The Ugly Truth About Chickens

 

They stink, they eat their own eggs, they peck each other bald and consume more feed than what it costs to buy the organic, range-free eggs. All of these truths were tolerable until we inherited my Dad's dog, Max. Max doesn't care for chickens. In fact, the only chicken Max has any affinity for is a dead chicken. He can kill a chicken quicker than a .22 bullet to the heart. When the chickens went into 24 hour confinement, so did their excrement. They no longer free ranged and that quadrupled their feed amount at about the same time corn based animal feed nearly doubled in cost. Raising chickens was no longer fun, relaxing or rewarding. It became tedious, expensive and frankly, quite smelly. I had a friend in need of some chickens, so I boxed them up, loaded them into the back of her SUV and said farewell to my chicken raising days.

There is now an eerie calm and hushed silence out on the farm. I no longer have every bird within a 5 mile radius stopping by for a bite to eat or quick drink from the chicken pen. There is no 4 AM rooster crow to remind us that the sun will be rising in the next 3 hours or angry cackle from a mad hen warning that the dogs are too close to the pen. No frozen water to break or tote by 5 gallon bucket in the sub freezing temperatures. Do I miss my chickens? Hmmm.... Ask me in a few more months.  I'm now thinking bunnies are the wave of the future on the Jordan farm - or maybe a little pig - or a couple goats - or a new calf...

 



Climbing Mountains

Broken Top

 

Life has a way of molding us.  Every event, every transition, every change has a way of carving us into the person we have become.  I think back 25 years and I can't help but smile.  Sure there are some things that I wish I had done differently but I even surprise myself with how little I regret. 

 

I'm glad I went skiing instead of pursuing my original goal of med school.  I'm proud for being able to leave all I've ever known to venture off to Alaska on my own.  I had some great summers working for the white water rafting company in the summer and skiing my brains out during the winter.  I didn't make money.  I didn't get a lot of fancy initials behind my name but I did get clocked coming down Mt. B going 56 mph on skis - and back in those days we didn't wear helmets.

 

I met incredible people.  Real people.  I learned about horses, ranches, rodeos and almost about hockey.  I discovered that my worst pair of boots will always be more comfortable than my best pair of shoes and that I've got a bit of a knack for this way of life.  I may learn everything the hard way but I learn it and the next time around things tend to go a bit easier.  I learned that some of the biggest lessons come from the most unlikely sources and to pay attention because if you don't, the moment passes and the lesson is lost.  I learned that I absolutely would survive losing someone I thought I couldn't live without and that it's okay to change because of that loss. 

 

I've grown and stretched and forgiven.  I'm not as self-absorbed or as arrogant as I once was.  I've learned to live without regrets and I try very hard not to let pride get in the way.  I knew I was where I was always meant to be when I started working for the lab at St. Charles.  That experience opened a new world.  When I finished my RN, it took a few months before I could grasp that I was a real nurse, with real patients.  I still have moments when my job feels surreal and gives me goosebumps.  Saving lives is a pretty cool way to spend a shift, isn't it?

 

The people that meet me now don't know these parts of me.  They look at me and think, "Crap, Amy's going to give me hell for not having my kid in a helmet!"  They don't know that I hung by my knees from the railroad bridge across the Crooked River Gorge or bungee jumped off of the Blue River Dam in the middle of a pitch black night.  I know what an Alaskan Brown Bear smells and sounds like - and there's only one way to know those things for sure.  I've been down class III rapids in a life jacket - no helmet.  I've chased a giant sea creature that easily out-sized our little skiff.  I know what it feels like to launch off of the cornice at the tip top of Mt Bachelor and not even skim snow with my skis until I was already halfway down the bowl.  I have what it takes to stand in a pile of mud and afterbirth to perform CPR on a stillborn calf and I certainly have what it takes to shoot a coyote circling its body.  And yes, I can drink an entire bottle of Jagermeister but it will take me all night and the result is not pretty.

 

I suppose I am a bit of a cliche.  I got married.  I settled down.  My name changed to "Hey Wifey" and then to "Auntie A" - and with each change came greater responsibility and the bigger realization of just how lucky I was to have survived some of those stories.  Every bone I broke and joint I've strained reminds me now of where I've been and what I've done.  Every scar comes with a story of it's own.  I've spent enough time tempting fate, now I calculate my risks.

 

A friend and I recently hiked up Broken Top.  So many years had passed since I felt the freedom I felt.  I love those mountains.  I love winding, rocky dirt roads that turn into nothing more than a trail on the map.  I love being outside and feeling the wind in my hair and the dirt in my socks.  Being up there reminded me of so many things that I had forgotten about.  It was like coming home.  I still don't like bears or cougars so I will always be prepared when I'm on those less traveled paths, but I do plan on reminding myself a little more often of who I really am and fully intend to climb more mountains - maybe even on skis. 

The Lawn

I have to admit it.  I wanted the lawn.  I wanted pretty, uniform cut, dark green grass surrounding our home.  It was going to cut down on the dust, the heat and all the work we put into weed control around here.  It was going to be a place for the dogs, kids and even the adults to enjoy.  Other people have it.  We had two lawns growing up - three if you count the far back lawn.  It didn't seem too hard to grow or require that much upkeep.  I thought once we had it in, we were home free...  I was so wrong.

Our lawn is a time machine.  It sucks up hours, if not days at a time.  One day it's trimmed, green and beautiful.  I smile as I gaze at it with pride.  I work my 4 nights, squeezing in some quick sprinkler sessions when I get home and before I leave.  It all seems okay -- until it suddenly doesn't.  Dry spots, dull spots, brown spots, missing spots...  Grubs, moles, sage rats, sodworms, aphids, june beetles, crane flies, over watering, underwatering, seeding, feeding, insecticides, edging, filling, mowing, moving hoses, changing hoses, changing sprinklers, moving sprinklers.  My lawn is a Dr Seuss book just waiting to be written.  It takes all of my attention, all of my time and uses every last bit of patience I have left.  This is not fun.  This is not easy.  Then after spending all of my days off to care for the lawn -- it is trimmed, green and beautiful again.  I smile with pride as I drive down the driveway and then much to my dismay, the cycle repeats itself.

I've reached the point that I've put so much time and energy into it - I can't walk away from it.  I can't ignore those dry spots in the back and go enjoy myself at the lake for the day because I know, if I don't water them right away - they will turn brown and take weeks to come back.  I can't ignore the mowing.  It grows so quickly that if it doesn't get done -- it will be 10 times the work to get the cutting clumps raked off so they don't kill the lawn beneath them.  If I give the mole a chance - the dogs will find him and that means filling 15 large holes instead of just 2 small ones.  The grubs can eat the roots of very large chunks of lawn within a few nights.  That grass is dead.  It needs to be dug out and reseeded.  Bindy weed needs sprayed at first sight or it will spread voraciously.  Timers are a great idea but they limit water flow.  If I use the timers, I get half the coverage so it takes twice as long - or longer - depending on how many times I have to move the hose or change the sprinkler. 

So if you want to see us this summer (what's left of it), I'm afraid you will have to drive out.  I will pour you a glass of ice tea and you can sit on the deck and I will work on the lawn while we chat.  I haven't given up the battle yet.  The thistle infestation might send me over the edge but I'm not going down without a fight.  It's over the drainfield and really, who wants to hang out over that anyway. 

New Beginnings

 

We have a new addition -- Ruger, the latest little Corgi to join the pack.  He's sweet, stubborn and has already made a playmate of his sister, Josie Wales, who is just one year older.  He's been home for 3 nights now and has settled in well.  We are in the process of crate training and I swear I don't remember it kicking my butt like this in the past -- but that may have been due to sleep deprivation and memory loss.  It is the first time I have entrusted the dogs to dog sit for me while I took a much needed nap.  All is well that ends well and we sure love the little guy.

I am back on night shift at the hospital and will be spending more time back in the ER.  It's where I do the most good and feel like I'm in my element.  The old saying that if you make a job out of something you love, you'll never work a day in your life seems to fit my situation well.  I feel a bit rusty and out of sync but I'm sure it won't be long before the flow returns.  I love my job most of the time and I know enough to realize how lucky I am for that.  It's where I belong and I'm doing what I was always meant to do.  That is a satisfaction that I do not question.

It's been a tough year.  I thought the year my parents and my husband's dad got divorced was tough but it seems like just as the dust was settling from that is when my Dad died and everything that had been "unsettled" just came apart.  It's hard to lose a parent.  It's harder to watch your siblings experience that grief and know that there's nothing to be done to fix it.  I think I thought moving to day shift would make me more available to them to help fill some of the void my Dad left behind but I was wrong.  That void is too vast and nothing within my power will make any of this easier on them.  We all have to find our own way through it.  That being said, I sure miss him.  Every day I miss him.

I have a lot to be thankful for and even more still yet to do.  Crate train the puppy, clean the hot tub, fill the pantry, play in the dirt, save a few lives, laugh some good laughs and live the dream that we all call life.  I think that is the best way to honor everything my Dad made certain to ingrain in my existence -- to simply live it to the fullest and do the best that I can do.

The Harsh Reality

The harsh reality is that my adult coping mechanisms do not engage until noon.  I have given this 4 in the morning crap my best shot and I am not winning the battle.  I might be able to fake my way through a 6AM wake up call a few days a week and manage it but roll-call comes much earlier than that.  I can wake up on Island time and enjoy the day but intricate elements of my survival plan include umbrella drinks and beach-side siestas - and management refuses to sign off on either.  So...  I am left with the facts.  I will never thrive on day shift and oh - how I ever enjoy thriving!

My life is about smiling from the inside out.  It's about happy, goofy dogs playing in the sun.  It's about truly "being present" for the moment.  It's about sharing that energy with friends and family.  It's about resolving any possible problems before they happen.  I like having a plan.  I like to eliminate worries before they hit the horizon.  As my nephew Grady told his mom one morning, "Mom, it's Auntie A.  She takes care of everything.  There are NO worries..."

I can't do that at 4AM.  At that hour, I am grumpy.  I obsess about coffee.  I am resentful of my husband, still asleep in our nice, warm bed.  And I worry.  I worry about my patients.  I worry about my skills.  I worry about my charting.  I do things two, three, four different times because I don't remember actually doing it.  My brain is asleep, people.  I can't wake it up.  I don't enjoy chatter.  I am not present.  I am in survival mode.  Non-critical chit-chat pisses me off -- don't those people have more important things to do?  And where the hell is the coffee?!  There is no smiling on the inside, there is merely gritting my teeth on the outside.  I can't troubleshoot, I can't problem-solve and I certainly can not formulate a plan.  These are higher level thinking skills and non-existent in the brain that is simply fighting to survive.

And daylight savings time? It simply put me over the edge. This morning crap is crazy and to do it all one hour earlier than the week before - that's just plumb freaking nuts!

So I have begged my bosses to help me find a way back to night shift.  It's where I belong.  It's where "my people" thrive.  It's where all of the "told-you-so" friends are sitting back with a big ear to ear and all-too-knowing smile.

I am again smiling from the inside and happy to know that someday I will be back to my normal self.  Until then, just a suggestion; approach me cautiously before noon and perhaps even arm yourself with an extra cup of coffee - just in case.





The "make it all better" coffee mug.

Life

Reach.  Stretch.  Grow.  Love.  Dream.

Identity Crisis?

I'm just not a morning person.  I never have been.  My mom bought an alarm clock for my little sister and I when we were in preschool and kindergarten because she didn't want to be the one to wake us grumpy girls up in the morning.  My sister adjusted.  I did not.  I like to stay up late.  I like quiet.  I like to gently let go of my dreams and ease into my day.  Being thrown into wakefulness with the annoying shrill of a clock leaves me feeling unbalanced and unsettled for the first few hours of each day.

I've tried to be positive about my move to day shift but honesty tends to win out with me.  It's hard.  It's like the beginning of a new fitness routine.  Do I like it?  Um... Yes?  Maybe?  It will get better, I think.  I still find myself sleeping in until 10 every morning the alarm is not set.  Sometimes it's closer to noon that I crawl out from the covers in a blind fog in search for coffee, like today.  Eh, it is what it is.  I am who I am.  I think maybe that my internal clock is Australian.

And then there's the cows...  Our neighbor is using our corral for his herd and I have to admit, it's something I really miss.  I found a calf out of the pen late last night.  I wasn't quite sure how I was going to get her back where she belonged but we've had some close encounters with coyotes (and maybe even a cougar) so I knew this wasn't something that could wait until daylight.  Unbelievably, she let me pick her up and set her back in the pen through the fence rails - which was great news because the gate was on the opposite end of the corral.  There's something sweet about that warm, soft fur and blind trust that just has a way of making everything in this world seem so simple.  I miss that.

So now I'm a night person working days who lives on a farm without cows and an ER nurse in the part of the hospital that doesn't really have emergencies and I'm not really too sure how this life is suppose to fit into my psyche.  It's all a bit foreign to me. 

For now I think I will go get my poop boots on, trek through the mud and go check on the cows that aren't ours and scan the highway for any possible traumas on my way.