I chickened out. Pulled out of the land purchase – too many problems! Sadly, though. And so I licked my wounds and had a talk with Kalliopi, our lead hen.

Being a chicken is a good thing, she proudly feels. Being a chicken is acknowledging there are many things that can eat one up. Coyotes, hawks, dogs, and even mounting problems with wells and septic, and the voracious maw of debt.

Chickens know their limits. They do what they can to do what they can – and out of table scraps, bugs, and some dried corn they create the most perfect eggs, lovely tilled earth, and fertilizer right there in their little pen.

I would do well to emulate, feel great to have flapped clear of a disaster. Now it is time to till my little Quarter Acre Farm (which I have grievously ignored these past weeks) doing what I can with what I can.

Damn, that chicken is smart.