I’m not sure I will ever quite get over the “how cool is that?!?” factor of loading up before breakfast to run down to the post office and pick up a box of chicks.
It’s one of those few, enduring “Little House” moments of farming that’s so quaint, so perfect, you feel like you’ve stepped back in time.
Yesterday morning, just as I had put on a huge skillet of hash browns, my cell rang. “Y’all’s chicks are up here.” Jack took over the breakfast, I grabbed a selection of kids, and we were off.
Did I mention it’s been really, really cold?
We live something like one minute and twenty eight seconds from the post office. Mary Hannah did the honors. She said the whole building seemed to be alive with peeping. I bet the postal employees around here
hate love spring.
The small people who had been chosen to do the ride along were eager to peek through the air holes at our noisy little friends.
Then, we jetted back home. The trees are in bud now and I am reminded every time I turn down our drive just how blessed I am.
Because the temperatures have barely cracked the thirties, Mathaus pulled our brooder into our “annex” (part laundry room, part school library). Good call. We opened and counted.
Twenty-eight assorted chicks, all peeping and ready to experience their first beak dip.
We stood around and oohed and ahhed for a handful of minutes, watching little yellow and red fluff balls find their footing. And then, we washed up and sat down to hashbrowns, scrambled eggs, and some beautifully percolated coffee.
Not a bad start to a day.