Well, I need to start out this post on a sad note. I’ve lost three, no four! of my new baby chicks that I have been raising since day olds. I suppose they are not baby chicks anymore, but still — a third of my new flock gone. The first one was earlier and quick… snatched by something when she was likely alone and wandering (she was my most independent). The other three however, were my Marans. All three of the same breed, the specific breed I chose for this year because of the dark eggs they would lay. And their disappearance wasn’t pretty. Likely a smaller predator: fox, fisher, hawk even. Little grey feathers were everywhere. All three gone the same time. I later found a pair of wings. Needless to say, I was upset. Yes, a few tears were shed. And any farmer would tell you “if you have livestock — you have dead stock”. It doesn’t make it any easier. I felt guilty. I was sad. I felt like maybe I let them free range too early. I felt like I should have checked on them earlier. I felt all the feels. It hasn’t changed the facts.

A few days ago, just before midnight, the coyotes were literally in our yard. They were making quite the racket, and the family went out to see them dart across to the farmers field. I’m glad my goaties were locked up tight in their little shed. This homesteading thing is not easy. Some days it’s hard. As is life. And it has been that way for a very long, long time. Which is where my muse is taking me this week.

On Sunday, our speaker at church was speaking about Joshua and the transition the Israelites were making from the desert to the promise land. At one point they had to cross the Jordan river “miraculously” as the priests led the way on dry ground. Afterward, they were instructed to pile 12 stones at the shore as a memorial for their special journey. Which had me thinking about memorials and what they mean. In this case, it was a remembrance of God’s glory and power as they crossed the river.

Physical remembrances matter. A friend of mine has stones with the names of significant people in her life printed on them after they had passed. I’m a big believer in scrapbooks and photo memories. They are tangible objects that help us not to forget an event, a person, a special occurrence in time. In one sense, remembrance is a remedy for fear. We’ve been through this — you’ll make it through again. I’ve lost a few chickens. It’s a part of farming. I will continue on with the girls I have left and do the best I can to give them a great free life. A pile of feathers means understanding the risks of free ranging. And the reality that this means I will likely loose a few to predators. Remembering the past can help us move forward into the future. Maybe changing our ways a bit to accommodate even. Like being diligent in locking everyone up at night.

Another thought I found interesting that Sunday’s sermon taught me were that memorials were also communal. They piled 12 stones where everyone could see them. Ground zero of 9-11 is at the heart of the city — so we all remember. Cemeteries are public places. Our faith and declaration of God’s steadfastness in times of trouble are not always personal. Our testimonies matter to the public and should be shared. I don’t like to be around people when I am mourning. Yet I am learning that sharing my journey helps others in theirs. That’s part of this blog as well. Memories can build up others by example.

I likely won’t build a memorial to my little birdies. The others have learned to be more cautious now, however. I hate to think they’ve been traumatized by the predator attack. Still, cautious chicks live longer. I hope they have learned this. I’ve also learned a bit more about memorials and remembering. It’s important. I’m hoping my little muse has helped you to learn too. Do you have a special remembrance ritual? Do you have physical reminders of special events? What has helped you mourn? And then smile as you remember? Be blessed, my friends. I’m going to go hang out with my chick birds for a bit.