We all crave it. We all need it, whether it be a soft teddy bear to hug tightly in the middle of the night or a friend’s comforting hand on your shoulder – no words – just knowing she is there, it makes us feel better, safer.
There’s also physical security. A check downstairs after the last child has gone to bed in order to make sure the doors are locked, the lights are out and all is safe, a warning “be careful!” called out when you hear someone running down the stairs, the tops of cleaner bottles securely closed.
Every night Marc goes out to the chicken coop to make sure the chickens are safely inside the henhouse. Once they are all accounted for he locks the door keeping them as safe as we can until the morning when we let them out again. A lock on the door and a fence around the coop. It’s the best we can do.
We’ve been having some intense winter weather up here in New Hampshire. Not that much snow (compared to other years) but the winds have been blowing and the cold cuts to the bone.
We sit in our house warmed by blankets and drinking cocoa while we listen to the ancient tall pines in our backyard groan in pain from the twistings caused by the winds. They are old. They are ready to fall down so that new growth can begin. They are a danger.
No lock, no matter how secure would protect our chickens from a tree falling on their henhouse. It’s a possibility of insecurity that we have to live with. If a tree fell, if a bear chose to rip through the walls or if a skunk wanted to tunnel under the fence for eggs we’d be left in the morning catching our breath and picking up the pieces. Shocked at the brutal loss of security we’d rebuild, put our flock back as best we could and then install a new lock, perhaps even two, in an effort to ensure protection against whatever else might happen.
Photo credit: Marc Nozell