Hermit
Hallo.
Depending on the day and my mood, I may be Alice, or I may be Aidan, hence the lack of a gender choice and the oddness of my name on my profile. My apologies.
I am in my 40’s and finally getting back to the dreams of my life. I had it for a short time in my mid-twenties, but I also lacked the knowledge and the current technology that allows for that knowledge to be quickly sought out when needed. As a result, I lost my flock many times over those years.
Then, I met a lovely couple for coffee…
We fell very quickly, and I left my little disaster to move into their apartment. I came bearing the only survivors: my two cats, a trade as kittens for the final chicken to make it out alive and off to a family friend’s coop.
Together, we made a mostly happy, pretty normal family of our own. Work, school, meals, litter boxes, visits to parents, a bonding celebration between the three of us, more work, more litter, moving out of the apartment, vague talk about someday having a dog… or a child… or chickens in the back yard…
Nearly ten years and three emotionally wrenching losses later, we held our daughter. Soon, one of the cats had to go, as he wouldn’t stop trying to pee on the baby. Then another, final move. A house.
The House.
“Our” House.
All of the cats would have to go.
The one buying for us to purchase from them… wouldn’t… if there were going to be cats living in it with us.
Heartbreak.
I said goodbye at the shelter. Prayed someone would take two adult black cats together, not separate them, these late-age girls who had only ever known each other and myself as constants in their lives.
Years pass.
Bond broken.
Back to property. Back to familiar, familial soil with a broken heart.
Within two months, a family member threatened to kill me and “no one would ever” be able to figure it out. It would seem like an accident or a stranger. I was there alone, the rest of the family out of town packing up a house for another person’s move… I felt completely helpless. I put out the call on social media, saying I needed a new place, and a ride out. I could find a place for myself, if I could get a lift out and borrow a couch where I’d feel safe falling asleep.
Moved into a friend’s apartment in the same city I’d just left.
Found an abandoned, abused dog in need of housing and love via another friend. Turned him into a noble hero of service.
Returned slowly to the soil.
Returned slowly to The House and the people within.
I have, after so long, found my peace.
I have found how to balance my love for the people I have in the City, without culling the wild roots that are in my blood and call for me to dig in my family’s soil, scatter feed for my chickens, play with my ducks, chase away my playful dogs from nabbing something out of the compost heap.
I can be both.
Now if only I can convince my family that we can fit ducks onto the property, along with my 16 chickens…
Edit: March, 2021
Despite my best efforts, my family here is unwilling or unable to see that the property isn’t livable like this. After breaking my leg & dislocating my knee nearly a year ago, I am not healing here. This was put in stark contrast when I went to stay with City family for less than a week after being back here for two months while still dealing with PT, etc.
The difference in my ability to use my leg without pain or being exhausted was startling when I came back and was almost immediately back in pain and drained.
I will have to give up my dream. But I am not willing to flirt with losing my life for it.
Depending on the day and my mood, I may be Alice, or I may be Aidan, hence the lack of a gender choice and the oddness of my name on my profile. My apologies.
I am in my 40’s and finally getting back to the dreams of my life. I had it for a short time in my mid-twenties, but I also lacked the knowledge and the current technology that allows for that knowledge to be quickly sought out when needed. As a result, I lost my flock many times over those years.
Then, I met a lovely couple for coffee…
We fell very quickly, and I left my little disaster to move into their apartment. I came bearing the only survivors: my two cats, a trade as kittens for the final chicken to make it out alive and off to a family friend’s coop.
Together, we made a mostly happy, pretty normal family of our own. Work, school, meals, litter boxes, visits to parents, a bonding celebration between the three of us, more work, more litter, moving out of the apartment, vague talk about someday having a dog… or a child… or chickens in the back yard…
Nearly ten years and three emotionally wrenching losses later, we held our daughter. Soon, one of the cats had to go, as he wouldn’t stop trying to pee on the baby. Then another, final move. A house.
The House.
“Our” House.
All of the cats would have to go.
The one buying for us to purchase from them… wouldn’t… if there were going to be cats living in it with us.
Heartbreak.
I said goodbye at the shelter. Prayed someone would take two adult black cats together, not separate them, these late-age girls who had only ever known each other and myself as constants in their lives.
Years pass.
Bond broken.
Back to property. Back to familiar, familial soil with a broken heart.
Within two months, a family member threatened to kill me and “no one would ever” be able to figure it out. It would seem like an accident or a stranger. I was there alone, the rest of the family out of town packing up a house for another person’s move… I felt completely helpless. I put out the call on social media, saying I needed a new place, and a ride out. I could find a place for myself, if I could get a lift out and borrow a couch where I’d feel safe falling asleep.
Moved into a friend’s apartment in the same city I’d just left.
Found an abandoned, abused dog in need of housing and love via another friend. Turned him into a noble hero of service.
Returned slowly to the soil.
Returned slowly to The House and the people within.
I have, after so long, found my peace.
I have found how to balance my love for the people I have in the City, without culling the wild roots that are in my blood and call for me to dig in my family’s soil, scatter feed for my chickens, play with my ducks, chase away my playful dogs from nabbing something out of the compost heap.
I can be both.
Now if only I can convince my family that we can fit ducks onto the property, along with my 16 chickens…
Edit: March, 2021
Despite my best efforts, my family here is unwilling or unable to see that the property isn’t livable like this. After breaking my leg & dislocating my knee nearly a year ago, I am not healing here. This was put in stark contrast when I went to stay with City family for less than a week after being back here for two months while still dealing with PT, etc.
The difference in my ability to use my leg without pain or being exhausted was startling when I came back and was almost immediately back in pain and drained.
I will have to give up my dream. But I am not willing to flirt with losing my life for it.
- Birthday
- Jun 3, 1975 (Age: 49)
- Location
- Colusa & Sac counties, California
- Real Name
- Alice/Aidan Mayfair
- Why do you want to join our community?
- I am desperately in need of other crazy chicken people. No one understands.
- Occupation
- Artist, Freak, Jewelry Maker, Chicken Rescuer
Signature
I’m sorry, what? Sixteen chickens is too many...? What do you mean I can’t add to my flock?! I HAVEN'T COLLECTED THE WHOLE SET, YET!
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