Guest Post from Esther of Today Is My Favorite

Happy Friday!  Today I bring you a beautiful little post from one of my lifelong friends and cousin, Esther of Today Is My Favorite.  I've always been a little envious of Esther's constant optimism, supreme organizational habits and charming way with words.  She is the most graceful of artists and rightfully received her degree in Creative Writing at Stephen F. Austin State University in her hometown of Nacogdoches.  She is one of the most uplifting people I have ever encountered, and I feel so lucky to be able to call her family and even more so, a best friend.

Like Kassie, I work in hospitality, and frequently my “Mondays” and “Fridays” are not the same as everyone else’s.  I work at a Summer Camp and Retreat center, and, in the Summer especially, I don’t even pay attention to what day of the week it is, it’s just Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, etc.  I always know when it’s Friday, though, because, every Friday at 9:45 am, my phone sends me a reminder that says “Chickens!”

Just three minutes down the road from Camp Tejas, where I work, is a charming little farm complete with Chickens.  The owner of this farm is only there on weekends and holidays, so he’s asked a few of us at camp to take care of his chickens on the days when he’s not there.  In exhange for cleaning out the coop and feeding the 17 chickens, we get to gather the eggs.

Friday morning is my time to take care of the chickens, my happy time, the one thing in my week that is truly consistent:  I show up, the chickens greet me at one side of their run, follow me along the fenceline, and rush into their coop as I open the door.  I really think they actually miss me when I’m not there.

Okay, maybe they just want their food…

I grew up in the country.  My family moved around a lot, but most of the time, we were at addresses that didn’t even exist according to most GPS systems.  Despite living in the country, though, I don’t have much of the practical knowledge that you would expect someone to gain from country life.  I sure do know the value of garden vegetables that come out of your backyard, and farm fresh eggs, but if you asked me to produce those garden vegetables or take good care of the chickens who produce the eggs, I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to do that.  My parents and little sister were the true country folks.

Stepping out on a limb and offering to take care of the chickens down the road was exactly what I needed .  Just the little actions of gathering the eggs, scraping and washing the coop’s concrete floor, and feeding the chickens have taught me so much about what I am capable of.

When my parents had chickens, I was terrified to go into the coop.

Last Friday, I successfully coaxed a “broody” hen out of her nesting box, and retrieved the 10 or so eggs that were underneath her.

I may have been a little afraid that she would fly in my face in her fury, and she may have, in reality, gone calmly to eat with the other chickens, but, regardless of whether my fear was grounded or not, I conquered it!

I’m a big-picture person - I see things in terms of years, future possibilities, and eventual outcomes.  Sometimes it’s hard for me to sit back and just participate in a moment without analyzing it.  But, when I’m taking care of the chickens, that’s all I’m doing - spending a slice of my Friday morning taking care of the chickens.  There is no big picture for me to look at while I’m adjusting the spray strength on the hose to wash out the coop, or filling the feeders.  There are no far-reaching outcomes of my small actions on Friday morning, and I’ll be performing those same small actions next Friday morning, also with no far-reaching outcome.  The chickens' lives will not develop new future possibilities because I fed them and cleaned their coop on a Friday morning.

I so often fail to see the big picture going on in my own life because I‘m hyper-aware of the one going on all around me.  While I’m performing these seemingly trivial tasks, though, there is a big-picture change happening in me, and I can see it.

For that, I am grateful.