It’s sometime after ten pm, and I’m running back and forth between the house and the car, looking for a chicken. I’m not sure if it is three days before opening day at the cafe, or two days before we open. I have stopped counting time. Time implies waking hours and sleeping hours. I’ve surrendered the idea of sleep for this week, yet seem to be sleeping while I am awake.
And somewhere, between the car, the house, the cafe, and the farm, and all the endless trips I’ve been making between each place, I’ve lost a frozen chicken.
My chest tightens. I know this shouldn’t be a big deal. But it is. It’s a simple thing to keep track of. Something that anyone in the course of a normal day can do: go to the farm. Pick up a chicken. Bring it home, and put it away.
I tell myself that the disappearing chicken is merely a symptom of the week. This is the big crunch. It’s to be expected.
But that explanation doesn’t sit well with me.
As I’m tearing around the car, looking under seats, pawing through trunks, finding the girls’ damp bathing suits, Bob’s tools, the piles of discarded mail tossed in the back, I am mourning this chicken.
Every Saturday night, we’ve always roasted a chicken. I put it in the oven on a timer in the morning before we leave for the farmers’ market, and it’s ready when we come home. I toss together some fresh vegetables, Bob pours martinis, and we sit out on the screen porch with the kids, feeling rich. Saoirse and Ula love our ritual so much, they decline playdates if it means missing out on our family chicken dinner.
We’ve done so much work preparing for this cafe opening. We’ve done sales projections, tested recipes, painted trim, researched equipment, scrubbed floors, practiced latte art, gone over and over and over and over where every dime is going to come from. We’ve accounted for how it will affect our family vacations, how it will impact my writing schedule, how we will handle the homeschool schedule.
But I never thought about the chicken dinner.
Saturday night will no longer be our celebration night. We’ll need to run around on Saturday night to source any ingredients we might be running low on. We’ll need to wash up, sanitize, clean the bathroom, clean the floors. As soon as possible, we’ll need to get to bed, because we need to get up early on Sunday. I need to make the fresh sticky buns, dial in the espresso machine. On Sunday night we have to do the same clean up again. On Monday I need to place orders for the next weekend. We need to can pickles for next year’s cafe supply, to make fresh pate. Tuesday, we need to start cooking for this week. Wednesday we need to pick up supplies. Thursday and Friday there will be more cooking, Saturday will start it all over again.
It is sleep deprivation, perhaps, that makes me get weepy as I hunt for the chicken. But what the lost chicken represents to me is shattering my heart: It has been a symbol of our slow life:…our sense of rhythm and routine, our family’s lazy time together. My ensuing panic as I ponder the loss of these things has become so infectious, everyone in the house is now looking for the lost chicken..
And as I see our home turned upside down (really, from all the chaos, it’s been torn asunder for a while…could we make it any worse?), I wonder if I’ve finally, officially, stepped in over my head, dragging my entire family into the quagmire with me. I recognize the threat this stress poses to my health, to my marriage, to my relationships with my parents and kids.
I step away from the car and close the door. In the dark I can see the stars. I breathe in, breathe out. I force myself to remember all the dreams that led up to this week: what a cafe would allow our family to do, the experience it would give the girls, the fun it would give us as a family, the joy it would give Mom and Dad, the pleasure it would instill in our community.
And I ponder that fine line that I’m forever walking, that fragile boundary between pushing a new frontier because there is new growth, adventure and joy; and taking myself over the edge, potentially destroying all that is sacred and beautiful in my life. I could protect all that is sacred and beautiful by turning my back on new ventures, but then I’d miss the growth, the learning, the new thrills. Both sides of the border come with their price.
“Mom!” Saoirse calls to me from the porch. “Dad found the chicken! You’d actually put it away!”
She waits for me to come inside, takes my hand, and pulls me upstairs. As they’ve done since they were toddlers, both girls crawl in bed with me to read. I don’t remember putting the book down. I don’t remember falling asleep.
The next morning I roast the chicken, but not for us. I make it into soup for the cafe.
And on opening day, there is mayhem. Lots of customers, lots of confusion. Kate shows up to help. So does Betsy, one of our former interns. Mom has called them in for reinforcement. Saoirse and Ula jump into action, carrying food, clearing plates. I don’t have a single conversation. I only keep making coffees and prepping plates, pushing the chicken dinner thought from my mind. Kate and Betsy make jokes and keep me smiling. Kate slaps the next order down next to the espresso machine and offers words of encouragement: “We’ve totally got this.” Betsy keeps the dishes washed. Ula hussles to clear plates. Saoirse dances every time she comes behind the coffee bar. Mom forgets what she’s doing, then bursts out laughing at the madness. Her laughter is infectious.
At the end of the day, I ladle up chicken soup into everyone’s bowls. Dad comes down from doing chores. We all pile into the kitchen and make ourselves plates of food — salad, chicken soup, cornbread. The customers are gone, but we have a full house. We are laughing at our mistakes, talking about the day. We are rich with new adventures to share. There are more of us than just Bob and me and our girls. Our Saturday night world has expanded just a tiny bit.
I don’t know when I will next have a roast chicken dinner. Maybe it will be next week. Or next month. Or next winter. Right now, I have to surrender my need for that. I need to ride the unpredictable current until our keel is back in the water. And if I am going to keep myself from going over the edge, then I need to be at peace with that. I need to trust that we will learn a new routine, and we will find new peaceful moments. But we won’t find them if I keep desperately searching for the old ones.
On Sunday morning, I arrive at the cafe to find a beautiful orchid beside my door, left for me by a neighbor, with a card that reads “Thanks.” I take a moment to enjoy it before starting the new day.
Thanks this week go out to my dear friend, Troy Bishopp, aka “The Grass Whisperer,” who came out to help us launch our opening with a few photos. For those of you following the blog, Troy enjoyed a plate of egg salad.
Chris
Aw, great story. Congratulations on opening your Cafe. What an achievement. I know what you’re talking about in relation to impossible timing. My husband is changing careers entirely, which requires more changes in routine, than is possible. Sometimes to make room for new things, we have to let go of old. I remember to think how lucky I am, to have such problems, opportunity affords me.
Alexis B LeBlanc
Being open minded to “new thrills” and change is definitely the way to approach this. Having an opportunity like this, and going through with it is awesome. I feel that I would not personally be able to handle all of the change and adjustment.
NancyL
Remarkable how that chicken stayed “lost” until the new inspiration, new ideas, beginnings of new growth were “found.” Maybe someday I’ll get to enjoy a plate of egg salad…
Shannon
I’d hold it for you, Nancy, but that might not be such a good idea….Can’t wait to welcome you here!
Fay Aaronson
One of your best stories ever! Please keep them coming. You lightened up my day and lifted my burdens.
It was funny and sad, heartwarming.
I don’t think you need to worry about any homeschooling schedule; all that your girls are doing in fulfillment of the
businesses certainly fills the requirements and much more.
You and your family are an inspiration. Congratulations on your cafe! And it was great seeing a picture. Would like
to see pix of the inside and hope to get there when I can.
Love to all, Fay
Shannon
Hi Fay; Funny you should ask for pictures….I keep thinking I should take some, but the only time anyone gets a chance is when the cafe is closed! We’ll get there! And thanks for the words of encouragement!
Alexis B LeBlanc
I love the heart warming touch to the story! It is awesome to get a laugh in, but I love a heart warming and sentimental story! I love that in the chaos she found time to just step back, breathe and think things through rather than fill her mind with negativity. It is funny that not long after that was when the chicken was actually found! 🙂
Helen
Congratulations on the opening of your cafe! Wish I could sit down there for a cup of coffee and some egg salad! I’ve been following you for a few years, enjoy you writing, and own two of your books! Your adventures, insight, and transparency inspire me. Someday, SHANNON, I’m going to venture East from San Jose and visit you. And hopefully find the farm my great uncle owned in your county in the 1940’s!
Shannon
I’ll look forward to it, Helen!
mary ann
Congratulations! I look forward to seeing the photos. It sounds so cosy and inviting. Maybe one day I’ll get over to the US and your part of the woods. Save me a place. A hug to you and all the family.
Ann
Can’t wait to stop at the Cafe on our way to Ithaca when we visit friends. And would love to meet you!! Congratulations on all your hard work! You’re one of the bravest women I’ve ever “known.” I do feel like I know you from following you for so long via the blog.
Bless you for sharing you lives with us.
Ann
Tatiana Larson
Wow, what great adventures. If I may dare to invite you to Church at Our Lady of the Valley in Middleburgh with the fam to take a small break. Come as you are, Saturday night it starts at 5:45pm for less than an hour, it might just be the quick fix for now to re-energize and refocus while chicken dinner takes a back seat.
Best part there is not prepping for this meal-LOL.
Best of luck and lots of blessings always!
Barbara
Here’s to new ventures and adventures! I am so proud and happy for all of you. Take a cue from your mom and when things get crazy, have a laugh and move on. The next time you lose a chicken let me know. I have one of yours in my freezer. Send me the directions and I will be happy to defrost it, prepare it and cook it for you:) All the best to all of you. You should be so proud!
Carol
Dear Shannon and family,
One of these days I will have the delight of visiting your cafe with my six grandchildren.
I hope your cafe prospers and becomes integrated into your life.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts through your writing. They have become another form of nurturing wisdom which has sustained me through the years!
Enjoy all your blessings and laugh away your stress,
in peace,
Carol
Shannon
Hi Carol;
I will welcome the day when you come to see us!
Shannon
Alexis B LeBlanc
I can definitely relate to this situation. Sometimes I feel like I am running around like a chicken with its head cut off. If I misplace something as simple as my headphones I instantly feel frustration. Especially when I have no time to be running around searching for things. I feel that when I am the most rushed is when I tend to lose things. The frustration hits even more when it is something worth value. For example in your situation, this chicken actually could symbolize something. It symbolizes tradition with your family. I love that it had a funny, but heartwarming and serious touch to it. Congratulations on your new business, I guess it is always a given that not everything will be perfect-of maybe cultures idea of perfect- it can be a mess, but a beautiful mess!