Seventeen Minutes
On living in a world with uncertain outcomes
The chittering and churring is what first attracted my attention to the grand old cedar earlier this summer. I walked beyond my gravel driveway and galvanized metal garden beds, and peered up into the greenery. Nothing. Quietness.
But then again. Maybe. I craned my neck up and finally perceived movement with the purring. The wee masks showed up one, two, three, and then a fourth, the mother, out from the large crack in the tree. Perfect housing, I thought, right there next to the permanent chicken coop we were building.
Over the next few days, the raccoon kits timidly made their appearances, working their way down the swaying limbs, while their mother both nuzzled their bottoms and cast glances toward me. It’s hard to want to shoot these predators when they’re making me laugh with their mewing and dangling legs and watching how the mother would get one kit onto a more robust limb and, while traveling to nudge the second one, the first one would return to the initial trouble of flaying from whence it began. I feel your pain, Mama, I would think while sipping my coffee. And, then, one morning they were all gone, having meandered into the greater woods.
I thought about them yesterday when I arrived to the moveable tractor we kept our small flock of poultry in, those few old lady hens and ducks we now called pets, even though they still laid an egg now and again.
Where were the ducks?
My older son gently informed me that something had gotten into the tractor the night before, and had eaten them. My husband had spared me the discovery by taking care of their carcasses already. The air felt like a vacuum, all of the pleasant sounds of their contented soft quacking sucked into nothingness.
And this is where I’m glad I’m not God, that I cannot foresee the future. All I have is this moment, today. Another Tuesday morning to rise out of bed, put a hot mug in my hand, and get to work. I have zero idea if a life changing predator is lurking in some parking lot or if a natural disaster is going to happen in exactly seventeen minutes from now. God is the One who either allows the evil or safeguards from it. And at the end of the day, whichever way His hand rules, my soul is still secure in Him so I do not fear what a day may bring, but rather Him in which my days belong.
Now I realize that wild animals having a supper, even one I don’t want them to have, is not evil. But I also know that someday all of the killing, in every way, will come to an end. Maybe even in the next seventeen minutes.
Last night the last few hens were moved into the permanent coop and yard. The yard has a nice buried fence line with an electric line at the top, and a small house in which to lock everyone in at night. I don’t kid myself that nothing could ever possibly get in; I’m not from Jericho. Then, we added a fresh flock of hens from a nearby farmer. I plan to enjoy them and take care of them as long as I’m able. I’m hopeful next spring to start a new batch of ducklings as well, as they truly are my favorites.
I’m betting we’ll have baby raccoons again in the old cedar next spring. And my guess is, I’ll enjoy watching them again while drinking my coffee. And then I will take a moment to ensure that my more robust poultry protections are still in place.