I finish my walk in the morning, change into my “slogger” pink garden clogs and head to the barn bearing treats for the chickens. They know my voice now. They don’t actually come to greet me but also don’t run and cluster in the corners. They’re curious about what I’ve brought for them and come eager to peck at the offerings of kitchen scraps and dandelion tops. I squat down and encourage them to trust me. It’s a few quiet moments at the beginning of the day.
I enjoy this time. I walk alone to the barn enjoying the ducks and geese on the pond, the sheep grazing in the lower pasture, the hawk looking for breakfast among the grasses. I live on an island of green just outside of Minneapolis, the last of the “farm property” in Minnetonka. It’s a gift from my parents and one for which I am most grateful. It won’t last forever, in fact it’s on a short lease now that both mom and dad are gone. But in the meantime I’ll look forward to my barn time to set the tone for my day.