The Note

When God sets a passion in your heart there seems to be no denying what just comes naturally. When you have something you love, what is known as work does not contain drudgery but true joy. Well not to say, that work is not involved but the heart reigns over the mundane tasks of labor.

Our first home was a small two bedroom one bath house. The bathroom was so small, that I referred to it as the two bedroom-no bath home. It was on the outskirts of Phoenix and was just 1/3 of an acre but for me it was my first glimmer of what I dreamed, a real farm. Even though the house was the size of a puddle, it was my goal to make it a pond.

Answering an add in the newspaper for chickens, we drove our old Buick to a rural surrounding farm that was selling out and moving to Texas. I drank in the thought of living the life that they had embraced. Growing up with the stories of my Great Grandmother and Grandfather that homesteaded one-hundred and sixty acres in Idaho, I longed to be surrounded by dirt. I was met by a handsome young man that was the son of the owner. He could see my excitement as I picked out a box full of laying hens from his flock. I graciously paid him and we put them in a cardboard box for the ride home. Not knowing a lick about chickens or farm animals for that matter, I did not shut the lid of the box. It was not long that I had a backseat full of full sized, fluttering chickens throughout our car. I’m certain we were a sight to behold.

Our small little house was bursting at the seams. Christin and Kati shared a bedroom and on weekends Candice would come to stay. Our son Dustin had arrived and slept in our bedroom and later would take the couch, as there was no more space for another bed. We were packed like sardines in that little house but all the kids in the neighborhood would make there way over to play at our house. There was more than one occasion that I would find a neighboring child asleep on our couch. A small unobtrusive house with no glitz or glamour that the neighborhood children seemed to see as a safe haven. A home, away from home.

It was not long that word seemed to spread of my love for animals. I took in strays and doctored flightless birds. I remember, one occasion of coming home and finding a dead bird placed on our doorstep with a note attached.

Cheryl,

I found this bird and thought you could bury it.

Love,
Amy

The sweetness of thinking that I was the only one that could properly dispose of this lifeless creature, touched my heart. The sweet innocence of a child resembled that which I had found among my animal friends. A lesson that I will cherish all of my days.