Processing

It's early here, I've been awake since 3, up since, oh, 4:30 or so. Time is off for me or maybe this is the way it should be, who knows. Richard and I have gone to bed around 9 for 2 night's running due to a combination of long hours working outside building an extended roof to the goose house - we're quite proud of this accomplishment and we used a lot of old wood hanging around the place rather than having to buy new, only the essentials - and the time change which makes 5 o'clock in the evening feel more like 8. So strange feeling the dark coming in around 3. Especially these past few days when the weather has been warm and clear, sunny, hovering close to 60. I was wearing shorts to work in. And the sunsets have been gloriously stunning and colorful. It's wonderful to be outside after a good, productive day and be treated to such splendor. Fantastic. And the sun goes down and the chickens and geese and turkeys are all housed up by around 4:30. Gladly we went out for dinner last night which extended our wake time for a bit, but it's very much early to bed, early to rise here.

I'm sitting in the office on a chaise lounge. Astrid has nestled into my legs. Yesterday was her birthday. We dubbed it yesterday yesterday. We'd always heard that she must've been born mid-November, but didn't have the exact date. But yesterday morning we were listening to a podcast of Garrison Keillor's Writers Almanac (a daily occurence) and heard that it was Astrid Lindgren's birthday, the Swedish author of "Pippi Longstocking" and so November 14th it is. (I hear Richard stirring, he's up.) Astrid's my bed buddy at night, she always starts off laying down on my chest, maybe even licking my nose maternally before we both settle in. During the night she shifts to my side and on cold nights insists through persistent pawing to be let in under the covers. I oblige. And the others? Delilah beaches herself downstairs on the sofa back. Oliver and Sofia are a restless pair. Oliver's back and forth between my side in bed to prowling the house all night. If I happen to get up to go to the bathroom, he's right there with a loud urging to turn on the faucet so he can drink from a flowing water source. Sofia will sometimes settle in between Richard and me on cold nights, but often too is moving from room to room. Around about oh 4, especially in autumn and wintery months, Sofia gives off these mournful keens, so pent up with longing. The cries don't seem aimed at getting us up, they sound more like a yearning. Maybe it's to the flies or mice to come out "to play" but I think it's more of an ineffable, unquenchable longing being sounded.

The sounds of all our animals get to me. I used to be so focused on the mess they were making, their crap all over the place. The crap is still there, prodigious amounts from the geese, but my focus has shifted. I appreciate them, I like them around, they enliven and animate our world. And they move me. Letting the geese go every morning, hearing how excited they get when they see me come out of the house and make my way up the hill to their coop and then their flurry of flaps, almost proud, as if to say "We are who we are, aren't we wonderful?! Look at us!" And they flap their ritual path to the pond. And my heart sings. I love taking care of them, filling their water and feed. Arguing a bit with Richard about the construction of their coop to give a good balance, yes, to the openess of the structure, but to also give enough protection from the coming winter elements. It is a challenge to realize what are my wants and what the geese would actually appreciate. Oh, and speaking of "pond" a few sentences back, it has started to ice over in the mornings, then melt away in the warmer afternoons. Soon it will be frozen solid into March. This is all very perplexing to the geese. They don't know what to make of it all. It's fun to watch them converse amongst themselves about the state of things.

Richard gave a call to "the processor" yesterday. We've been putting it off, giving each other grimacing looks when the subject comes up of doing in our 3 adult turkeys and 2 of our geese. Yes, we made the classic mistake of naming all of them, that doesn't help. Especially Rasputin whose namesake was especially difficult to do in. And the turkeys are so sweet! They're very much independent birds, on their own, scrabbling around for food in the grass all day, but if you come up to them and want to hold them, they let you, they relax into it. Especially Snowball. (Again, the name!!) She cradles into your arms, let's you carry her around, and then nods off in your arms. And then there's Sassy, the survivor of a raccoon attack, limping gamely about, yesterday flying to the crest of the new goose house we were building and sliding back and forth trying to keep her balance.

Okay, since I wrote the above paragraph, several things have occured. About 4 to 5 hours have gone by. My writing was interrupted by a cry from the geese in the dark in back and I swore I something behind the house. We went to go outside and found that our woodpile on the back entrance porch had been upset and toppled over and the door to the chicken house had been messed with. A raccoon? A bear? No other signs of damage, no foot prints. Something must've gotten on top of the woodpile and tipped it over. I cleaned it up, did some more errands and catch up things. Richard's at work. And the processor's wife returned our call announcing that on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving they offer a service to all those around the area that only have a few birds or so. Gulp. I don't know how I feel about this. I don't know if Richard will be able to either. "We've given them a good life," he intones, trying to gird our loins to the task at hand, but I just don't know.

I'm going to have to bring this to a close, but more later.