Last year one Friday evening about an hour before I was due to attend a community event, Brad came rushing up from the barn. He had in his hands a soaking wet, shivering chick. This adventurous little one had flown up into a bucket filled with water, and had come mighty close to drowning. Brad, ever-aware, had heard the distressed peeping and arrive in the nick of time.

I promptly filled a hot water bottle and found a soft towel to wrap her up in, but it wasn’t until I carried her out to the 95°F greenhouse, held her really close to my beating heart, and took deep, slow breaths that her wracking chills subsided. Then she closed her eyes and fell fast asleep on my chest.

I was nearly late to my speaking engagement, but Soggy found a new lease on life and, of course, a name.

**

Soggy’s mother was Pigeon. She was as slender as feather, all white, a quiet little hen who typically avoided the fracas of most barnyard happenings.

Soggy, just like her mother (nature or nuture, we’ll never know), has thus far, preferred life beyond the fence. All spring and summer she’s enjoyed foraging under the apple trees with just a few other hens and Ranger the Rooster. At least that what she used to spend her time doing.

Last Friday evening while Brad was moving a bale of hay to the barn, Soggy appeared outside the chicken yard. He later reported, “I watched her for awhile, because I realized I hadn’t seen her out foraging with Ranger in a few days. She seemed to be in a rush, hurriedly flying over the fence to get a drink of water and a little grain. It dawned on me she might be going broody, and sure enough after about 10 minutes, she picked her way down the edge of the ravine and disappeared behind some ivy into the base of a big maple stump.”

I’m not sure how many lives chickens get, but Soggy isn’t a cat, and she is already working on at the very least, life #2. There was no way with her bright white feathers she would survive the coyotes, raccoons, and opossums who I am sure would happen by her ground nest. So Brad set up a waterer in our little chicken trailer (aka the maternity ward & nursery), put some fresh straw in a corner and closed up all the openings. Then we waited until dark. With a flashlight and hay filled wicker basket, we went to collect her.

Brad picked her up while I knelt down to carefully put her incubating eggs in the basket. One, two, three. Four, five, six. Seven, eight, nine. I kept counting, in increasing disbelief. Ten, eleven, twelve. We both gave into laughter. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Soggy! You’re petite as a ray of sun! How can you be wide enough to sit on…sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty… TWENTY ONE EGGS?!

**

One of the most priceless things about farm life is that every ordinary day is full of surprise – you just have to be willing to see—not look, mind you, but see the invisible connections. To see, you have to be willing to set down your own story line. You have to be willing to cultivate an awareness steeped in curiosity, and a patience to let life unfold without bending it to revolve around your will. One of my farming friends, who has devoted over a half a century to growing food, describes awareness as fundamental to creating a meaningful “agriculture of relationships.”

The day Brad discovered Soggy had been an exceptionally hectic one. Without assistance, Brad had single-handedly field harvested every last vegetable so I could keep washing and packing all our many CSA shares. We were shorthanded but he just kept his head down and picked one crop after another. By the time 6 p.m. rolled around, he had every right to want to race through evening chores- because that was the only thing standing between him and supper on a soft chair.

But true to character, Brad didn’t rush. Because he kept himself focused on that which was at hand, out of the nearly sixty chickens in our flock, he not only noticed Soggy's arrival, but knew she wasn’t acting like her usual self. Because of Brad, Soggy is safely and soundly now sitting on the biggest clutch of eggs ever to grace our farm. By his patience and presence, Brad witnessed how joyful moments often fly up unexpectedly and can take up roost right smack dab in the middle of a barnyard full of weariness.

Nine years ago this fall Brad became a partner of April Joy Farm. Every day I grow more grateful for his steady, peaceful countenance, because so often I am tempted to rush- to get to some future moment that I assume will be better than what already is. Brad’s hands and heart and head are always right here, aware and awake to the wealth of now.

Brad and Soggy have taught me to see how practicing awareness has a way of rooting one deeply into a life of meaningful connections. Now, when Brad comes to find me so he can share a new discovery from the field, my heart lifts like I’m hearing the first stanza of a favorite hymn.

I’m instantly right here too, aware, and awake-- gratefully counting each moment, egg by precious egg. ~AJ