the sound of settling
I crashed into the cabin, throwing on my dad's red plaid coat as I headed out into the night to tend to my scene. Between feeding, refilling water containers, and cleaning rabbit cages I found myself tapping my feet. As I moved from the sheep pen to the coop, I kinda swayed to the music, keeping up some jaunty steps with the beat. Soon after in the hen house, I was hitting my hips against the metal cans that hold the grains as I sang along with Ben. Within minutes I was flat-out bopping around, dancing by myself in the chicken coop, smiling like an idiot. I watched my long shadow stretch out into the snow from the glow of the heat lamp and when I realized there was two of us, kept dancing.
Sorry, but I just can't help myself when a band knows how to use a clap track. I was singing to the geese now, who eyed me suspiciously from their nest. When The Sound of Settling came on I got even more pumped. I started singing directly to the poultry. "...And I can't wait to go greeeey.." I laughed this at Cyrus, who incidentally already is grey and apparently isn't a Sub Pop fan. If geese could roll their eyes, Cyrus could've been one of the kids in The Breakfast Club. Since I don't owe my livestock explanations for my musical taste - I just kept my straw-floor dance party going strong. The geese did nothing to stop me. They are all talk. Honestly folks, If I ever did have any pride it died in the walls and rotted somewhere on the crooked road between Pennsylvania and Tennessee. Now, I dance in coops. And I dance with gusto. Ba baaaaa, ba baaaa.
Not that Friday night like these are exactly the envy of my peers. To the untrained eye I am a crazy person, possibly a fear-biter, spinning around a chicken coop singing backup to music no one else can hear. But hell guys, I'm happy. I'm happy to laugh and dance around my animals. I'm happy to come home from a job I like and feel like I was needed at said job. I'm happy to realize a whole weekend is ahead of me with friends, dinners, guitars, books, and fiddling. What more could I dare ask for?
It takes very little to make me content anymore. Maybe that's because of the farm, but I think it has a lot more to do with giving up on a lot of likes and dislikes, and letting go of what I consider good and bad. That's not some flippant comment on lacking morals, not at all. What I mean is I don't take changes in my life as positive or negative anymore. I don't assign them an emotion, I just let them happen. When something comes up I look at it logically, a long look up and down, and then act accordingly. It makes things better. By dropping my own stupid preferences I feel like I'm constantly winning some booby prize for social competence. I win by writing in my own loopholes, allowing myself to accept the things I can't have right now, regardless of how much I want them, and slowly planning a way to find them again later.
A perfect example being the border collie Sarah who had to leave. I couldn't have that part of my life now. That is just how things are. I can be miserable about it, or I can look forward to finding one again. Sometimes being content is a choice, and the only governing body is us. Right now I have this place and it fills me up with feathers, fur, wool and dorian chords. It's what I can have now. It's enough. I just let out a big ol' objective sigh.
Maybe that's the sound of settling?