I stood in the henyard, and I held the baby chick in my palm. Life, when it begins, is no small achievement, or so it felt. The loss of the chick from this life hurt me deeply. Babies represent all that is good in this world. They personify innocence.
Mary Mcfarland, 21st century writer, chronicler, story teller
I could still feel the chick’s warmth, and my anguish grew as I rubbed its wing, no bigger than your thumbnail but meant to lift the bird powerfully to its nest, if it had lived. I checked to be sure. Yes, it was dead. Confused and trying to leave the coop in the company of its mother, it had been crushed by the other hens, in their rush to get outside the coop.
Mucky Manor Chicks and Mom.
7.15.2021.
On the Death of One Small Chick.
Yesterday, I’d been there to watch it hatch. I watched the mother hen pick cracked shell from the hatchling’s feathers, its eyes yet to open, its head still softly dented from confinement in its shell.
It took me no time to cry. I did. I sobbed and held the chick and looked up but didn’t bother questioning. I didn’t waste time asking God why this small life, only hours old, had ended, why its life had been granted in the first place–if it was of so little consequence. I didn’t ask why because, you see, the chickens teach us things. They teach: we’re not all meant to survive.
I drew an analogy. Bear with me as I work through it (I’m a writer, so my thinking is convoluted, and my words follow the intricate pathways patterned by years of immersion in linguistics).
The company of my chickens comforts me while I, like you, struggle daily through this pandemic. I’ve learned to listen to them, to interpret their language, to love their presence as they group around my legs and wait for me to say or do something affirming our odd family dynamic: I–human–and they, chicken, both remnants of two prehistoric kingdoms of sworn enemies. Nevertheless, despite our past differences, we are today dear friends. We are today family, so we stood in silence, while the warmth of the dead baby chick ebbed against my palm, a cupped coffin of love and blood and bone–a fitting funeral for an uncelebrated life.
The chickens teach that we’re not all meant to survive. They also teach that it’s easy to get caught up in a stampede and be killed. So: I weave together the seams of my analogy, lest you grow impatient with me. As I stood with my chickens, I took their lesson to heart. I’m a Covid-19 long hauler, but I’m aware I must decide how to interact with my human community moving forward, that I must responsibly choose how to protect you–from me. Should I get a vaccine, although there is yet no FDA approval? Should I wait? How do I choose? How do I responsibly act to care for my community–as they are acting to care for me?
I’ve noted that there are “vaccine bullies,” those who try to shame others into getting the vaccine. I’m not blaming President Biden. I think his initiative is admirable, and I pray like you for his and our conuntry’s success. If simply getting a vaccine en masse will stop or slow the Covid-19, I’m for it. I plan to get vaccinated, once I’ve evaluated my choices. But has the president’s initiative lent impetus to yet another vanguard of bullies? The vaccine bullies.
Get it. I did. Nothing happened to me.
That’s great. We’re all in this together, and it’s positive to hear the success stories. But who speaks for those who’ve received a vaccine–and died? Who can say which vaccine, definitively, works? Who can assure vaccine recipients there will be no long-term effects? Why can’t we each decide and choose for ourselves? How do we sort through solid scientific evidence, in such short supply, and find the facts?
Like my chickens, I know we’re not all meant to survive. I almost didn’t. But having Covid-19 helped me know this: I am responsible for making my decisions, not voices on social media. No pressure from vaccine bullies will change that. Surviving Covid-19 has made me hyper aware that I share air with the world at large and must act responsibly. Surviving also taught me to avoid groupthink or vaccine bullying.
Are you feeling pressured to get a Covid-19 vaccine? Are you feeling shamed or bullied? Share your story with me on Facebook. https://www.facebook.com/MaryMcFarlandWriter/
Mucky Manor 