Saturday

Ed can't wait for mail delivery today. This guy who normally shuns and scorns items rushed to the farmhouse from Amazon is asking repeatedly if I think a package will be delivered today and if so, how soon? And when indeed it is delivered, he tears open the box and grins with satisfaction. It is the world's cheapest tripod. ($11 in case you're curious.)

Oh, we already have a tripod set up to regulate the height of the heating source over the chick box. This one is for Ed's (equally cheap) phone: he's testing a 24/7 nest cam idea. Not that watching chicks on a screen is any more exciting than watching them in person, but give Ed a technology setup opportunity and he perks up.

Me, I've fallen into the role of the caregiver (because the other caregiver in this household is a tad laidback in attending to the essentials, such as picking out poop at regular intervals). Good morning, babes! Look, it's a sunny day!






They do look. First, with a stretch...






Then with a jump...






 What's beyond that wall??






A step up from the feeding station...






How long before they can jump right out of the box? I must remind Ed to set up the next enclosure -- a bigger play area for the adventurous girls!

Breakfast in the sun room.






And yes, it is a beautifully sunny day -- skies that only the Upper Midwest can deliver on a regular basis in March!

(From behind the barn...)





One could get lost in the new chick routine. It's endlessly fascinating but ultimately, at the end of the day, you would have to admit to yourself that perhaps picking up little poops all day long isn't the best use of your time. I suppose I realized that I was a bit over the edge when on my morning run to the barn, I stopped and went to great trouble to secure just the right twig from one of our peach trees to put into the chick box for their amusement.

A few more minutes of watching them eat, drink...






... poop and nap...






... and Ed and I are off. We need a good hike! But where?

We have a novel and somewhat clever idea (at least we start off thinking it's clever): why not go to our favorite nearby hiking spot -- the Brooklyn Wildlife Area -- but approach it from the back end? Rather than hiking the Ice Age trail that runs through it, why not search for the trout stream we learned about just recently?

We study the maps and plunge into the marsh thicket. It's not easy to go off trail when hiking in these parts. It tends to be rough going and you may reach impenetrable growth at the first turn.





But, eventually we come to the trout stream. It's just lovely!





We can see the sandy bottom and I tell Ed that in a year or two, Snowdrop will surely love wading in this clear stream of water (first, she has to be tough enough to survive the hike).






We try to stick with clearings, but the fact is, it's easy to get lost here and after an hour of thrashing about, we turn back.





After all, the little chicks are waiting for my attention.

Oh! They seem content on their own!





I can't believe they're just six days old! So independent! And the feathers are coming in so quickly!

It's like watching a grandkid grow up, only at a hundred times the pace!

Speaking of grandkid, Snowdrop is with up tonight and she arrives with a smile on her face and a doll in her hand.






(Said doll -- Peg, from her favorite PBS show -- needs to see the chicks!)






Hi Snowdrop and Peg!





As usual, when she is here for just one night, we have a pizza party. Recently, we've been playing the game of "broccoli comes first" and as a result,  Snowdrop has grown quite fond of broccoli. Or at least she eats it because our game requires that she have affection for it. Grandmothers are such horrible manipulators.

(Look at that sunshine streaming in, even as we eat just before 7!)






Ed gets up to put away the big girls in the barn. She begs to go with him. Of course you can go, little one.





Because the ritual of putting the cheepers away is fraught with possible dangers and dramatic twists and turns, I am never quite sure how everyone will look on the return.

But, they always look like this: full of smiles and chortles and good feelings.





Goodnight, cheepers, goodnight child, goodnight little ones where ever you are...

Friday

I wake up early, go down and check on the chicks. I watch them, change the height of the lamp, change the water (which is cluttered with wood shavings, because guess what -- the little monsters are starting to scratch the "soil"), add food. And I watch.

Upstairs again -- wanting that last hour of sleep, I mutter to a stirring Ed: you know we're going to need a bigger coop.

Fully awake now, we toss the pros and cons, back and forth. It is nearly a transcript of our discussion surrounding the dining room table: Ed asks -- can't we make do with what's there?  Don't rush to buy the latest, best model.

Still, as I list the cons of making do -- we'd be crowding them (they like sleeping side by side!), there aren't enough nesting boxes (they can share!), the winter, when they stay there longer, may get on their nerves (we probably wont have all six around by next winter!), etc. -- Ed is starting to waver.

Unfortunately, he tells me, you're making some good points. Can we just wait and see?

The wait and see approach is not one I embrace in the best of circumstances. In this case, I point out that if the weather is nice, they may be going out in less than two months. And it takes time to find, order and build a hen house.

In the meantime, the innocent chicks just do their thing: eat, drink, poop and sleep. But when they startle, they jump up high! These girls will be flying in no time!

For now, quiet reigns.






And little Cupcake, the one too in love with eating, finds a perfect spot to rest...






We eat breakfast in their company, meaning in the sun room.






And then Ed has work meetings and I have groceries to get and the little cheeps are left to fend and the big girls walk the farmette land and look for places where the soil is moist and rich with the best that life has to offer.






In the afternoon, Snowdrop is with us of course and yes, she loves her visits with Cupcake, Pepper and Tomato. No handling yet. We're all getting used to each other.






The three babes watch her as she cavorts around their small home.






Happy chickens, happy girl. All's right with the world!






(This calls for a story!)






As Snowdrop launches into a tale that involves the purchase of macarons, I hear words such as "expensive" floating around. Time to give her a wallet with (toy) money and a credit card. I tell her she can now buy the expensive macaron. I finish off with a strong statement about the need to have money in the bank, earned with hard work before flying loose with the credit card, but I think that part was lost on her.






Evening. Over a steaming bowl of red lentils, Ed tells me -- I've thought of a solution to our coop problem: I'll build an addition to the existing structure!

For nearly every problem there is a modest solution. One acceptable to both of us. I write this sitting at the simple yet beautiful table added to our kitchen just a few weeks back.

getting used to the young ones

It's five in the morning. Dark and quiet.
I'm going to go check on the cheepers. He means the little girls, now waking up to their second day at the farmhouse.
I was just thinking of doing that, but I'm afraid they're not alright!
They're fine -- he shouts up from the sun room.

Ten minutes later I shout down: what are you doing?
Sitting and watching them.

And so we have two chairs pulled close to the little blue box where they now reside. We're too old to plop down willingly on the floor, but we think it's perfectly fine to sit in chairs for a long long while staring at baby chickens.




I suppose it's that early brush with new life. You tend to stare at babies too when they first pop out. Count fingers, admire the crease in the little fist... Though in this case, we're more likely to laugh at a funny stretch of a chicken leg or comment on who is getting bigger faster (it appears to be the aptly named Cupcake who eats like there's no tomorrow).






Breakfast, set in the sunny sun room.






And then Ed rushes off to the Social Security Office. It is the month of Social Security drama for us. Yesterday he learned that someone had used hacked information (think Equifax breach) to try to apply for retirement and disability benefits as Ed. All straightened out now, but uff, what a pain!

In the afternoon, I interrupt my spotty writing and my constant chicken watching... (not you, girls! your little sisters!)






... to pick up Snowdrop...






... who then does her own happy baby chicken watching.






I do lure her away for our time with Brambly Hedge on the orange couch...






... and of course, necessarily, an animated story follows.












Snowdrop, it's time for us to go to your house.
Can I take my babies?
Sure...






(Ed hovers, showing off his newly purchased jacket from Farm and Fleet. Yes, it is exactly the same as his previous one, minus the tears.)






Snowdrop's mommy has a little free time and so we schedule a brisk walk -- if only to take in these early moments of spring.






We go to a lovely playground in their neighborhood. After many many minutes on the swing, Snowdrop heads for the sand play area. She tries to make the diggers work, but of course, the sand is still frozen.






The fire engine, on the other hand, bounces along in any season.






We walk along the nearby pond...






... watching the ducks, the geese, noting the incredible blue of water and sky...






At her house now, she settles in for a volume of Brambly Hedge. I admire the new sitting position: works well when mommy's growing tummy covers the lap area!






And then I drive back to the farmette. Not dark yet, but surely beautiful now in the evening light. Almost there now... Here's the silo, a sandhill crane,  here's home.






... with the three new babies. So very adorable, even when asleep.

hello, little ones

It's still dark outside. Sunrise today is at 7:11 a.m. but both Ed and I, late sleepers on any other day, are awake long before even a hint of dawn.

We should be on the road by 6:35, he reminds me, even though I need no reminders.
Breakfast afterwards, okay?
Of course.

Still, as we get ready to head out, I grab Snowdrop's leftover croissant and make myself a nice frothy cappuccino, to be devoured on the road. Years have passed since I've had coffee on the run! It brings back memories of cluttered days.

We arrive at Farm and Fleet at 6:58. Perfect!

We wait in the car, noting that we're the only ones in the parking lot.
I thought the chicken guy the other day said there would be people here to pick their favorites at 7!
Well, he was new, he was just speculating.

We walk in at 7. First customers! We head straight for the big tubs of two-day old chickens.





You've never seen anything so incredibly cute!

Buying chickens is not a one two three thing. You have to register. Name, address, phone number. And you have to select your breed. We've done our homework (and then some!). Barred Rock, Light Brahma (the most unusual of the bunch), Speckled Sussex...

These chickens are from the Cackle Hatchery in Missouri. If you have time, you may want to watch this video clip -- it describes the (3rd generation family run) business of hatching chickens. It's one of only three hatcheries in the country that will allow you to pick a breed (from a very long list) and get them delivered (and this is crucial) within two days of birth.

As I point to the cheeps of choice (that one! she's already eating! she'll do well! and that one! she looks bold but not aggressive! and this one!), I notice that other customers are indeed arriving. Mostly families. Kids, here before school starts, to pick their chicks (or ducks -- they have those too).





But like the first time chick people that we are, we're in a hurry. We've got our three in a box that sort of looks like a McDonald's Happy Meal. They mustn't get cold! (Never mind that they've already traveled in trucks on a not too warm March night and seem to have survived just fine.)

Home at last. We put them in.


 


They are sort of in shock. For a few minutes. And then they're sort of asleep -- a great antidote to stress. And then they're just plain cute! Tomato (brown), Pepper (black) and Cupcake (yellow). Names selected by Snowdrop, with some exercise of veto power and a light steer from me.





Predictably, I sit, staring at them in fascination and I worry. Ed! The thermometer says 102F (39C)! It keeps going up!
Raise the light (Ed has attached the heating light to a tripod).
But why does it keep going up?
Because the room is warmer. -- he says in that tone that implies "I can't believe I have to explain that to you."
But now it's too warm! And Pepper keeps falling asleep next to the water. Her head may roll in and she'll drown. They warn you about that. I'm going to switch the dish.

They don't like the switched dish.

I switch back.

Ed, are they sleeping too much?
I don't know, gorgeous...

Ah, but when they cheep their delicate little cheeper cheeps, it's like Mozart playing in there! (And indeed, when I hum a Mozart tune, they perk up and look at me with expectation... I write this in the evening, during the live broadcast of the Wisconsin Young Artists Competition and Pepper must surely be hearing it because she is soloing like crazy in the sun room!)





And so begins our baby chick adventure. Can we keep them going for a whole two months inside? We're surely going to try.


Breakfast at last!






And in the afternoon, I go to pick up a very excited Snowdrop! Her friend asks -- can she play in the park? Not today, pal. Not today.






We have only a scant half hour at the farmhouse before dance class. Snowdrop is mesmerized by the little cheeper antics!
Oh, they are babies!






I had warned her that for the first couple of days we cannot play with them. They need to adjust. Snowdrop doesn't mind. She is content just watching.






We take a break for a snack and a read. This is our unwind time. A day cannot proceed without that moment on the orange couch.






And now it's time to go to dance. One last minute with Tomato, Pepper and Cupcake!






We're at the studio. Ready!


















As I watch the little one from behind the one way window, I really have to admire her for fitting in so well in this world of bigger girls. She doesn't pick up on all the little pieces of the big girl puzzle, but she does pick up on a lot. She is a wonderful observer of the human condition!






And is a beautiful dancer in her own rendition of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Whatever version of the story was presented to the little ballerinas, I'm glad it included a lot of happy dances.











Evening. Ed is playing volley ball, I'm babysitting the chicks. That means I get up every two minutes to make sure they haven't drowned or (inadvertently) destroyed each other. My reward? A happy trio and a string of lovely notes. Especially from Pepper. The loud one.