On the Quiet Authority of Women, and the Gentle Persuasion That Moves the World

My dearest Mermaid Darlings of the Stillwater Petticoat Society,

I have been sitting this morning with the memory of a lady who once walked very near to where I now keep my quiet thoughts—Elizabeth Robins—a woman of stage and pen, who lent her voice to the rising tide of women and yet, in time, withdrew not in defeat, but in discernment, choosing the quieter authorship of influence, where ink travels farther than any cry.

There is something in this, I think, that asks to be understood rather than declared.

For we are often told, in this present hour, that power must announce itself—must arrive in great volume, in insistence, in visible command—and yet, if one watches closely, the most enduring movements of the world have seldom been so hurried in their expression; they have been carried, rather, as the sea carries her tide—steadfast, persuasive, and entirely certain of her return.

Miss Robins, in her way, seemed to perceive this truth before many others, that there exists a manner of shaping the world which does not require one to harden oneself against it, nor to meet force with force, but to stand so wholly within one’s own knowing that the world, quite naturally, begins to rearrange itself in response.

And I confess, my darlings, it has led me into a most tender line of thought.

That perhaps a woman need not become louder in order to be heard, nor sharper in order to be taken seriously, but rather more deeply rooted within her own inward authority, where persuasion—true persuasion—lives not in the tongue, but in the state of being from which the tongue is moved.

For is it not so that the garden does not argue with the season, and yet, in its quiet readiness, it becomes the very proof of spring?

I have often observed that when we attempt to force the world into shape, it resists us with equal vigour; and yet, when we become the shape itself—when we assume, with a certain calm certainty, the end already secured—the outer world seems to soften, as though it had been waiting all along for our consent.

There are those who would say this is too gentle a way to meet a world so given to noise, but I have never found gentleness to be weak, nor stillness to be without motion; indeed, it is in still waters that the deepest currents are held.

And so, as I think of the early women—those who stood, and those who wrote, and those who chose their influence with care—I find myself less concerned with the manner in which power appears, and more devoted to the manner in which it is held.

For what is truly sovereign does not tremble at being unseen.

It is simply certain.

There is, I believe, a great unravelling taking place—of old structures, of inherited assumptions, of ways of living that no longer feel as though they belong to the soul that must now inhabit them—and though it may be named as loss by some, I cannot help but recognise it as a clearing, as though a long-neglected garden were at last being opened to the light.

And in such a season, it would seem unwise to rush about in distress, when one might instead take up one’s place with a quiet readiness, tending first to the inner soil from which all outer forms must grow.

Heaven, if it is to be found at all, has never been elsewhere.

It is discovered, rather, in the gentle return to oneself.

And so I write to you not as one making a proclamation, but as one sharing a small and steady knowing—that there is a way of being in this world that does not require you to abandon your softness in order to be strong, nor your grace in order to be effective, but asks only that you become so entirely aligned within that the outer world can do little else but follow.

Let us, then, be as the tide.

Unhurried.

Unmistakable.

And entirely our own.

Most affably yours 'til my next enchanting swim,

Lady Raquel 

A Few Gentle Observations on the Keeping of Hens

From the Cottage Garden, for my Mermaid Darlings of the Stillwater Petticoat Society

My dear mermaid darlings,

There are certain affections one carries from childhood which, if left undisturbed long enough, quietly return to us in adulthood as though they had only stepped away for a short walk about the garden. My fondness for hens has always been such a thing.

Long before my little patch of cottage living came into its present form, I imagined a life where animals wandered peacefully about the garden — rabbits in the grass, hens scratching politely beneath the hedges, and the gentle murmur of creatures who seemed quite content simply to exist beside one another.

At last, in the year 2016, that small dream began to take shape when my first little gathering of hens arrived. I remember them still — the curious tilt of their heads, the dignified way they inspected the garden beds, and the soft rustle of feathers that soon became as familiar to me as the creaking of old floorboards in the cottage.

Since that time, I have kept hens in much the same manner, and I confess the methods have served us rather well for nearly a decade.

If I may offer one gentle suggestion to those who dream of keeping animals of their own, it would be this: whenever possible, welcome them into your care from the very beginning of their lives.

Young creatures possess a remarkable openness to the world around them, and the habits of their little hearts are shaped most beautifully during those earliest days.

It may sound whimsical — and perhaps it is —, but I have long believed that animals respond quite readily to the expectations placed upon them with affection and consistency. One might call it a form of quiet manifestation, and in addition, I simply say that creatures, much like people, flourish when they are loved as though they already belong.

Over the years, I have welcomed kittens who grew into remarkably gentle companions, roosters who escorted me faithfully to the postbox like small feathered sentries, and hens who seemed to regard our daily conversations as perfectly natural. I kiss their soft heads, speak to them kindly, and treat them as fellow residents of the cottage grounds rather than mere livestock.

Not everyone approaches their animals in quite this way, of course, though I cannot help believing that affection improves nearly everything in life — hens included.

As for their care, I have kept their nourishment pleasantly simple and nourishing, gathering a few humble staples in generous quantities and preparing their food with a bit of patience.

I ferment their feed, which keeps their digestion lively and their health strong. Among the ingredients I keep on hand are whole corn, oats, black sunflower seeds, and a rather surprising addition: fish-flavoured kitten kibble, which provides the extra protein hens require to remain vigorous and productive. Their own eggshells, once dried and returned to the compost, serve as a fine source of calcium, while oyster shells provide additional strength for egg laying.

During the warmer months, they enjoy oats, the occasional crust of bread, and whatever small treasures they discover while roaming about the grounds. In winter, however, I favour whole corn — never the cracked sort — for the simple reason that whole kernels retain their natural oils and nourishment. As hens grow their winter down and continue laying, their little bodies require greater stores of energy, and whole corn provides it most admirably.

Water, I have learned, deserves equal attention. Chickens share many ailments through stagnant water, so I refresh their drinking supply each day without fail. The larger water pails receive a thorough cleaning twice weekly, and when I first refill them, I add a single drop or two of tea tree oil, which seems to keep the water pleasantly fresh.

To discourage mites and other unwelcome guests, I scatter diatomaceous earth throughout their coop and dusting areas, allowing the hens to keep themselves quite comfortably groomed.

Their feed remains available throughout the day, though in winter I offer a small cup of whole corn in the morning and another at dusk, which they accept with considerable enthusiasm.

And if ever the flock appears in need of a cheerful pick-me-up, I must confess that the humble hot dog — cut into small pieces — works wonders for their spirits. It is hardly a grand culinary offering, yet the hens receive it with a delight that suggests one has presented them with a royal banquet.

Such is the quiet life of hens in the cottage yard.

They wander beneath the sun, gossip softly among themselves, and lay their eggs with the steady reliability of creatures who ask very little in return for their companionship.

For my part, I cannot imagine the garden without them. They are small characters in the unfolding story of this place — companions to the rabbits, subjects for the occasional page of a storybook, and constant reminders that a simple life, tended with affection, may hold more charm than one ever expected.

And so, my dear mermaid darlings, should you ever feel the quiet longing for hens of your own, do not dismiss the notion too quickly. A small flock has a way of turning an ordinary patch of earth into something that feels rather like a story.

A Small Provision List for the Keeping of Happy Hens

For my mermaid darlings who wish to gather their supplies, if you should ever decide to welcome a few hens into your own garden life, these are the humble provisions I keep quietly on hand throughout the year. They are simple things, easily found, and they have served my little flocks faithfully for nearly a decade.

For their daily nourishment

• Whole corn (never the cracked variety)

• Oats

• Black sunflower seeds

• Fish-flavoured kitten kibble (for protein)

• Oyster shell (for strong eggs)

From the kitchen

• Dried and crushed eggshells (returned to them for calcium)

• Bread crusts (especially in the warmer months)

For occasional cheerful treats

• Small pieces of hot dogs or little sausages

(a most enthusiastic reward among hens)

For their health and comfort

• Diatomaceous earth: Sprinkle in their food daily and scatter about their run (to discourage mites and pests)

• Tea tree oil (one or two drops for fresh water)

For winter strength

• Extra whole corn morning and evening

(as hens grow their winter down and require more warmth and energy)

A small note from the garden

Always keep fresh water available to your hens, and change it daily if you are able. Their health is greatly protected by clean water and simple care.

And above all, speak kindly to them, handle them gently, and raise them from their earliest days if possible. Hens who grow up in affection become the most charming little companions of mine that anyone could wish.

Most affably yours 'til my next enchanting swim,

Lady Raquel