Sunday Solitude

My typical weekday morning starts very early.I wake up around five a.m. to get ready for work. My daughter Becky splits the feeding chores with me so that each of us feed about half of the animals.

But weekends run a bit different as I let Becky sleep in a bit on the weekends and do all of the feeding myself. I also get to sleep in a bit later on the weekends, especially if it is still dark outside like it is during the winter months.

Spring is on the way and as the calendar approaches the Vernal Equinox, the sun rises a bit earlier each day. That being said, there is no snooze button on guineas when they want to eat their breakfast.

Sunday mornings are my solitude time. After I feed the noisy bunch near the house, I meander over to our other field where we house about 30 chickens. The walk over to the other field is my time of quiet. The damp air has the smell of new growth and green grass along with the smell of wet leaves. In the distance a raven calls to its mate as I watch my ducks paddle up Sancho Creek. I feed the flock and set off further into the field, passing the old hog pen and the asparagus field. Soon the asparagus will be popping out of the ground but for now it lies resting under the soil. My morning walk around the field is my time to “be” instead of “do”. I know that when I return to the house the chaos of the day will begin. But, this time, this solitude is for me alone.

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