Years ago Ben’s parents had this metal sign made for us. At the time we were living in a small San Antonio neighborhood and I couldn’t fathom any reason why I would or should have a sign with our name and a chicken in my house.
Little did any of us know what foreboding the chicken sign would have on my life now.
For years I lugged that thing around. Hiding it in closets, underbeds, the back of the utility room. I was all for the country, distressed look but a chicken?! Really?!
Then we moved to the woods. And not just any woods. Two acres of overgrown, barely cleared for the house, snaky woods.
Soon came the goats.
“But why?!” I asked
To clear the pens and chicken coup.
So we can have chickens.
And there I was. Finally in a situation where the chicken sign could come home to roost. And I wouldn’t change it for a thing. Well I would add more land for more goats and chickens and a barn and more gardens and OH a tractor and for me to be able to stay home and take care of all this stuff. But all of that is yet to come.
I had a sign.