My Garden

Genesis 3:8 includes these words: “the man and his wife heard the sound of the LORD God as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day.” That beautiful image suggests how God interacted with and appreciated His creation (the garden, the coolness, and the day). I imagine Him traipsing leisurely, as I do through our pasture in the crisp mornings, soaking in sunshine that’s only beginning to fall on the dew-drenched grass. Quiet, peaceful, glorious. This image of God runs through my head as I walk the paths Jerry cut in our yard with the riding mower. And then there’s how the critters add to the landscape ...

As I’ve shared before, Jerry and I name things: animals, tools, vehicles, etc. We’ve named more chickens than any other animal, and when the hatchery sent them to us as day-old chicks, they, like the critters on Noah’s Ark, came in pairs. The deep orangey red ones are Ginger and Skinny Ginger, the tans are Carmen and Carmello, the Australian black ones are Sheila and Claire (any Lost fans out there?), and the rock-star looking black & white bloaks are Nigel and Nancy. We’ve named one of the 16 turkeys and one of our six ducks. My Pride & Prejudice addiction convinced Jer to name the head turk Mr. Collins and the male duck Mr. Darcy. We’re considering Lady Catherine for one of the female turkeys, but it’s hard to tell them apart.

Since the grisly demise of Smokey (a.k.a. Jean Gray), our pretty gray chicken, not long ago, we’ve kept a keener eye--and louder voice--on our dogs, the likely culprits (we thought Harley did it, but now we’re not sure; could’ve been Bear or even the neighbor’s dog, although unlikely). Death is a part of life and loss as inevitable with animals as with human. But it brought a measure of unrest to my spirit. What could we do other than pray and try to train the dogs NOT to eat our birds?

I can only imagine the Garden of Eden, how God created all the creatures to dwell harmoniously. By the grace of God, it feels like that here again. The other day, we left Harley outside with the chickens and ducks for five hours while we caught a movie, and accounted for them all upon our return. (Bear still falls for our “here’s a snack” trick that gets him in the house.) The last few evenings Jer decided not to shut up the turkeys in their cage, and they settled down for the night by the rocks just beyond our front porch. Both our dogs also slept out there, elsewhere in the lawn yet very nearby. Thank God, we still have 16 turkeys.

The turkeys used to bully the other birds when we first let them roam, but even they’ve settled down, striding around unpuffed, keeping their spiked heels grounded. They peck at the grass, happily hiccupping all around the garden, trying to slip into the open duck pen to eat their food. Nigel challenged the turkeys once, but quickly retreated and has since kept his peace. The dogs lay calmly in the grass all day--and night--with birds all around them. No one’s fighting. No one’s biting off chicken heads. God has restored harmony ... in my “garden” and in my heart.

Now, if only we could train the turks not to poop on the porch.