The Most Holy of Jobs
Our laying hens are three months old now and we have three more months to go until they start laying eggs. In the meantime, our neighbors supply us with dozens of eggs every week that we now give to our dog, our pigs and of course, scramble up for ourselves every morning. Our pigs have taken a deep liking to scrambled eggs with jalapeños mixed into them, topped with a copious amount of whole milk. The jalapeños are helpful for the pigs as they assist them in fighting off any kind of strange parasite they might pick up in their pig pen. Up in these mountains, we have learned that there is no shortage of eggs. We have so many dozens of eggs right now that we’ve had to place eggs on our counters and in paper bags around our kitchen. And this is all before our 28 hens even begin laying eggs for us.
I guess I should say our 27 hens because as it turns out, I believe we have one rooster. About a week ago, before we started our morning farm chores, we heard this prepubescent, faint crowing coming from the hen house. Our bedroom window is right above the chicken coop and so we can hear all of their morning sounds and even some of their nightly snores — they are very comforting sounds actually. As Heathar and I walked down to the chicken coop to investigate the noises, we realized it was coming from one very hesitant chicken. We have noticed that this chicken looks a bit different from the rest — his wattle and his comb are more pronounced and developed. Some of the hens don’t even have a wattle and a comb yet. He is a bigger chicken and apparently, developing into a rooster in his adolescence. As he began to try out his meager crow, the hens looked upon him in awe and shock. Some of them skittishly ran away from him and back into the coop and others, cocked their heads in that very distinct chicken kind of way and looked sideways at him. I think the rooster even surprised himself. He seemed to have no idea that he was capable of such sounds.
Our rooster does not yet crow every morning. It seems that he is not quite sure if he wants to stand out yet and be different from the rest of his flock. I have taken to walking out to their coop in the morning and encouraging him. If I crow lightly and softly, he will mimic me and crow back at me. We do a call and response game in the morning — I am crossing my fingers that he looks up to me and sees some of himself reflected in me. Heathar and I are thinking about putting a recording of a rooster out in the coop so he can hear it in the morning and feel inspired by it. Perhaps he needs an actual, real rooster role model even though I’m trying my best at being a stand-in rooster for now.
Knowing we have a rooster makes me feel oddly at ease. I think it is the sound they make in the morning, something about it makes me feel like all is well in the world. Many people don’t like to have roosters as they can be sexually aggressive with some of the hens and if there is more than one, you need to prepare yourself for some serious male competition. But only having one rooster, seems to bring a calm to the hens. The rooster protects them and watches out for them, he seems to establish some sort of much needed pecking order amidst the flock. I’m not sure how I feel about this on our all women run farm as the chickens are playing out gender stereotyped roles quite obviously amidst their flock. The rooster can crow loudly when a predator approaches and flap his feathers to scare them off. Sometimes, the male presence and even the bigness of the male body can be comforting and calming. There is something, at least for me, oddly biologically peaceful about leaning into the feeling of being protected and cared for in a very physical way. Perhaps it is because I sleep with ear plugs in and cannot be woken even by a the most intense desert thunderstorm that I need to feel that someone is watching out for me while I sleep, that someone has my back. Thankfully, Heathar is the lightest sleeper in the world and will wake up if she hears the smallest mouse scurry in the wall. She is the keeper of our nights and the one who goes to look out the window if there is a sound that we cannot distinguish.
It’s a double-edged sword inside of me where one edge likes to be able to protect myself and stand autonomously on this farm, knowing how to shoot a gun and wield an axe, but the other edge of me is softer and more tender. The other edge of me likes to feel protected and be able to fully cocoon in my inner world when I need to. I enjoy the feeling of being protected and I don’t just think that is the societal indoctrination of the female gender talking. I enjoy the feeling of not having to worry about the outside world because someone else has it. It allows me to write and feel and create and dive more deeply into the process of my inner world.
On a farm, you learn very quickly who is good at certain jobs and what jobs others need to stay far away from. For instance, I am largely in charge of decorating and preparing our casita that we will offer up to guests and people who come here on retreats. I am also really great with a palm sander, I have learned how to cut tile and grout and have an eye for tending the beauty of the farm. No matter what I do to the inside of our houses, Heathar always says, “That looks great babe.” This is, of course, the appropriate response but it is also true that Heathar is not super concerned with the interior decoration of our farm. We drove to a neighboring farm on Sunday to explore it, meet the farmer who runs it and buy some of his starts. He was growing amazing starts — strawberries, watermelon, all kinds of chilis, tomatoes, flowers, squash and on and on. He had three different green house structures and obviously, knew a lot about growing vegetables. His farm, however, was in complete disarray. He had piles of dead brush surrounding his property, trash in disorganized piles and parts of his roof that were falling down and around our feet as we walked through his maze of plants. There was no Venus, there was no beauty. It was a completely functional property without the tender, gentle eye of the feminine gaze. Now, you know of course I am not saying the feminine simply lies within the female body. No, of course not. Perhaps our farmer friend could access his inner Venus or perhaps part of her was laid to rest in his recent divorce. But amidst the functionality of a farm, I appreciate bringing Venus to it and in fact, it is a non-negotiable for me.
While I am in charge of the farm aesthetic, Heathar, is passionate about planting corn, cooking on an open fire and sharpening her axe to chop wood. We have very different loves and gifts when it comes to the farm. Heathar loves to stake tomatoes, feed the chickens and tend to the compost piles — functional, crucial and primal skills.
As the hens relax with a rooster present, so too can I relax when I feel the land and the perimeter of the property is being maintained. I feel silly to name it as such a feminine quality but here I am, feeling especially feminine. What I also love about the feminine is that if something is amiss around the perimeter of the property, if the space is not properly cared for, she can feel it. The hens can revolt if the rooster misuses his place — there are 27 of them and only one of him. They can correct the power imbalance, they can set it right again. The feminine can tend the energetic ring of a space — clearing up the miscommunications and stray energy hairs that fall out of place. As the feminine has space to feel the tone of the home, she can sense what is off and what is truthfully in its rightful place. Ultimately, this is the cleaning of the psychic space and this is, what I believe to be the invisible thread that holds the entire operation of a farm and home together. This is the magic, this is the unseen realm that if it were not present, the nails would rust and the gears would clog. Cleaning the translucent strands of the web that suspend the farm becomes The Most Holy of Jobs.
