It's been 21 days since we left our home of two years. There are days that I miss the garden, and miss our 6 girls that we left behind. It was a difficult decision. But considering that it was almost impossible to find a place that would accept our senior, deaf dog, Shadow, we figured we would definitely be out of the running if the landlord got wind that we were harboring urban chickens. We hope that they understand that it wasn't personal.
We just ate the last of the few eggs that we collected from the coop as we left. It was a sad day when we had to go to the grocery store and face the wall of styrofoam egg cartons. Whatever box we chose we knew they'd just never measure up. Mr. Kingfisher suffers more that I. I have two upright human girls that I can email, phone and harass when I get teary.
From the day our house went on the market to the day we left was a mere 31 days. We marvel at how we managed to swing it, but we both are now facing the long days of recovery and healing. We have a storage locker filled with all the treasures we couldn't fit into our 2 bedroom rental. Our task over the next month is to incorporate or discard the contents of that locker. At $170 a month, our new frugal budget says "No!" Along with that is our desire to travel lighter on this planet. The burden of stuff weighs heavily on our shoulders (that's why my back has gone out apparently).
Ms. Sparrow
