Finding My Medium

We’ve had chickens for 25 days now. They’ve quadrupled in size, at least. They live in a storage box in our guest room, and in the morning I can immediately tell when something is wrong based on the sounds they make. A loud high pitched peeping usually means that someone has found a way to tip over their water. It reminds me of an alarm clock’s beeping. Sometimes there’s a shrill startled cry from several chicks at once. It’s most likely cause is Malta or Bee testing out their skill in imitating a wrecking ball. They’ll zoom through the brooder, wings outstretched, directly into the rest of the group. Vin can cause the same reaction, but she doesn’t need speed or flight. She has her size and is best compared to a bulldozer. My favorite sounds are when I hear them scratching the ground, peeping frequently and quickly. It’s the sound of contentedness. It’s a neat little song they all sing together, in complete harmony with each other and the world. I was amazed at how young they were

On April 1st we got the first of our flock. Over the next 10 days we named them all. Josh and I sat down and drafted a long list of women from fantasy and science fiction novels. I’d suggested naming them after herbs like lavender and chamomile, but Josh wasn’t as enthused about that. I love the names we decided on. Malta 1 Week Old Bee 1 Week Old Vin 1 Week Old Denna 1 Week Old Auri 1 Week Old Luna 1 Week Old I spent the weeks before getting our chicks frantically researching. It’s all I would talk about. I spoke to everyone I knew who had raised chickens before. I was scared something bad but preventable might happen. I carefully chose the breeds we would get. Buff Orpingtons are docile and friendly, but very productive layers of light brown eggs. Black Australorps are known for the cold hardiness, calm, and for laying roughly 250 eggs per year. Easter Eggers (Americauna/Aracauna) lay beautiful bluish eggs, are very frie

Describing my garden as my medium isn’t entirely accurate. My medium is something beyond “the garden.” It’s our land. It is much more than the plants growing here. I want this space to be full of life. There should be flowers, worms, bees, fruits, grasses, trees, spiders, and chickens. There should be harmony. The garden is a macro view; it’s the obvious and visual piece. I want this land to teach me lessons that I can apply to more land in the future. I want my canvas to grow. In my wildest dreams of success it might inspire someone else too, the way that learning about regenerative agriculture has inspired me. The words “Finding My Medium” were scrawled on the top of a page for the last 4 seasons, and I did nothing with them. They just sat there. Every once in a while I would erase them and write them again. I found myself inspired to expand on the idea sometimes when I was wandering through the botanic gardens admiring a stranger’s use of color, texture, and repetition. I hav

The first time I wrote the title “Finding My Medium” it was more than a year ago. I remember the moment specifically. I was planning my garden thinking about colors and textures, and whether I would have points of interest in each part of the garden during all four seasons. I was thinking about which plants would add structure to the design and prevent the garden from looking too wild. How would I incorporate beauty into utility? In the weeks before that moment the idea of creativity had been on my mind. I hadn’t been feeling creative. I used to draw. I used to paint. Where was that part of me? I’d sat down with an old sketchbook several times and had found it entirely unsatisfying. I wasn’t good, but there was a time when the process was enough to fulfill me. It wasn’t that long ago. As I sat and planned my garden, I had a fortunate moment of familiarity. I recognized that feeling I had been longing for. It was how I used to feel sketching, painting, and c