Grit Blogs > Chicken Scratch

A Perfect Sort of Day

Jill ClinganYesterday was the perfect sort of day. It was a Saturday with no place to go and no people to see, which, for this introvert living on five acres on a gravel road, is pretty much the definition of paradise. 

My wonderful husband made me an omelet for breakfast, which he does every day, actually, but yesterday I could eat my eggs and veggies, sip my bulletproof coffee, and linger over a leisurely breakfast, which was a perfectly lovely way to start my day. 


Every three hours or so I hung out for a bit with Fluffy, our tiny and cute and perky scissor-beaked chick. I sat with her on the bathroom floor, and she ate her moistened food while I wrote or journaled or read (or, admittedly, scrolled through my Facebook and Instagram feeds). If I got too wrapped up in what I was doing and missed her cues to add more water to her food, she just started flinging it on me. That got my attention rather quickly.

fluffy eating

In between Fluffy feeding sessions, I spent time outside in the garden. We had planted beets, parsnips, carrots and turnips a couple of weeks ago, but very few of the seeds germinated, so I spent hours bent over the garden beds, replanting seeds.    

beets in hand

My cat, Morgan, thought that the string I was using to align my rows made a very fun gardening toy.

Morgan in the garden

My dog, Hans, helped press down the seeds.

hans in the garden

Any day where I spend time in the sunshine getting my hands dirty is a happy, successful day in my book.

dirty fingers

When I needed a break, I sat with Matt on the porch and we talked and dreamed. Our lame chicken, Hoppy, even fell asleep in my lap.

Hoppy napping

Right before the chickens’ bedtime, I decided they needed a layer of clean bedding.  

chickens in coop

The chickens were not quite sure about intruders in their home.

We rounded out the night with a campfire, hot dogs and s’mores. 


Tomorrow, the daily grind starts anew, and I have to say I am feeling a little melancholy. I wish I could recreate my Saturday on a Monday. But I am hoping that the rest, the dirt, and the songs around the campfire fed my soul enough to help me live the story of this week with a healing dose of beauty and grace and hope. And, perhaps, I can create moments of beauty and grace and hope even within the moments of my very imperfect days.

Perhaps this week I can journal on my dock, or take an evening walk with Matt, or read more and scroll my Facebook feed less.  

What about you?  What does your perfect day look like? How do you create moments of beauty and grace and hope in the middle of your imperfect days?