The Last Few Years Sucked The Joy Out Of Life – Then My Wife Gave Me An Ultimatum That Changed Everything

<div><img src="https://img.huffingtonpost.com/asset/68f6c0be1800001628e8ecdf.jpg?cache=Uv1dXHyZPG&ops=scalefit_630_noupscale" alt="The author with a bounty of eggs." data-caption="The author with a bounty of eggs." data-credit-link-back="" data-credit="Photo Courtesy OF Justin Cox" />The author with a bounty of eggs.</div><div class="content-list-component text"><p><span style="font-weight:400">“If you move me back to the South, I want chickens.”</span></p><p><span style="font-weight:400">The words came like spitfire from my wife’s mouth.</span></p><p><span style="font-weight:400">She held my gaze like a gunslinger. </span></p><p><span style="font-weight:400">“Of course,” I said. She’d had chickens on her mind since Vermont. </span></p><p><span style="font-weight:400">That was five years ago, when I’d uprooted her and our new baby. I’m an ordained minister, and we’d left North Carolina so that I could take my first call at a church tucked away in the Green Mountains. We loved the snow. We loved the cold. We loved Ben &amp; Jerry’s ice cream and Bernie Sanders, but we couldn’t adapt to the feeling of isolation. </span></p><p><span style="font-weight:400">When the next baby came, we named her after a Gilmore girl. We moved to Connecticut, where there were more hospitals, amenities and a salary increase for our growing family. </span></p><p><span style="font-weight:400">Still, we struggled to adapt to our new surroundings.</span></p><p><span style="font-weight:400">“What if we went back South?” I asked. A church had reached out with the invitation to bring us home. </span></p><p><span style="font-w