(Walking along the promenade, Lagos)
We have arrived in the south part of Portugal – the Algarve. We are about 2 km from a town called Luz and 6km from the city of Lagos (pronounced Laa Gosh.) The sun is back and today we cycled to the nearest beach in Luz. I feel very virtuous even though I had to walk the bit over the little hill… I had forgotten how great it felt to cycle. Yesterday we took the bus to Lagos and got lots of pictures. We found a very old walled town by the sea and a modern marina full of big boats.
(Lagos, old town)
We walked up and down the small streets, until we found a little cafe and settled down to writing postcards. Well, I was writing postcards, Denis was reading a book about Victoria and Albert (of Victoria and Albert museum, Queen Victoria, Albert Hall, fame…) He was really enjoying the book and every now and again he’d start chuckling…
(Lost of colour in Lagos)
To be honest it was a bit distracting, so I stopped writing to get curious about something that’s been on my mind – Failure. Or… how to consider the concept of failure in a different way. The phrase Fail… to Move On was in my head when I woke up yesterday morning. I think the easiest way to explain what I’m trying to say is with a little story….
(Love old doors, Lagos)
Once upon a time there was a young man, called, João (pronounced Jue/wan, Portuguese for John.) João had dreamed of being a chicken farmer since he was a boy. His dream had finally come true and he had enough money to purchase a small holding with chickens. He was working full-time as a builder but at the weekends he sold his chicken’s eggs at the market. He had plans to increase his holding and rent his neighbour’s field next door. Then the fox came with his extended family of foxes and most of the chickens were killed. The ones who survived were so traumatised that they stopped laying, got sick and died.
(Some boats at the marina in Lagos, for Dave)
João had no eggs to sell at the weekend markets and no chickens to take care of, he was heartbroken. His neighbour felt very sorry for him and invited him over for coffee one morning. They got chatting and the neighbour told João about his cousin, Sara (pronounced Serra) in the next town who had a chicken farm. Since her husband died she found it very hard to do all the work on her own. Maybe João would consider helping her? João said no he had enough of the chicken game, he was going to give up on his dream and settle down to normal life. The neighbour understood and said no harm done just though I’d ask. She’s very good-looking.
Saw this pretty thing as I was about to sit on it!)
João thought he’s misheard his neighbour so he said, Sorry? The neighbour explained that Sara, the chicken farmer, had been widowed young and was in fact, the same age as João. Also, she was a very good-looking woman. Oh. Right. João finished up his coffee, said thank you to the neighbour and set off for home. He sat in his kitchen late that night looking out at his empty chicken run. When he woke in the morning he had decided that there would be no harm in having a chat with the chicken farmer. If nothing else he’d have a look at her chickens, he missed looking at chickens.
(Choppy seas but warm air in Luz)
Fail… To Move On. What if failure stops us settling for less? Opening the way to move on to the real thing…. Mairead.
4 thoughts on “Chicken Farming on the coast of Portugal”
Geez Mairead. Loving the chicken story, getting ready for the steamy story about Joe heading over to the next town to hook up and nothing!!!! So did he Fail, try, strike out, hit a home run? You have to work in your story telling. It was great until the point where you dumped me, the poor reader 😳😕
Oh Grahame, my apologies, this was just the teaser…. send $100 to this website and I will send you the real story… well, the second installment anyway.
The cheque is in the mail. “Trust me” 😉
…the second instalment is on it’s way. “Trust me” 😉
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