Dec 28, 2015 3 min read

I have been trying to get back to my normal routine these past few weeks. I have gotten back to a more manageable work schedule for a part-timer, and have been able to begin playing catch-up with my chores at home.

The laundry is only about eight loads behind these days, which goes in the win column in my book. The floor is being vacuumed regularly, and the dishwasher practically never stops. It is almost like someone cares about the state of this house again!

And the outside chores? I’m working on those, too. I feed some of the critters in the barn sometimes, though my husband has often already been there by the time I arrive. I am working with my daughter on exercise, proper grooming and cleanliness of the horse and his stall, which takes quite a chunk of time each day.

And then there are my chickens.

My husband isn’t overly fond of chickens, so he was happy when I agreed to send the last little flock to the neighbor’s house. These neighbors like free-range chickens and have far less concern about productivity, so when our birds begin to decline, they go live out their days in a veritable chicken paradise. Everyone is happy with the arrangement.

However, it is a fair estimate that we eat about four or five dozen eggs each week, more if I am baking a lot. And, acquiring local fresh eggs in the quantity that we consume them is difficult when we don’t have our own layers.

So when I found pullets for sale, I bought a dozen and spouted off some promises about taking care of them myself. At the time, my intentions were pure. My husband wasn’t fooled, however, and he began checking on them daily. When my responsibilities to the kids and work and our charity, Grandma’s Lap, began to overwhelm me, he silently integrated care of the chickens onto his own to-do list.

But as I mentioned before, I have been trying to get back to my normal routine for a few weeks, and I began heading out to the chicken coop again more frequently. Several daily egg checks, topping off their feed pans – you know, the basics. When I went out the other day, I saw that their waterer was getting close to empty, and I happily carted it outside to refill it.

I had barely put my first foot down on the landing outside the chicken coop when I slipped.

And fell.

Down all five steps.

The lid to the waterer broke, as did the bottom step (and my bottom!)

The fire in my forearm was instant. I looked down and saw an angry red scrape and the bruise that was already forming. My other arm was also hurt, as was my shoulder. I suddenly remembered that I am no longer 20 years old as I inventoried the pain and assessed whether I could walk. OK on both counts – yay, me!

But I did have to add “Rub self down with Deep Blue muscle blend essential oil” to my routine for a few days.

Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.