The adventures of Hazel and Hendrik

I’d always wanted to marry a farmer – and did. Only one problem: he doesn’t own a farm, and we’re unlikely ever to be able to afford one.

But what to do about that sorrow in your soul that never quite goes away? Well, you buy yourself a house with understanding neighbours. And a nice yard. The state of the house is not a big issue – as long as it has a roof.

And then you go out and get yourself a chicken. We named ours Hazel, and she has taught us to slow down and get back in touch with ourselves and nature – manure and all. But to our great disappointment, Hazel turned into a Hendrik about a week ago and started to crow. The one thing I’ve always known I don’t want, especially for the sake of our neighbours, was a rooster, but now we have one – and we’re already very attached to him.

At least our next decision was an easy one: find Hendrik a mate, a hen our daughter immediately dubbed Hazel. We can’t wait for the eggs and the chicks.

As a result of Hendrik’s arrival, my husband and I have made some rather silly decisions, like accepting a gift of Muscovy ducklings from friends who live in the Drakensberg. We also have five koi fish in a pond, a cat (which, fortunately, is afraid of chickens) and three dogs (one of which needs to be watched closely when near the fowl).

Every now and again you’ll hear someone complain about the seriously gross chicken shit on the stoep, but the cellphones are silent and the computer games stay switched off. There is life in the house. An organised kind of chaos with peace at its centre. Who knows, maybe it is time to buy a sheep – they do keep the grass short, right?