Escape Artists, Bent Tools, and the Beauty in a Bit of Chaos
The wind returned this morning.
Not the howling, fence-bending gusts from earlier in the month—but that persistent Oklahoma spring wind that makes your eyes water and your laundry flap like it’s trying to leave town. It carried the smell of dry cedar, churned-up garden soil, and just a whiff of something blooming far off—maybe plum or early honeysuckle.
I stepped outside with my coffee and immediately had to go chase a feed sack that had blown off the porch. I retrieved it from under the chicken coop, soaked through with dew and speckled in muddy chicken prints.
That kind of day.
Chick Containment Unit: Failing
Hazel’s chicks are officially mobile. Up until now, they’ve been mostly content to stay tucked under her or poke around the nesting box. But this morning when I stepped into the coop, one bold little fluffball had escaped the broody enclosure and was sprinting laps around the coop like it had something to prove.
Hazel, bless her, looked unbothered—just watching from her perch, as if to say, “They gotta learn sometime.”
I spent the better part of twenty minutes trying to coax the chick back into the safe zone using a plastic spoon and soft clucks. Eventually, I caught it mid-sprint and tucked it back under Hazel, who gave me a look like I’d interrupted a life lesson.
So, I reinforced the crate walls, added a little mesh apron around the bottom, and re-secured the heat lamp. If they’re ready to start adventuring, I’d better be ready too.
They grow fast, these little ones. It’s like trying to bottle lightning in cotton.
Fence Line Mischief
After the coop circus, I did my usual fence walk—and sure enough, Maple had been testing the perimeter again. She’s developed a taste for the wild clover that’s popping up just beyond the wire, and I found one hoof print suspiciously close to where the lower wires sag from last week’s rain.
She hadn’t escaped (yet), but I took the time to tighten that stretch, reinforce the corner post with a second t-post, and run a line of repellent spray on the outside weeds. It won’t keep her off it forever, but it should buy me some time until I can get more proper fencing supplies next week.
Goats are like toddlers with four legs and lock-picking degrees.
Garden Chaos and Compost Blessings
With the wind kicking up, I knew any transplanting would have to wait—no sense in sending seedlings into battle with the elements. But that didn’t stop me from puttering.
I gathered up wind-blown mulch from the path edges and returned it to its rightful spots, pulled a few dandelions (leaving the best ones for the bees), and turned over the compost pile again. The center steamed like soup, rich and warm, and I smiled just looking at it.
All those kitchen scraps, barn sweepings, and garden clippings becoming black gold. You’d think I’d get used to it, but I never do.
I topped off the herb spiral with fresh compost and watered in the parsley. It smelled like spring and supper and satisfaction all at once.
Bent Tools and Beautiful Things
Mid-afternoon, I decided to clean and sharpen a few garden tools. It’s the kind of chore that feels small but makes the rest of the week go smoother.
I pulled out the hand trowels, the loop hoe, the shears, and the old spading fork I inherited from my dad. That fork is bent slightly to the left—has been for years—but it’s still one of my most reliable tools.
I thought briefly about replacing it… but didn’t.
It reminds me of him—hands thick with calluses, his whistle always a little off-key, and the way he could walk into a tangled garden row and somehow come out with everything sorted.
Some tools, like some people, aren’t perfect—but they’re faithful, and that counts for more.
Supper and Sunset Skies
Tonight’s dinner was easy and hearty:
- Pan-fried potatoes with rosemary and goat cheese
- A salad of tender greens and radish thinnings
- A slice of cornbread left over from two nights ago, reheated and smeared with butter
I ate it by the window, watching the sun stretch itself across the pasture in long, golden streaks. The goats were silhouetted on the ridge, chickens meandering into the coop one by one, and a hawk circling wide, casting shadows across the garden.
Everything was still, despite the wind. Or maybe because of it.
It’s funny how some days feel more alive when things are a little messy—chicks running wild, tools not quite straight, beds not quite prepped. There’s beauty in it. Motion. Growth.
Final Thoughts
Today wasn’t about perfection.
It was about showing up—to catch a chick, tighten a fence, turn a pile of scraps into soil. To notice what’s loose and what’s blooming and what’s just barely holding on.
It was about choosing to see value in the bent things. The almost-ready things. The chaotic, beautiful things.
And maybe that’s what homesteading really is—a life of holy messes, held together by wire and willpower, nurtured by sun and rain, and always, always surprising.
Until tomorrow—
Amanda @ Wister Creek