Bugger, Tucker + A Chicken’s Affection
Y’all, there has been so much happening here on the farm that I am finally now getting some time to tell you about it — and there is much to tell. I am quickly realizing that nighttime on the farm is a good time to write. The sun goes down and the chickens are corralled and I smell vaguely (or maybe a lot) like chicken poo and I have some time to write.
First of all, I have to introduce you to our newest and dearest friend, Jack. Jack came to us all the way from Australia and is here to help on the farm and grace us with the best Australian accent. I am learning all kinds of new phrases and most importantly, saying “bugger” a lot more which I greatly enjoy. For those souls who are searching for a way of life more aligned with the sun and the stars, for those wanting to spend their days in a quiet and queer village, for those desiring to eat T-bone steaks and wrangle eighty chickens a day, they are finding they way to Ojo Conejo. I am so deeply grateful that Jack has found his way to us. Over the last, almost two weeks, we have begun to get to know Jack and all of his skills. From fire preparation to teaching me what loppers (tree trimming tools) are, Jack has jumped into the farm with full vigor.
It is rare and golden that a human like Jack appears in your life, one that you can laugh your ass off with and then also figure out how to build the best kind of latch for your make-shift chicken coop with. It’s a deep kind of friendship that begins to build on the farm — one that is solidly supported by the daily tasks of making a homestead together. Heathar and I cannot do this alone, that we know for sure. And it is with open arms and hearts that we welcome all the help that is coming our way, all the community that is sitting around our table and the array of knowledge that makes our homesteading possible.
This week has been full of community, which for me and my four planets in the fourth house (the most introverted house in the astrology chart) has drawn me out to live on my social growth edge this week. I have a feeling that this farm and place will continue to call in all the wonderful and diverse community that I have dreamt of for so long. Some of my oldest and deserts friends and clients visited the farm this week, a new friend that I met at the Santa Fe local Coop came up to the farm for the first time and my mom and her dear friend, Harmony were up today helping with projects. I am always surprised that people want to help — that they are looking for a place to gather, a place to pick up a shovel and then lounge around the dinner table for oven-roasted chicken and homemade blueberry pie.
Today, we painted the bathroom in one of our buildings and polished the wood in that very same bathroom, creating a space that was shiny and new looking amidst all the rubble and construction happening on the farm. We sang Joni Mitchell at the top of our lungs while painting as Jack and Heathar trimmed trees around us and dragged piles of brush down to the lower pasture to burn tomorrow. It was incredibly satisfying and I began to see for the first time that eventually, every space on this property will look like that bathroom. Every space will be well loved and cared for, brining this property back to life.
The man who built this proprety (Roger Tucker) has left massive piles of his trash around the proprety that, in my best guess, have been here since the 1970’s. They have grown into their own ecosystem under the trees and brush, sprouting seeds and mold from beer bottles, Pepsi cans and old jars of refried beans. Roger left everything that he could not use under the trees and it’s all coming out. Old bits of carpet, weathered tarps and so much barbed wire that we could fence in twenty cow pastures with it. We are hailing all of it away and giving most of it to Tommy (the local dump manager) who will repurpose it and use it on his own homestead. There are treasures everywhere from Roger. Perhaps we will even find the buried treasure from Roger that we know is around here somewhere. We’re not sure if Roger is alive or dead but if he’s still alive, we are going to find him and invite him to dinner. He is a legend around these parts and we would like to shake his hand, sit down, have a beer with him and show him what his initial vision is turning into. I think he might like what is now going on at Ojo Conejo.
Some days, it feels like very little progress is being made on the farm but today, it felt like so many things came together and happened. This evening, as we were putting the chickens into their pen for the night, we saw Venus and the Moon appear together in the crisp New Mexico sky. While Northern New Mexico is still cold right now in April, and many complain about this, somehow it feels right to be here instead of on a beach somewhere. There is building happening here, there are great projects afoot and there is a team that is willing to help.
Farming and homesteading call in community for it cannot be done solo. It calls into focus the errors of so much of the American way which seems to be to live life without asking for help and to live it alone. The nuclear family expands to include friends, chickens, cows and the Moon. The monogamous couple expands to include the community, a team of helpers and the coyotes. It seems that all is as it should be when others gather around to work toward a common goal. When everyone is thinking about the way that fire might be prevented from touching our land, when we are offering eggs and meat and morning chats in the sun to those who are drawn here, it feels that my roots in independence and solitary living are challenged and they are graciously losing the battle. Even sitting with our thirty chickens every night as we tuck them in to bed feels like a new community forming. I am beginning to call the chickens by name and they are beginning to walk on my shoulders and underneath my legs. We think this might be a chicken’s way of offering affection but we’re not yet sure. After all, we have no idea what we’re doing and somehow, the farm is happening around us.
