Three Days in the Life of Green Acres (a.k.a. My House)

 

If chaos had a zip code, it’d be mine.

Saturday morning—knowing full well bad weather is coming, the kind with ice, cold rain, and “don’t go nowhere unless you have to”—I do what any sensible country woman does. I go buy chickens. A great deal on Copper Moran chicks, so I come home with five pullets… and a rooster, because why not add testosterone to the mix?

We get home and immediately realize we have no plan. Chickens go into the kennel that used to be the pig pen, inside the yard with the dogs and the pig. That lasted about as long as a screen door in a tornado. Two dogs made it clear the chickens were not gonna know peace.

So we catch the chicks again, move the kennel outside, and reset everything. While I’m doing that, I’m also cutting tin for the underpinning on the back of the house, because multitasking is just survival at this point.

A friend drops off pallets, so naturally we decide to build a pig hut right then. Five pallets, some lumber, screws, and tin later—boom—pig mansion complete. Bacon’s living better than most folks I know.

Speaking of Bacon, the girls decide it’s time for him to lose his manhood. We think we got everything handled, but there’s a chance he’s only half a barrow, so that may be a sequel.

Oh—and in the middle of all that, we discover one of the dogs had a puppy. Surprise! Because obviously we didn’t have enough going on.

By the end of Saturday, everyone is fed, housed, warm, and alive. I’m exhausted, but feeling accomplished.

Sunday morning starts with a 6:30 a.m. phone call asking me to go buy a King cake. I’m gone maybe two hours. I come home and there’s a piece of tin flopping on the shop because of the wind. Cool. Love that for me. Go inside to grab my drill, bits, and screws, head back out… and that’s when I see it. The chicken coop flipped completely upside down and chickens running wild like they just declared independence.

One chicken is in the dog and pig pen. I catch four, throw them over the fence, realize the dogs are still not fans, and start catching chickens like it’s an Olympic sport. Eventually everyone is secured… again.

Monday brings a three-hour school delay, barely-above-freezing temps, and me trying to feed animals, manage kids, host friends, and keep puppies from becoming chew toys. I walk out the door to pick up one of Paisleys friends, and Bella the German Shepherd slips past me like a ninja.

A mile down the road, I get the call no mama wants.

“Mama… Bella got the puppy.”

Panic. Tears. Blood. I talk Paisley through putting the puppy up safely with its mom and promise I’ll check everything when I get home.

All of this… in three days.

Three days.

Some folks take weekends to rest. Around here, weekends just change what kind of chaos you’re dealing with.

But here’s the thing.

As wild, exhausting, and downright ridiculous as my life can be, I’m thankful. For the mess. For the noise. For the animals, the lessons, and the stories we’ll laugh about later. I know that while my life feels overwhelming sometimes, someone else is carrying a heavier load.

So if your life feels like chickens running loose and everything flipped upside down, take a minute. Breathe. Laugh if you can. Say something kind. Lend a hand when you’re able.

And remember—you’re not alone out here. We’re all just doing our best to keep the fences up and the critters fed.

About the Author

Billie-Jo writes from lived experience—about faith, healing, motherhood, heartbreak, and the hard work of choosing peace after pain. She believes in telling the truth gently, setting boundaries without guilt, and trusting God even when the answers come slowly. Her words are for anyone learning how to let go, stand firm, and heal without losing themselves.