Back to the real world.

That first full “normal” week after the holidays is always a bit of a shock to the system. Early alarms were set for those in paid employment, harrowing catch ups with recent news (essential for real world conversations) undertaken, and double stacked appointments were the order of the day for all. Our usual lunch date at Chateau Kimberley had to be postponed until Thursday such was the traffic jam in Homestead Happenings with hair cuts and home kill and a full-on town day as well.

The hair cuts are as good for the soul as they for are making us a little more presentable. Nobody has the news like Holly and I feel utterly caught up with everything of any note on our little piece of the planet as well as being able to see clearly once again.

The home kill visit proved a bit more of a work-out than I would have liked and for the first time ever I didn’t manage to have all the sheep sporting the yellow paint splodge penned up and ready when Pete and his crew rattled between the front paddock gate posts. Maybe it was the fact that I didn’t greet them at the gate as usual or that, when he got within cooey of me, I was bent double gasping the Meatloaf classic, Two Out of Three Aint Bad. Whatever, Pete very kindly offered to “deal to that one, too” and all three are now with Blair the butcher – and just as the bottom of the freezer was becoming visable.

As for the town day, it was a pretty big deal. Firstly, I met up with someone I hadn’t seen since my (we think) seventh birthday party- and that wasn’t yesterday. There was a lot of catching up to be done; a lot of you were there, too? and what ifs. There was also a goodly dollop of this was nice and lets do it again soon so I call that a win.

I went from that meeting to a red letter day appointment for Farm Girl.

We are now exploring the soft-food options on Homestead menu; a trifle taxing for the chief cook but it’s also nice to revisit, review and revamp.

Speaking of revamp – kind of – I thought I’d give an update on the chicken coop citizens as the poultry population demographic has subtly changed of late. With the move to our version of suburbia for our ex-Tiny Housers, a section of their menagerie rebelled. Tiny though they are, the littlest roosters like to shout their whereabouts which is not welcome in “town”.

Their Mum, Miss Dolly Parton (for obvious reasons – ain’t she beautiful) is also quite the talker so all three are now part of the Homestead menagerie which is slowly growing more and more in both volume and diversity.

Now, I am not Chicken Cuddler. They’re just a little too reminiscent of Walking with Dinosaurs for me to totally relax around and their whole flappy-wings-when-under-pressure is very much not for me. I like pottering around amongst them, tending and working alongside them, and I very much like having eggs literally farm fresh, but you’ll not find me with one lovingly tucked under my arm anytime soon.

I am now, having observed from afar the arrival and inclusion of Dolly and her boys, utterly convinced they feel just the same about me. Paul and his girls have got it all under control and, given a day or two to iron out any kinks, their community exists just fine without any refereeing or intervention from me.

Like any community, they have their characters

but that just makes life more interesting and, at night, they put all spats and scuffles aside and file into the coop, locate their spot depending on Paul the Rooster’s predetermined pecking order, and spend the night together, keeping each other safe.

The real world could learn a lot from chooks.