Rock Stars

Blade Beak and Star Baby are rock stars.  No really, they are.  A couple of weeks ago I was finally convinced that our sweet pit bull Claxton had come to accept the fowl as family, and since then, dogs and chickens have roamed the backyard together in relative peace.  The only friction these days stems from the fact that these roosterless sisters have become just as confident as any cock.  They pick my tomatoes off the vine, climb into Claxton's bowl and try to eat his food when he's not looking, and have even started jumping on the trampoline.  But their brashness doesn't stop there.  This past Monday morning, Chloe and I found a small brown egg on the floor of the hen house, and on Wednesday, McLean found another one nestled in the hay that kids and dogs have strewn all over the floor of Doug's shed.  Our chickens have started laying!  Friday morning, however, when we went out on our daily egg hunt, we found runny yolks and cracked shells under the favorite roost.  Miraculously, there was no smashed TV in the sandbox beneath the girls' window. 



What I've learned is that nesting boxes shouldn't be on the floor.  It probably would have helped if I'd read beyond the introduction of the chicken book I borrowed from the library.  Luckily, my friend Katy shared her wealth of knowledge after a playdate this morning, so with a few minor adjustments, we should be able to curtail Blade Beak and Star Baby's wild nights of partying. 



My chickens' rebellious attitudes aren't the only manifestations of the past few weeks.  The kids and I planted our fall greens outside and started carrots, beets, and broccoli from seed in the kitchen window.  McLean learned how to swim this summer, and his enthusiasm for the water has landed him with a painful case of swimmer's ear.  Poor little Chloe appears to be suffering through the emergence of all four of her two-year molars.  Even Mama had some upsetting news this week.

Reconnecting with long lost friends always awakens half-forgotten memories.  A few weeks ago, I ran into a man I haven't seen in a decade, a man with whom I lived for almost two years.  The rush of unexpected familiarity was grounded, however, by sobering news: a mutual friend of ours took his life last year. 

One of the things I loved about living with my ex was that we never lived alone (a fact which may explain why we aren't still together . . . ).  I'll admit that the steady influx of temporarily homeless friends who would crash on our couches for days, weeks, and sometimes months was initially unsettling, but I came to relish Saturday morning coffee and conversation with strangers who had arrived after I had gone to bed the previous evening and weeknight dinners that lasted late into the night.  Most of the visitors came and went, but Jason was an almost permanent fixture in our home and hearts. 

Having grown up in Madison County, Jason had almost no sense of time.  He took time with his coffee, his smoke breaks, his Dewar's and Ginger, and every conversation or friendly grocery-store encounter.  He seemed to be always feeling his way through each interaction, and regardless of how awkward those social situations might have been for him, they were fresh and honest.  Jason took pride in both his work and his rebellion, whether he was fixing a friend's car, mixing a drink, or recalling his adventures with the local police department.  He taught me to wait tables like a professional and drink moonshine like a redneck.  He was a good man and a good friend.

I will never forget the day he called mid afternoon, asking me to meet him at a bar.  He had been dating a woman for only a few weeks, and as I listened to him, I was surprised to realize that this man who took his time with everything was considering a commitment.  I'm not exactly sure what I told him, but he and Amy left for Tennessee the next weekend.  I remember coming home from work three days later to find the two of them sitting and grinning on the back steps. 

"Guess what she went and did," Jason had smirked. 

"What?"

"She went and got married."  Amy wiggled the fingers of her left hand, showing off a band of gold. 

I was speechless.

"Guess what he went and did," Amy took over.

I still couldn't speak.

"He went and got married."  Jason, too, was wearing a ring.

Ten years and two children later, time finally caught up with my friend.  My ex and I had long since split, each of us now married to someone else, and I had lost touch with Jason.  I knew that he and Amy were raising her sweet boy from a previous marriage and had had a second child together.  I knew that they had moved to Cullowhee and then perhaps Saluda, but they had ceased to be a part of my life.  I didn't know when they separated. I didn't know when his rebelliousness cost him his job and his family.  I didn't know about the night he took too many pills, abandoned and alone in a hotel room.  I didn't know about his funeral.  I wasn't there to mourn or celebrate his short life.

So I'll do it now.  Here's to your rock-star spirit, Jason.  Free, finally, from all constraints, may you wander in timeless bliss and may your wife and children, family and friends be comforted by the memory of your honest love.