A Bright and Remedial Lesson on the Present Tense

The "free" chickens are "free" ranging once again.  My guess is that they are thinking, "it's about time."  After a season of frequent snows and high winds that have kept them largely confined, this week's almost tropical foray into the 60's has cleared away all but the most intransigent patches of the covering now.  High winds yesterday helped dry up some degree of the resulting mud so that today, with its bright sunshine and inviting temperatures, it feels almost reminiscent of spring.  And the girls are taking full advantage.  Nooks and crannies of the chicken yard unexplored since November are getting the once over.  If I didn't think the idea completely preposterous I would swear I saw several of them smiling.  Climbing as well as foraging, they have hopped up on straw bales, danced along the parallel bars, skittered across the open expanse, and euphorically fluffed and fluttered their feathers like a dog fresh out of a bath.  After too many days quite literally cooped up, they are having the time of their lives.

Well, at the very least they are taking full advantage of the day.  Neither they nor I had best get carried away.  It is, after all, but the 3rd week of February in Iowa.  With the latest average freeze, according to the National Weather Service, still fully two months away (April 26 to be exact), there is plenty of time for a return of plummeting temperatures, wintery blasts, and more snow.  In fact, I'll be surprised if we avoid it.

Which is fine, I suppose.  I have more straw bales to break apart and spread, and I'm getting the hang of bundling up in order to acquit myself of the outdoor chores.  All that, plus I learned a long time ago after moving to the upper midwest that there is no more beautiful spring than one that follows a long and bitter winter.  I can wait, and the chickens will survive.

In the meantime they are teaching me afresh the precious virtue of celebrating the day -- the present tense with all its glories, regardless of what the future may bring.  While they stretch their feathers and legs, while they roam and peck and climb, I have taken the dogs for a circling walk around the property.  I have rolled up extension chords freshly exposed from their entombment in the icy snow.  I have straightened up, picked up and put away.  I have rearranged the deck furniture long disarrayed by winter winds.  And it feels good.

Though the forecast doesn't predict it, I know full well that it could snow tomorrow.  That's the nature of the season.  But such is tomorrow's concern.   This bright afternoon the sun is shining, I have closeted my coat and gloves, the chickens are playfully, inquisitively, energetically ranging, and we -- yes, all of us chickens, dogs and me -- are smiling; milking it for all it's worth; and tasting, for a change, a whole different part of the yard.