If the Chickens had a Mafia, this is how I imagined they would settle old scores.
Upon returning from a trip out of town, I walked on to Grace Farms.
There, I found all my girls- who I raised from baby Chicks - scattered in various poses of death and dismemberment.
I am vexed.
I built a Chicken Cathedral.
A good home, safe from any reasonable predator. But, clearly the neighbor houses an animal member of ISIS who hunts young chicks on my farm.
I have been reminded that this is the natural order of things. The predator was just looking to survive.
I have been told it is not personal.
Grace in the Morning Rain
On Kale and Daughters
My Last Card
Rockin' The House
The Unlikely Is Not The Imposible
Leave A Message
The Gospel of Doubt
In The Weeds
Clever or Not You're Ready