Welcome to the Chicken Chronicles- I thought it would be a little bit of fun to have a series chronicling our adventure of raising chickens. We've never had chickens and this is a new type of venture for me. I was a little hesitant about having creatures I need to feed and water every morning and night no matter the weather. But, I hoped it would ground me and force me to get outdoors each day whether I wanted to or not.
We have a lot of extra recycling at our house right now. I don’t know about you, but the bin in our garage is overflowing. We’ve been ordering so many essentials online due to staying put at home, which means boxes. So. Many. Boxes.
I have had a hard time finding the words for this post trying to both spur others on and encourage in the midst of COVID-19 sweeping the globe and my country. This post has sat on my laptop for the past two weeks with two sentences painfully written. They weren't right so I wrote again and erased and then wrote again and then erased before writing this today (with plenty of erasing).
As Thanksgiving approaches, my recent struggle with gratitude and contentment weigh heavily on my mind. I’ve been finding myself restless and busy, unsettled and striving. More than I’d like to admit, I’ve been astray in a losing battle of comparison over my home, appearance, and children. I’m neck-deep in it. Major transitions and changes - though I’ve become adept at the outward processes - have a way of thrusting me into self-made trenches.
November is here. The Halloween candy is on clearance and Christmas decor is stocked on the shelves. The fall that just started is already fading into winter here in the northeast. Let’s be real—some of us are already playing Christmas music, while some of us feel completely overwhelmed by the to-do list the upcoming holidays create amidst our already full lives.
Fall is such a sweet season to me. I know I'm not alone in this because Pinterest tells me so. Living in the northeastern United States, it's a season of crisp cool air, crunchy leaves underfoot and vibrant colors above.
Disconnecting from the constant clamor of ever streaming noise is an astoundingly loud endeavor at the beginning. It's been almost 24 hours since arriving at a little cabin in the woods, just the four of us. No other voices to be heard, considered, checked or responded to. It's been beautiful.
Living in western Pennsylvania, the idea of elusive summer calls to me about 9 months out of the year. Our winters are long and cold and dark. I think about spring and the fleeting summer and short fall during those cold months.