Chicken Soup

Last night after meditation I arrived back in the main activity building looking for some human contact after news of James’ passing and then a session on the cushion.  After 9PM the students had been sent to their hostels to retire for the night and it is usually the time when staff get together to be amongst themselves – even if to discuss the children.  Last night, my colleagues were visibly excited.  Dressed in their black puffy-jackets with knives and torch in tow, they set off in the dark. They were going to despatch a couple of roosters in the chicken pen.  Killing vermin, let alone livestock is one of those things the staff know I won’t do.  Its called a fundamental value or something like that.  In their excitement they seemed  like kids embarking on a naughty adventure that we’re all pretending we know nothing about.

There were three roosters among the chooks.  The chickens are cute and the roosters not at all aggressiveWhen I was here on my own they would run to meet me in my car on my return from Campbell Town or beyond.  They were so tame that they would gather around my feet when I brought them their food and I could handle and stroke them without much fuss.  

Chickens getting cold feet on frosty grass

I think one rooster who was doing all the fucking met his end at the end of a knife last night.  Whenever I was in the pen, one of them would jump the hens and within a couple of seconds, it was all over.  The chicken waddling away and adjusting its feathers as it went in search for food and a few moments alone.

Gary, a white bird and last remaining rooster seemed quite distressed this morning,.  Crowing and carrying on, locked in his hen-house.  Then there was blood down the side of one of the compost bins and feathers strewn about its base.  The request came through for chicken soup.  And in his excitement, Steve told me of plans to keep bush turkeys as well.  Fortunately, the roosters had been dressed and were prepared for cooking. Under all those feathers, they were tiny little things, bare and cold on a tray in the commercial refrigerator.

Sometime ago I put them in a big pot with carrots and onions and a mash-up of herbs and spices and there they’ve been for four hours.  Steve will probalby divide the soup amongst his staff tomorrow on return to town.

Dinner is already prepared.  Four boneless legs of lamb in oven bags with garlic and rosemary with roast vegetables and I’ll do peas and steamed carrots later.  The aromas should be now drawing people closer to the kitchen in expectation.

Outside, its beautiful.  Only the second day of Spring and its a corker of a day.  A pearler!  The kids had turns at practicing capsizing in the canoe and Madie and I played at being judges, ranking them on execution and presentation.  A craic-up!  In between things, I’ve managed to lay a thousand watercress seeds in a bed of seed raising culture, adding to the borlotti beans, sweet corn and peas I did earlier.

But after the last few days, I am missing home.