It’s been nine days since the last entry when I’d put all the wall supports on the coop. Nine days of hammering, stapling, screwing, measuring, sawing, and hammering some more. This morning, eight chickens and Foghorn went into their new digs. Finally.
I have to secure the chicken wire where it overlaps, and some other cosmetics – folding over sharp wire edges, cutting off screws and nails that protrude, and then, of course, build the yard. I put the little feeder in the coop because I’d not finished the feed trough. Luckily, with all the nature to scratch around in, they have little interest in the feed. Which is a good thing.
I’d decided to do nothing more strenuous today than make a pot of coffee, or open the deck chair. But, as so often happens, we (or I) fail to acknowledge our limits. I knew I was tired. I knew I was sore. Still, I wanted to complete my chores, particularly the feeder. After all, it only needed two sides attached. I should’ve heeded the first sign when the screw gun battery died, but no, have to be in control of everything. Charged up the battery and back at it.
I thought I learned long ago that whenever you force the issue, nothing goes right. Obviously not. All the screws went in crooked and had to be backed out. Wood splintered. But still, on I went when I should’ve stopped. Well, I’ve stopped now that I screwed my finger. Sliced a nice chunk right off the side.
Again, I had to be hit over the head to listen to the universe. Heed those signs when she speaks. She knows far better than us.