Book Club in the Barn

“In the beginning of all things, wisdom and knowledge were with the animals…”

Eagle Chief (Letakos-Lesa), Pawnee

Today is Elizabeth’s turn to host our monthly book club, but it isn’t the meeting we’d imagined: the six of us positioned at a social distance, Covid-style, in her sunny pasture, while her two adorable donkeys, Hope and Isaiah, romp nearby. Instead, it’s chilly and overcast, still drizzly from overnight rainstorms. We’ve taken shelter in her barn.

Here, fresh perspectives and virus-free air flow freely, and there’s plenty of room to safely distance. Our hostess has set up chairs with strawbale tables beside them to hold our wine glasses. She keeps an exceptionally tidy barn. I breathe in the gentle, earthy smells of fresh hay, damp goats, and just-swept manure.

There’s a pleasant clattering on the tin roof as wind shakes the rain from the branches of overhead trees, and we startle whenever an errant acorn fires a gunshot hit above our heads. The goats must be used to this clamor; they happily continue their play, their hooves clopping softly as they jump among the tiered platforms built for their amusement.

Clouds darken the afternoon sky, yet inside, the light feels golden and warm.

We’ve gathered to discuss The Book of Longings by Sue Monk Kidd. The novel is about realizing and ritualizing our deepest longings. It’s also about honoring and sharing women’s stories. What better place to do these things than here in the barn?

The animals seem to agree.

Out of Elizabeth’s too-many-to-count cats, Patches is the self-appointed barn diva. A tortoiseshell, she chooses a prominent perch from atop a bale of hay to watch the literary proceedings. Elizabeth says torties have a reputation for being serious cats, often aloof, but I think that Patches senses kindred female spirits here, and she graciously holds sacred space for us throughout the afternoon. And I am personally befriended by shy Red, who hops on my lap repeatedly to nuzzle and purr, encouraging me to comment on my favorite passages.

Our furred and feathered attendees bear witness as each human speaks in turn, but they don’t do so silently. Never before has our book club heard opinions more emphatically vocalized! When one soft-spoken member expresses her wish to be fully present and to channel kindness during these times of uncertainty, Hope and Isaiah bray long and loud, in unison, from just outside the barn door. A hearty endorsement to be sure, and the only time we hear from the good-natured pair over our 3-hour visit. Another member pauses after a heartfelt share about the work of nurturing and, right on cue, the chickens cluck their unequivocal approval. Behind us, we hear a ruffling scuffle, the sound of hens roosting, seconding the motion.

In this cozy, consecrated community, the donkeys, goats, and chickens are privy to our longings and our secrets. And, of course, they promise not to tell.

“Chickens, sheep, and donkeys. Manure and urine… Hoof-churned dirt. It even came to me that these things might be holy, too, a sacrilege I kept to myself.”

Sue Monk Kidd, The Book of Longings

“Inside a barn is a whole universe, with its own time zone and climate and ecosystem, a shadowy world of swirling dust illuminated in tiger stripes by light shining through the cracks between the boards. Old leather tack, lengths of chain, rope, and baling twine dangled from nails and rafters and draped over stall railings…”

Carolyn Jourdan, Heart in the Right Place