Take Time to Stop and Hold the Chickens
Raise a Hand if you find Life overwhelming these days.
Oh, sorry. You can’t raise a hand because they are both full—of your phone, the mouse, and the charger for the noise canceling headphones that are about to die, a fact that might make you want to weep a little. (Not necessarily real life examples, folks.) This year in particular, The Great Overwhelm has hit everyone everywhere, though some of us had it easier than others.
We know what we’re supposed to do to cope with stress.
Experts everywhere suggest we simply slow down and breath and find moments of quiet to sooth our brains and our nervous systems. Deep breathing helps slow the heart rate, increase oxygen saturation, and even lower blood pressure.
But maybe you find yourself jumping up to change the laundry during yoga class because it’s on Zoom and everyone else has their video off anyway. Or you drop your phone in the soup while cooking and simultaneously watching a TED Talk on mindfulness. Or you forget to turn off the hose while writing to your members of congress demanding they pay attention to the environment, social justice and healthcare. (Again, I’m just spit-balling here.)
I have a hard time corralling my frantic brain In a regular year and this year has been a year like no other.
But recently I found a strategy, something that requires one-hundred percent of my attention: chickens. To be more precise, baby chicks.
I’ve long resisted the urge to get chickens, though many friends and neighbors have backyard flocks. Then, last week, the coop of all coops just dropped into my lap and I thought, “Oh, what the hell.” I went to the ranch supply store and picked out four petite Americanas—two yellow and two grey fluff balls. Just days old, they were tiny and adorable, and I understood why every spring brings a rash of chicken-keeping to town.
Following the advice of my neighbor, I set the chicks up with a heat lamp, food, water, and bedding in a shallow brooder. Not even a week old, they were featherless, fluffy, and hilarious to watch. They’d go from cheeping and hopping to slumped in a power nap, ever cycling between delight, panic, and narcolepsy.
I made a point of holding them every day on the recommendation that this would help them get used to people.
I soon discovered that it’s impossible to hold a baby chick and do anything else. You have to cup your hands around their little bird bodies to make them feel safe and arrest the panicked lurching. One of the grey ones has been particularly instructive. I have to sit very still with her and breath quietly. If I even start making so much as a mental grocery list, she starts cheeping madly, struggling, and fighting her evolutionary fate by trying to fly. (I’ve named her Queenie. As in Drama Queen.) So I make myself sit there and tell her what a smart and lovely chick she is. And after a few minutes, she falls asleep on my lap. Then I lower her back into the brooder and repeat the exercise with the other three. (And in case my Mom is reading this: Yes, Mom. Then I always wash my hands.)
When I pay attention to the chicks, they become calmer, which is important to me because I want them to have good chicken lives.
But I was surprised at how much better I felt following this exercise—calmer, more focused, and even happier. In a few weeks the chicks will be big enough to move outside into that super coop I inherited, but we’ll still hang out together. I hope they’ll be happy in the yard next to the beehives. And hopefully when they are bigger braver chickens, they’ll still let me hold them once in a while when I need to stop and catch my breath.