I’ve been thinking a good deal about animals lately. Maybe it’s because spring has arrived, which is the best time to observe nature at its most industrious. It might also be because of the book my sort-of-step-daughter, Audrey, selected for our two-person book club. I say “sort-of-step-daughter” because Audrey is 32, and I’ve been married to her mom, Tess, for less than three years. So it’s not as though she has ever asked me for gas money or to kill a cockroach in her bedroom.
What makes my connection with her stronger than it would otherwise be is that Audrey is just nine days older than my actual daughter, Abby, who died in a car wreck in 2019. Since then, as I note the passages in life that Audrey has encountered – job changes, buying a home, marriage – I am reminded that Abby might be having those same experiences had she had made it beyond age 27.
Audrey understands this and to give you some sense of what a wonderful young woman she is, she suggested we form a two-person book club so we can stay in touch regularly. We meet virtually every two weeks to talk a little about the book and a lot about whatever else is on our minds. I’m sure it was Audrey’s way of letting me know she is OK with filling the daughter void in my life.
The book Audrey chose, “The Comfort of Crows,” by Margaret Renkl, is a collection of essays about the animal and plant life the author encountered during a calendar year from her home outside of Nashville. Each essay contains her thoughts on what she has noticed during one-week time periods. Renkl is a fine writer, but what makes the book most interesting is that it is a testament to her powers of observation. Her impressive knowledge of the plants and wildlife of the area is enhanced by her intense scrutiny.
During the course of our crowded day, we might see a blue jay sitting on a fence post and think nothing of it. By contrast, Renkl notes the blue jay’s movements, her songs, mannerisms, the state of her plumage, et al and speculates about just what it is the blue jay is experiencing.
On the last weekend of March, Tess and I drove to Omaha, Texas, to attend her brother’s wedding. This lesser known Omaha is a small town located in the corner of northeast Texas. The last 100 miles of the car trip is confined to two-lane state highways.
For most of that last leg of the journey, all you see are pastures populated by cows, hundreds and thousands of cows. So many cows that after a while you begin not to notice them.
So I thought about cows – a lot. I have come to realize the one admirable quality that all cows possess: Cows live in the moment.
You will never see a cow tortured by regrets over some past mistake. Likewise, cows don’t worry about stock prices, the fate of Ukraine, the erosion of our form of government or even the price of eggs.
It is only recently that I have started to concern myself with the price of eggs. For the past five years, our two laying hens, Betty White and Blanche, have each produced one large brown egg per day, never skipping a day’s production. That’s 14 eggs a week, which easily met our egg needs. All that time, I didn’t know the price of eggs. There was no reason to know.
Then came the work stoppage. About two months ago, Betty White and Blanche quit laying, the ingrates.
We’ve tried everything to encourage them. We changed their feed, gave them larger portions and even let them out of their enclosure to be free-range chickens. Still nothing.
Since the hens do not appear to be striking for better working conditions, the other logical explanation is that their egg-bearing years are now behind them. If we were true rustics, the solution would be obvious: Tess and I would have a couple of chicken dinners. We are not people of the land, though. There will be no neck-wringing or axe murders apart from what we see on the Investigation Discovery channel.
That means we are basically operating a retirement facility for chickens.
This is something I intend to talk with Audrey about during our next book club meeting.
Slim Smith is a columnist and feature writer for The Dispatch. His email address is [email protected].
Slim Smith is a columnist and feature writer for The Dispatch. His email address is [email protected].
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