Last week’s poll results…
The results are in and here they are!
“Should Blanche die in the second volume?” — Do what is best for the story. It was the answer I was most leaning towards myself because it does raise the stakes which is important when getting close to the midpoint of a story.
“If Blanche dies, should she be brought back?” — No Please don’t do this. What surprised me, I think, with this answer was that my heart wanted to be able to bring Blanche back, but that is not realistic.
So thank you, readers, for helping me out with this. It’s just a reminder to me that as a writer, I can tend to go with what my heart wants even though it is not what may be best for the story or what my readers want! We will be sharing the chapter about Blanche’s death in our newsletter, so if you have concerned at that time, you can certainly let me know, but please know it is not horrible or gruesome in any way. She simply does not wake from restful sleep.
This week we will take a look at the ending of the last chapter of Volume One: Into the Garden (soon after Emily and Amelia joined Nate’s flock) and the first chapter of Volume Two: Over the Chimney (with news of what had been happening with Lefty and Rudy).
Although all the chickens enjoyed having the wild birds visit our garden, Amelia had a special affinity with them. There were always more wrens watching her and speaking with her than any of the others.
Perhaps they shared their stories of life outside our garden home. But listening to tales of daring flights could never take the place of soaring freely. I was sure of it.
The only time Amelia seemed not to be pacing was when she was sitting at the edge of the fencing and looking up into the sky. She would listen for a flock of Canadian geese to fly overhead, and then she would watch them as they passed by.
“Amelia, those Canadian Geese are migratory birds,” I said. They are supposed to spend the winter here and return to Canada, but they have adopted this as their year round home.”
She just continued watching them until they were out of sight.
I wanted to ask her if she thought she might be able to adopt our backyard garden as her home but felt the answer would not be pleasant for me to hear. Maybe Amelia simply needed more time.
I stood up, brushed off the seat of my pants. and headed indoors. It was still early, not quite time for her to head up to her coop for the night, and she would not go up until Emily had gone up first.
When it was almost dark, I headed outside. The sky was cloudy and the lights from the city reflected down, making the silhouettes of the bare tree limbs darker than usual.
I heard a rustle of feathers and saw the last of Amelia’s tail feathers as she disappeared into the dark of their coop. I heard the light thump of her feet as she landed on the perch she shared with Emily. Only Amelia would have dared to take such a leap in the dark. But she knew where Emily would be, and that helped.
After securing the door to their coop and the door to their run for the night, I stood and listened. I was hoping for some bit of conversation that would reveal what was in Amelia’s heart. I was hoping for anything that would help me make this a home for her.
But Amelia was silent. Emily chattered softly for a bit about something strange she had seen pass by on the street while Amelia has been laying her egg for the day. It sounded like she was describing the city’s curb street sweeper.
Amelia remained silent except to tell Emily, “Rest well.”
I wondered if Amelia had known I was listening and trying to learn secretly what was in her heart. I felt my cheeks blush in the dark. Had I spoiled whatever bit of trust she had in me?
As I was securing the others in for the night, I asked Gracie, “What do you think about Emily and Amelia?”
“What do you mean?”
“Emily seems to like it here, but I’m not so sure about Amelia.”
“Remember what I told you about BruK-Ä-BwawK!” she said. “Every heart can find a way into A Most Wondrous Place because it is trying to find a way into every heart. That promise is all you need to know. Perhaps you and Amelia will learn it together.”
That night was restless for me. I wondered about Mayflower’s safety and whether we had more to worry about because of The Air Shadows and The Absence of Love. I pondered over whether Gracie might be The Key to The Living Library that the songbirds had been awaiting for such a long time. More than anything else, I continued to wonder about Amelia and how I could help her enjoy her one precious life which had been entrusted into my care.
In the early morning hours, the songbirds began singing in the new day, and in my half-awake state, there seemed to be a voice speaking to me from the windowsill. It seemed to be singing into my waking dreams, “Come back and visit your Best Little Buddy whenever you need help.”
I sat up quickly in bed and said aloud, “I need to talk to Lefty.”
And that is where Volume One ends.
If this last part about birds singing sounds familiar, it is a variation of what The Robin had told Gracie earlier about The Living Library. “You may hear us early, even before the sun rises, as we begin to sing. You may be asleep or almost waking. Either way, we will sing into your dreams. We will sing whatever you may need to know for the day ahead.”
And this is where Volume Two begins.
“Come back and visit your Best Little Buddy whenever you need help.” That was what Lefty had told me when I last saw him.
I had almost laughed at the idea of ever going to a chicken for help, even a fine rooster like Lefty, but I was glad I hadn’t laughed. As things turned out, I seriously needed his advice on what to do about Amelia.
There was no surprised look on his face when he heard my bicycle tires on the gravel driveway of his farm out in the country. Somehow he knew I would be back.
Maybe news of how I had adopted two homeless hens had reached him through the songbirds or the farm crows. Maybe he already had heard how Amelia was having a tough time adjusting to her new home.
Even under the solid gray of the overcast sky, Lefty’s feathers and comb were still especially handsome. The calendar said spring was beginning to arrive, but the temperatures said it was still winter.
“Come and see,” he said before any of the normal greetings I had expected us to exchange. It made me feel as if no time had passed since we last spoken on the day I brought Rudy to join him on his farm.
I followed him over to their coop. His steps got quicker and more excited, almost like when he was a young cockerel with hardly a comb and playing in my backyard.
“Look inside,” he said.
There was Rudy, sitting in her warm nesting box. Tucked comfortably under her feathers were three baby chicks. Each looked quite different with a mixture of Lefty’s Buff Orpington coloring and her Rhode Island Red coloring.
“They are the finest baby chicks I’ve ever seen, and I am so proud of you both.”
“Would you like to pick them up and hold them?” said Rudy. “It is fine with us. They will trust you because they know we trust you.”
The three little chicks looked up at me without any peeping. I was just a curious-looking stranger to them. They were warm and safe and happy where they were, and so I said, “As much as I would enjoy that, I’d better just look at them right where they are. How many boys and how many girls?”
“There are two cockerels and one pullet,” said Lefty. “She will have two big brothers to watch over her. She is the youngest, the last to hatch.”
Rudy gently nudged each of them forward with her beak so I could get a better look at them. Then with a low, mother-hen tone, she said something to them in Old Chicken, the language only chickens understand, not the Chicken language that Gracie had helped me to learn.
They each tipped their beaks and gave me a few wing flaps. Rudy was making sure they grew up with proper manners.
“Well done,” said Lefty. “Now what do you tell our guest?”
“PeeP!” they each said in turn, like musical notes.
Then one of them added, “CheeP!” and the three chicks returned to Rudy’s warmth.
“That one is the oldest,” said Lefty. “He hatched first.”
“He must be a fast learner. And always wanting to be first. Just like his Dad.”
Lefty beamed with fatherly pride.
“Rudy and I have something to ask you,” he said. “Will you give them names?”
“I will if you’d like, but you are their parents. Why don’t you just name then? I’m sure you can pick some great names.”
“It does not work that way for chickens,” he said. “Only people give names. It is the way things are, the way things have always been. These three need names from a person so they will know they matter. We have high hopes for them.”
“You know they matter to me, but does the naming have to be today? I’d like to get to know them a little to make sure they get the best names possible.”
“That would be fine, and we thank you. Just let The Farmer know you would like to name them because once named, they are named. You may need to watch them playing to pick the best names. With the gray sky, it will be too cold to play outside today or for them to go far from Rudy. Winter has lasted longer than usual this year, or so I have heard. It was our first winter.”
“What did you think of the snow?”
“It was just as beautiful as I imagined it would be. Rudy and I danced together in the snow.”
“Like you did in our little backyard garden?”
“Yes. As closely to ‘The Waltz of the Snowflakes’ as we could remember. I miss those days. There is no record player here. And we do not talk with The Farmer the way we talk with you. Would you do one more favor for me?”
“Anything, Lefty. Because I have a favor to ask of you too.”
“Would you tell Gracie that I am sorry for calling her ‘Princess’ the first time I saw her dancing? And tell her when I danced with her, it was the first time in my life that I did not try to be first and best. And tell her without what I learned from her, I would have never become a Guardian.”
Rudy looked at Lefty and cleared her throat as if she was troubled by what he had said. Perhaps being a Guardian was something the baby chicks were not supposed to know about.
“I absolutely will, Lefty. But why haven’t you asked The Raven With Blue Eyes to tell her?”
Rudy cleared her throat again and whispered something to Lefty in Old Chicken. This time she was frowning sternly.
Lefty pretended not to notice.
“Some messages are best delivered by one like you who has known both of us our whole lives,” he continued. “You can say the words so she will know they are coming from my heart. And so, what do you need advice about? Are you building something?”
“Actually, it’s more like I am repairing something, an adopted hen named Amelia. I thought you might be able to tell me what’s wrong with her because you were both adopted. You were adopted by The Farmer, and she was adopted by me.”
Lefty nodded.
“Let’s give these little ones a chance to take a nap,” he said. “This is the most excitement they have had in the past few days. We can find a place to talk where we won’t keep them awake.”
So I told the baby chicks, “Rest well,” and the two of us found a spot by the barn to sit and talk. We were both hoping the cloudiness would break and let a little of the sun’s warmth through.
“The first thing you need to know is that being adopted does not make anything wrong with someone. Being adopted was actually the best thing for Rudy and for me. We now have those three beautiful baby chicks you just met.”
“Yes, but they weren’t adopted. They are with you, their parents.”
“But they have adopted us.”
“What do you mean?”
“For chickens, being adopted goes both ways. I do not know if it is that way for people, but it is that way for chickens. Rudy and I have adopted all three of them with our hearts. We care more about their welfare than our own. But they have to adopt us as well with their own hearts.”
“And how do they do that?”
“They do that by deciding to trust us to care for them. They do not have to do that. They choose to do that after we have shown them they can trust us.”
He gave me some time to think about what he had said and then added, “You might think that you adopted me and the others that day at The Feed And Seed Store, but that was only half of the story. We adopted you too. Gracie adopted you the moment she looked into your eyes. For the rest of us, it took a little longer.”
“So, Lefty, you adopted me?”
“Of course, I did. Otherwise I would not have let you call me such an impossibly long name as ‘My Best Little Buddy’ every day. I could find six worms in the time it took you to say all of that.”
We laughed.
”Do you remember when I would stay out all night with you and the others when you were very young? At the time it really felt as if you had adopted me instead of me adopting you.”
“We had. For chickens, a family is not based on who laid an egg and who hatched out of an egg. It is something bigger than that.
“It was our trust in you and our love for you that made us a family. Gracie, Bessie, The Emperor, The Empress, Rudy, and Your Best Little Buddy were all a family that summer because of you.
“Even though we weren’t all the same kind of chicken and even though some of us turned out to be roosters and some of us turned out to be hens, how we feel about you is the one thing we have always shared.
“Now tell me about Amelia.”
Until next time…
Thank you for reading along with us. I have to say that rereading the start of this second volume did make me sad for the learning and discovery days of the first volume, but now that everyone and everything has been established, the pace and adventure will be picking up.
No poll questions this week, but if you have any thoughts you’d like to share, please use the comment section or email them directly to John.Spiers@yahoo.com. We will be very appreciative of your thoughts and feelings.
Thank you for reading!
John, Gracie, Bessie, Blanche, Pearl, Emily, and Amelia
Onward We Go…Over the Chimney
I loved the concept (and truth) of adoption being a two way street. Whenever we change jobs, communities, towns, states, countries- we may be welcomed and accepted but we must welcome and accept our new relationships in return before we feel we are home. Adoption is surely based on trust, one aspect of love. Another love lesson skillfully woven into your story.