I practice Leave No Trace on the trail: I pack out my banana peels, I stay on the path, I have opinions about people who stack rocks. At home, it's a different story. We have eleven hens and a rooster named Frank, and between them they have left a trace on nearly every surface we own. The grill. The garage, which we open just a few times a year. The front porch, which has a gate specifically to keep them out.
And the welcome mat. The one that literally says "Welcome." They took that very personally. My husband found it on the grill first. And he said, “I love the chickens, but the poop…”
What Leave No Trace is really about
If you spend time outdoors, you probably know the seven Leave No Trace principles, or at least the gist. Pack it in, pack it out. Leave what you find. Be considerate of others. Most of us treat them like trail rules. They switch on at the trailhead sign and switch off somewhere around the parking lot. But underneath all seven is one simple idea: someone comes after you. The chickens don't know that, they're chickens! They have no concept of the next person, and they definitely have no idea anyone was planning to grill.
We're all a little bit chicken
Here's the uncomfortable part: most of us are the chickens more often than we'd like to admit (not with poop, hopefully). But with all the little traces we leave without noticing, who has to deal with them? The shopping cart left in the middle of the lot because the corral is all the way over there. The dishes "soaking" in the sink for a second day. The last paper towel, used and not replaced. The shared doc with no notes, or the project handed off with a cheerful "you'll figure it out." None of it is malicious. That's what makes it so chicken. It's not bad behavior; it's just not noticing.
Leave No Trace in everyday life
The good news is that the principles translate pretty well off the trail.
Pack it in, pack it out. Finish what you start, including the boring cleanup at the end that nobody sees. If you opened it, close it. If you started it, wrap it up or hand it off properly.
Leave what you find. Not everything needs your improvements. If it isn't yours, and it's working, maybe let it be.
Be considerate of others. Your mess is someone else's Monday. Before you walk away from something, take two seconds and picture the next person who's going to touch it.
I think about this a lot in my work with small businesses, honestly. Most of the headaches I see aren't dramatic. They're traces. A process that lives in one person's head. A booking system that works fine as long as you know the trick. Cleaning those up isn't glamorous, but it's what makes a place feel welcoming to whoever walks in next.
Back to the welcome mat
I’m constantly hosing down the welcome mat. I'll probably never get the chickens on board. But I'd like to be the kind of person whose welcome actually means something. Where the next person walks into something good, not something they have to hose off.
Leave no trace. Even at home. Especially on the grill.
