The Story of the Chicken and the Egg(s)

Have you ever felt like you were doing all the work, but had nothing to show for it? Like you were providing the fuel, but the engine just wouldn't start?

I have three chickens. I had never had chickens before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was just excited about them being the "perfect" permaculture animal—they eat kitchen scraps so nothing goes to waste, and from those scraps, they produce eggs! I love the reality of it, but I love the metaphor, too. That which would otherwise become "waste" is not only saved but put to nourishing use. It’s a beautiful metaphor for life.

But just when I thought the metaphor was as perfect as it could be, I found out there was more.

For a number of days, my chickens were not laying eggs—or so I thought. While chickens do go through dormant periods, that usually happens when it’s cold, and our temperatures here have been quite warm. How strange, I thought. I wonder why they’ve stopped. My egg supply was getting uncomfortably low.

Then one day, something caught my eye. It was a remnant of an eggshell with a bit of the yolk still inside. It was a few feet from the chicken coop, about halfway to the pomegranate tree. That tree is significant because it is the home of the squirrel.

Now, this squirrel is not an intentional member of the menagerie. Ever since he found himself trapped inside my house last year—a story that involves a Blink camera and a squirrel selfie in the bathroom—he seems to have considered himself part of the family. In fact, Cielo, the dog, has even given up chasing him. The squirrel lives in the rock wall by the pomegranate tree and pretty much does as he pleases.

As long as he stays out of the house, I was fine to have him as an uninvited guest in the garden. Until now.

After a few days of empty nesting boxes, I entered the coop to examine things more closely. There it was—a hole, burrowed from below, through the chicken wire I’d installed on the floor. Somehow, over time, the squirrel had managed to find a way between the wire and the side of the coop. He’d had free access to an "all-you-can-eat" breakfast for days.

With the help of Chino the gardener, we repaired the hole and patched the breach. Sure enough, the next day, there was an egg! The next day, two! And then, amazingly, yesterday there were three eggs. Having never seen three in one day, I had assumed one of my chickens just didn't lay. But there they were: proof.

The moral of the story? Practically speaking: check your coop for holes if you have a squirrel neighbor. But the metaphorical moral?

If you are going to create—or even if you are just trying to reclaim your own energy and life—it’s a good idea to first patch up the "leaks." Otherwise, the peace and nourishment you are trying to grow will disappear before you even get to taste it.