The chickens had been acting up. I couldn't figure it out. Each day I went out to collect the eggs only to find that the shells had been pecked and spread out over the straw. Much pondering ensued. Calcium deficiency was discussed with H. Crushed oyster shells might be a cure. But no, I thought in the middle of the night, they, the birds must be bored out of their tiny little heads. Bored with their environment, bored without new territory to explore. The run we built for them had lost its zest. They wanted something better. So the next morning I suggested we move the coop out of the confined run and onto the main lawn. I say lawn but really it is a large patch of grass, country grass, verging on the bog. We put the chickens into their small coop in their new neighbourhood. We decided that each night before sunset we would allow them to roam for at least one hour and that we would move the small coop around the lawn to ensure fresh grass. The result was dramatic and immediate. Eggs came intact, large and brown. The chickens appeared to smile at me, they screamed out, we love you Mary and bowed to the smart operation with regard to their new lifestyle.
And I started to think about our own life then. About how we always need to avoid stagnation. How our coop can become limited and devoid of inspiration. How we might pace around the fences we create to quickly become irritable and without direction. How we might peck at ourselves and those around us and I took the chicken scenario as a metaphor and a nudge to always keep moving our place, to never settle for less, to seek greener pastures within our walls and not to become too smug, too content that it might cause a discord, or worse still, a discord that we might never notice, never even see it coming.