in clover: Vulnerable Joy

I had something written for today but I've just gone to let the chickens out and found one of my hens, a pretty little Rhode Island Red, dead in the coop.   

Emmy Lou was the friendliest of all my girls and the one I would most often hand to a curious child who wanted to hold a chicken.   

This is me with a teenage Emmy Lou the day she came to live with us. 

 And here's a shot of her on the roost with Nancy.

 Back when when had six...sunbathing together.  Emmy is right up front.

I have been dreading the day that I would find a dead chicken.  Honestly, it made me feel sick to think about it.  It made me feel terribly vulnerable.  My friend has kept chickens longer than I have and she told me that every time one of them dies, she says to herself, "I just can't do this anymore.  No more chickens!"  

She also has said to me many times, when wrestling with some difficulty, that she seeks out the calming presence of the chickens.  "What did you do then?" I ask.  "I sat with the chickens."  I do it too.  I call it my chicken meditation.  I have recently made two new friends, both of whom are chicken keepers.  And they report the same sense of peace when they are with their chickens, which seems to be proof that the feelings of vulnerability are worth it, even though it's terribly difficult.  

When I was a single girl, I had a sweet little cat I called "Bubba."  He acted a lot like a dog, greeting me at the door.  I LOVED that cat!  When I was very pregnant with Big C, Bubba died.  A neighbor, trying to stop birds from eating his garden up, had put out poison.  It was awful for me and for over a decade I refused to have another animal. I swore I would "NEVER go through that again."  This makes me laugh now...since I was only a couple of weeks from giving birth.  Seriously! 

We took in my dad's elderly cat when it needed a home but I refused to get very close to him.  And he wasn't very friendly anyway, so it worked for us both.  It was only because of Little c that we have a dog and two cats now....although the chickens are on me.  Sometimes, in a quiet moment, I marvel at how I have exposed myself to vulnerable feelings by allowing animals in my home again.

Brene Brown has this to say about vulnerability: 

"When we lose our tolerance for vulnerability, joy becomes foreboding."  

I am certain, for me at least, this is absolutely true. 

Sometimes, like this morning, exposing myself in this way sucks.  But most days, it's totally worth it and full of joy. 

Maybe I will write a book...."Everything I Needed to Know About Vulnerability, I Learned From a Chicken."
Maybe.

Namaste, 

Lisa

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in clover: remembering Patsy

Last night, when Michael went out just after dark to shut the chicken coop, he found our Dominique hen, Patsy, dead in the nesting box.  We have no idea what happened.  Earlier in the day she seemed fine.  Michael and I worked in the garden in the afternoon and she was out and about as usual.  

Needless to say, we were all quite sad last night.  Circle of life and all....we get it...but this is our first experience of losing a chicken friend.

Dominiques are quite striking in appearance....their feathers are black and white and are irregularly striped or "barred."  They have a red comb.  They are calm and personable. 

This is my favorite photo of Patsy, the Dominique hen.  

Our Patsy was a good layer and we easily recognized her egg.  She laid the smallest egg of the bunch and hers were the nearest to pink in color.  When she began laying, I was quite concerned for her because the shells of her eggs were thinner and more brittle than the others and they were rough in texture, like sandpaper.  But, time went by and she seemed healthy and happy, so I quit worrying, mostly. 

We weren't really sure what to expect when we began our chicken keeping experience.  The work has been minimal, thanks to the deep litter method of hen house keeping.  (Here's a link to a short, informative article on the deep litter method.) I had no idea the chickens would be so entertaining or how much I would enjoy hearing them cluck to one another.  I had no idea the sense of life and energy they would bring to my garden. 

But what I was most completely unprepared for was the level of responsibility I feel for their well being.  It has at times made me quite anxious.  I've sat with this, asking myself why I feel more anxiety and fear for my hens than I do for my dog and my cats.  I think it's because hens are so completely vulnerable. 

Chickens have many predators to worry about.....racoons, foxes, hawks, dogs....and bless their hearts, they have no claws or teeth to use to defend themselves.  They can barely fly and while they are quite speedy when you are trying to catch them, they aren't speedy like a cat or a rabbit.  They can't see well in the dark so a night attack could result in the demise of an entire hen house!  More than once I have woken in the night, sat straight up in bed and shrieked loudly, worried that we forgot to secure the coop.

I am grateful that by all appearances, Patsy died peacefully.  

Patsy may or may not be in these photos taken when we went to visit our friend's chicks....we received six chickens from this group of chicks.  

 

A very young Patsy....trying out the roosting bar in her new home: 

 

 With a young friend, who charmed Patsy by feeding her blueberries....

And this is the last photo I took of Patsy...this summer, as she joined her friend Loretta Lynn in the hen favored left side nesting box: 

 
Last night, after I told little c that Patsy had died, she drew this photo and penned this little obituary.  June Carter is actually c's proclaimed "favorite hen" but maybe that made c feel a little guilty for having a favorite...who knows?  

Like little c, I am glad we have "pichers of her" to help us remember our friend, the little Dominique hen, Patsy Cline.  She was a good girl.  We will miss her.

 peace and all good, 

Lisa

in clover: paint by number

With my vision impaired, I have not been getting out of the house much at all.  I was getting a little stir crazy so I emailed a friend and suggested a "lunch and junk" outing.  She took me up on my offer which was nice because she had to do all the work!  She's such a good sport.  Once, she rode in my van with her head stuck through a hole in an old screen  door I bought for $1.  That was the only way we could get home.  That's a good, good friend!

We had so much fun!  Driving around the countryside of Central Ky on a pretty day was a pleasure indeed and when we landed at a genuine estate sale,  I was delighted to find a few things I just could not live without.  Here's a photo of my haul, right after we unloaded her truck: 

I was particularly captivated by this pair of 1960's paint by number paintings in faux bamboo frames. I debated and debated...are they cool?  or tacky?  cool?  tacky?  I really don't care for parrots...I don't think....but I LOVED the colors and really liked the bamboo and exotic flowers.  And whoever painted these, from a dime store kit, did a really great job!

When I bought the three dozen or so canning jars, the nice man threw in the unusual square galvanized tub.   These jars give me a good start on next year's pickles and jam. 

My friend spotted the vintage Minolta camera and steered me towards it.  I have a thing for vintage cameras and telephones.  I find them irresistible.  Maybe because they both facilitate communication? Maybe I wanted the camera because it looked like the one I coveted for years...the one my dad toted over his shoulder in the seventies...not sure...I imagine that's a question I could tackle in my journal soon! 

I am very glad I decided not to pass on these two funny little chicken pillows (on the right) for the breakfast nook.  They seemed like the perfect companions for the yellow hooked pillow I bought from Garnet Hill last year: 

So enthralled was I by my retro paint by numbers art, that I set out to find a spot for those parrots right away.  They looked great against the yellow walls of our living room so I decided to try a swap.  Over our sofa, we have a large French iron mirror flanked by vintage French sconces and two Victorian era iron heating grate covers: 

Love these iron grates but they do lack color....

 I decided the parrots deserved a chance.

Yep, that'll work! The parrots bring new energy to the space and I smile every time I see them. 

It's fun to have a little make-over, estate sale style! Plus, I got to hang out with my friend.  All that's left is to find a place for those white iron grates.  

In spiritual direction, we are taught to pay attention.  We are taught to continually ask ourselves what feels life-giving...and what feels life-taking.   

As I type, I find myself wondering if it's wise to post these photos...you might snicker at my idea of "art"...or you might think that my time could have  been used more productively...that I could have been doing something more important or "real."    

Maybe.  It might be silly...inconsequential...genuinely a waste of time.  It may not be productive or bring kudos...but looking for treasure among junk and puttering about my house fills me with a sense of life.

If Spirit whispers to me....make your home with cast off 1960's dime store art, a 50 cent pair of imperfectly sewn calico chickens and a junky old galvanized washtub...who am I to argue?  

Resisting the movement of Spirit never seems to have gotten me anywhere, except stuck.  That doesn't mean that following what is life-giving is always easy...sometimes it can feel darned uncomfortable. (Think "spiritual director" rather than "ordained minister.")  It can feel vulnerable.

But, in the end, choosing to go with the flow has always been the best choice.   Especially when you can go along with a friend who'll stick her head through an old screen door, just to keep you company.

peace and all good, 

Lisa

in clover: courage, in color

Brene Brown has this to say about courage: 

The root of the word courage is cor -- the Latin word for heart. In one of its earliest forms, the word courage had a very different definition than it does today. Courage originally meant to speak one's mind by telling all one's heart.

Over time, this definition has changed, and, today, courage is more synonymous with being heroic. Heroics are important and we certainly need heroes, but I think we've lost touch with the idea that speaking honestly and openly about who we are, about what we're feeling, and about our experiences (good and bad) is the definition of courage.

Heroics are often about putting our life on the line. Courage is about putting our vulnerability on the line. If we want to live and love with our whole hearts and engage in the world from a place of worthiness, our first step is practicing the courage it takes to own our stories and tell the truth about who we are. It doesn't get braver than that.

Recently I had the pleasure of shopping for art supplies.  They have been sitting in a bag in our breakfast nook, tempting Little C (and me) almost beyond comprehension but we’ve managed to restrain ourselves and tonight we break out the pristine paper and fresh markers, pencils and pastels.  Tonight the ChristCare group I lead will begin a Lenten practice inspired by the book “Praying in Color” by Sybil Macbeth.  Those who show up for Cultivating Mindfulness tonight will meditatively pray for friends and loved ones, through drawing and coloring.

We’ll express these prayers visually and in vivid color.  No words required.   In the weeks that follow we will intentionally focus on portions of our lives that we wish to pray for…in color.  We will pay attention to and acknowledge personal challenges, our growing edges...we'll even draw the whiny, stinky, childish parts of our lives that the author says calls for compost prayers.  We will name our gifts.  We will express our gratitude.   We will chronicle our spiritual histories.  In the end we will hold prayer filled visual images…icons, if you will…that not only represent the prayer that guided their creation but will also serve as a visual reminder to remain in or return to prayer. 

Some in the group are very excited.  Some have bought their own sketch books and markers and colored pencils, anticipating this particular prayer practice might just stick.  Some are quite anxious. They are concerned because they do not consider themselves “creative” or “artistic.”  Some are both excited and anxious. Some are afraid.  In her book, The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, Sue Monk Kidd says, “I cannot tell you how many women I meet who say, ‘Oh, I’m just not creative.’   It breaks my heart, because every woman IS creative in some way, and every woman’s creativity is valuable.” 

It breaks my heart, too.  Over and over again, I have heard it.  Many times it has been my own voice, ringing in my ears.  

I have a couple of cameras and I truly love using them.  I know that material things can’t bring true happiness but there a few things I would really, really miss if I lost them.  My camera would top the list.  I can remember, as a pre-teen, watching my Dad use his Minolta SLR.  I wanted that camera.  Bad.  I had a Kodak Instamatic but to me, that small instamatic was not a REAL camera.  My Dad’s camera was REAL.  I wanted to thread film and change lenses.   I wanted the bag full of gear and I wanted that big, bulky camera hanging by a strap around my neck.  I took a photography class my senior year of high school and had access to a real camera, a Nikon, and a darkroom but it wasn’t until Michael and I were engaged that I graduated from owning an instamatic to a more real point and shoot 35 mm…a gift from his folks.  And it wasn’t until Little C was born that I finally splurged and bought a really real digital slr camera and a couple of lenses.  And a bag for all the stuff.  And a tripod.  It came with the strap. 

Once I saw a status on FaceBook that read, “Buying a camera does not make you a photographer.  Just sayin.”   

As someone who had finally acquired a real camera and was enjoying taking what I felt like were, for the first time in my life, real photographs, this really pissed me off.   I sat and stewed for a good long time.  And then I realized that as much as I hated to admit it, this person is correct.  Buying a camera does not make you a photographer.  But buying a camera and using it to capture images sure does.  Using that camera, no matter the results, absolutely makes you a photographer.  Just sayin. 

No one has an exclusive claim on creativity.  NO ONE. But it does take courage, the kind of of courage Brene Brown speaks of, to claim your creativity.  It takes a willingness to lean into, rather than run from, feelings of extreme vulnerability.  It takes turning a deaf ear to those voices in your head that whisper or perhaps shout, “You are not a REAL artist.”  

In her book, "The Dance of the Dissident Daughter," Sue Monk Kidd says that we must begin by acknowledging our creativity and then “Second, we must explore it.  Ask yourself, “What is my deepest passion, really?  What moves me profoundly?”  And let the answer float up from the truest, most vulnerable place in your heart.  Greet this answer like it is your newborn self being placed in your arms.  Love it.  Bond with it.  Feed it.  Don’t push it aside, minimize, make excuses, and starve this thing of beauty, because this answer is a window into your creative life.” 

Finally Monk Kidd acknowledges that we need to commit to our creative path. She says she meets many women “with books inside them they never write down….women with all kinds of dazzling projects their souls have concocted that for some reason they never get around to manifesting.”  She talks about the difference between “sacred dawdling” and “resistance to act” but in the end, she says, “The main thing is to stop struggling and nourish yourself.  When you nourish yourself, your creative energy is renewed.  You are able to pick up your lyre again and sing.”

And so tonight I look forward to being nourished.  I look forward to being with a group willing to abide to a covenant of vulnerability.  I look forward to connecting with God…to telling my story and listening to theirs.  We will be praying and meditating and drawing and coloring.  This group of creative and courageous women, despite their anxiety and discomfort and fear, will show up to pray for others…maybe for you.  And they will be praying in color.  

Namaste, 

Lisa