half-hearted or convoluted, and not just mechanical either. Part of the fun of getting to know them is the spontaneity and individuality among the routine. They can also be very funny.
We feed, shelter and care for them and they each give back in their own ways, sometimes with tangible goods like eggs but often with subtle ones like nourishing feelings and insights into our own natures. Similarly we take care of the plant-life and property and they take care of us in their ways. The interdependent cycles of nourishment and return, growth and decay, giving and receiving, all of it seems clearer here than in the city. Maybe because nature and its rhythms are more visible and less divided and obscured by strips of concrete. We're exposed to it on all sides, whether in the form of growing chicks, the changing fields or unobstructed views of the vast canopy of ever-shifting sky. In all directions the senses are met with constant movement, change, return, and renewal.
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