Sunday Stillness, Wildflowers in Bloom, and the Finished Chicken Tractor
Sunday came soft.
The kind of morning that lets you wake up slow, with no alarms and no list louder than the coffee brewing in the kitchen. Even the goats seemed to feel it—no shouting at the gate, just lazy stretches and nose-nudging one another near the shelter.
I sat on the porch with my Bible and a quilt across my lap, steam curling from my mug, and the only sound was birdsong and the distant hum of bees waking up in the pasture.
This land has its own kind of Sabbath. It doesn’t stop working—life doesn’t pause out here—but it changes pace. And I try to follow.
Morning: Quiet Faith and Farm Repairs
After a bit of reading and a whispered prayer for strength (and grace for my own imperfections), I decided today was a day for finishing things, not starting them.
I gathered my tools and headed to the barn, where the half-built chicken tractor had been waiting patiently since Friday’s storm. It felt good to ease into the work. No rush, no looming deadline—just steady hands and clear purpose.
The frame went together like it had been meant all along. The wheels fit snug under each corner, and I used leftover roofing tin for the shaded section. One side panel flips up on hinges for feeding and cleaning, and the tarp I strapped across the top gave it a snug, weatherproof look.
It’s nothing fancy, but it’s solid. And it’s mine.
Standing back to look at it, I felt a swell of satisfaction. This thing will house twenty-five birds. It will roll across the pasture day by day. It will feed me and my table. And it was built, quite literally, by faith and lumber scraps.
A Surprise Bloom
On my way back up from the field, I spotted a flash of yellow near the fence line and went to investigate. There, half-hidden beneath some scrubby cedar and pokeweed, was a whole patch of wild daffodils—dozens of them.
I must have missed them last spring, or maybe they just decided this was the year to show up in full.
I crouched down and ran my fingers gently along one of the blooms. The petals were soft and bright as butter, still dripping from last night’s rain. I didn’t pick them—not yet—but I sat with them awhile, just breathing it in.
There’s something about surprise beauty that stills the spirit. Like a wink from the Creator saying, “I didn’t forget you.”
Midday Meal and a Little Grace
Lunch was simple: leftover polenta crisped in a cast iron skillet, served with sautéed spinach, a fresh egg, and the last of the goat cheese I’d been rationing all week.
I ate it at the kitchen table with the windows open and a gentle breeze blowing in. No music. No screens. Just the sound of chickens murmuring and the occasional creak of the porch swing.
These quiet meals are a kind of worship for me. A reminder that nourishment doesn’t have to be complicated. That gratitude doesn’t need ceremony—it just needs presence.
Afternoon: Fence Mending and Goats, Again
Of course, even on the Sabbath, there are always a few things that won’t wait. This time, it was Rosemary, who somehow wedged her head through a section of fence I’ve already reinforced twice.
I found her stuck, bleating pitifully, with her hooves slipping in the mud.
Once I freed her (again), I cut a new length of wire and spent the next hour reweaving the damaged section. This time I added a spare board across the bottom, more for my own peace of mind than anything else.
While I worked, the other goats stood nearby, chewing and watching me with those unreadable square-pupil stares, like they were both amused and annoyed that I kept interfering with their mischief.
The Day Ends in Light
By early evening, the sky cleared completely. The wind dropped, and the sun began to set in that soft, golden way that only April can pull off—turning every blade of grass and fence post into something holy.
I walked the property once more before dark, checking on everything:
- Hazel and her chicks, tucked safely in the coop
- The tractor, ready and waiting for new arrivals
- The daffodils, glowing like lanterns in the dusky light
I carried a basket with me and picked a few early dandelion greens and violets for tomorrow’s lunch. Just enough to remind myself that the land gives when you pay attention.
Final Thoughts
Today was not spectacular. There were no grand projects finished or revelations had. But it was quiet, and it was whole, and it reminded me that rest isn’t the absence of work—it’s the intention behind it.
I think we need more days like this. Days where finishing a fence and sipping tea count just as much as planting fields or butchering or building something new. Days where beauty surprises you. Where goats remind you not to get too proud of your fences. Where a meal eaten slowly is as important as a harvest.
Tomorrow I’ll start prepping the brooder for the chicks. I might even reach out to Eli about visiting the piglets soon.
But tonight, I’ll sleep with the windows cracked, let the frogs and the wind sing me to sleep, and thank God for one more day of living rooted and real.
Until tomorrow—
Amanda @ Wister Creek