Farm Life

That Very First Egg Feeling

Have you ever had chickens? Nope? Me either. Quarantine made us do crazy things like buy ducks and chickens and say yes to “barn cats”. “Barn cats” = cats who live on our porch and get more attention than Sam’s fantasy football app on a Sunday in November.

Ok, back to chickens..

For months we have loved on these little babies.

Sam and his buddy fixed up one of our old barns- adding cement and poles and siding to make a coop out of one section. They spent two days clearing out over grown trees and brush to give the chickens a fenced in run attached to the barn. (run = chicken playground in the fresh air outside of the indoor coop. It’s ok, I didn’t know the term either. I had to google it’s definition after we bought the chickens 😅). Sam built me nest boxes that we spray painted with the best girly colors and topped with glitter. The boys and I took shovels to scoop out trash and anything left behind from the years the space had been used as storage.

We have created morning greetings. We’ve given these gals our left over dinners and veggies and the last bit of our cereal. We have sat in their chicken run thingy singing and playing. We’ve held them and petted them and told them our daily stories. I even decorated their coop to make them feel at home.

Seems like a lot, right? I agree. Sam asked me earlier this week how old they are. I quickly responded with, “5.5 months”, like they are my human children. He was calculating when they may start giving us eggs.

Recently I’d been discouraged. As we get closer to December and super cold weather without our gals producing anything, even after all the love they’ve received, I was thinking maybe we wouldn’t get anything until spring. Lame.

But then! I got these pictures from Sam yesterday while at work.

They did it!!!! The tiny little, two legged, feathery, dinosaur-like things we’ve spent more time than we’d like to admit loving, finally gave us a present!!

Now, listen, I know I’m a little more over the top than most adults. My students have referred to me as “the good extra” in the past. No shame in my game. But this feeling! It’s like watching your kid walk for the first time. Or finally potty training your kid during quarantine and working from home. Or watching your kid run the bases at his first baseball game. Joy. Pure joy. That first egg isn’t perfect- neither is the first run around the bases or those first wobbly steps.

Today I’ll wait anxiously in the house until Sam comes back in from the barn to see if he’s carrying in any eggs. And when I see that thing in his hand I’ll probably throw myself a 30 second dance party in celebration. (side note- Sam’s become the chicken caretaker because sweet Chickaletta has turned into a hormonal, feisty rooster who freaks me out).

Happy Saturday, friends! I hope you dance like a 32 year old neighborhood gal turned farm mom who is holding her very first chicken egg. 🤩

Even Crazy Dreams Come True

When we got married my sister in law made me a book of letters written from so many important people in my life. I recently read them all through tear filled eyes and today I’m reminded of the words of one of my bridesmaids & college roommates.

The letters were full of memories and laughs and marriage advice. In her letter my roommate wrote, “marriage is what you make it”. See, she and I spent countless college hours on our couch pondering life and all it’s wonders. She was married a couple years before we were and knew these words were exactly what she needed me to hear. Years later, she’s definitely not wrong. (Thanks, Ky!) Marriage, life, all the things, are exactly what we make it.

Before we bought this house Sam and I spent an endless amount of nights on our back porch coming up with all the pros and cons of being here. One night we’d have great ideas and the next we’d talk ourselves out of everything we dreamed of the night before. We even made a list on an old cardboard box that sat in our garage. We walked past that list twice a day, every day, for two years. Sam’s level-minded self saw expenses of owning an old home and what ifs. I saw crazy ideas and babies running barefoot.

The only thing that made me nervous was if the farm would ever feel like ours. Would my family feel just as safe and welcome here as Sam’s family has always felt? Would it be ok if I changed paint colors? What if we decided to change the way something has always been done?

This weekend my family came over to celebrate life since quarantine and simply be together. The pool was filled with kids, and adults, and now has less water from a cannon ball contest. We played a pretty intense all-in family game of wiffle ball. We sat in a circle of chairs in the yard for dinner and when it got late we moved the circle to the campfire for s’mores.

In 10 short months of living here we have done all of the things I was afraid of doing. Sam has painted almost every wall in this house. The porch is never as clean as it was when we used to visit. Our care-taking of the pool isn’t quite up to par, yet. We’ve made a mess of the yard after a long night at the fire. My family has come over to visit and felt just as welcome at this little house on the prarie as Sam’s side of the family felt the next day when they came over. Friends and their tiny babes have come over to play and slipped right into place. I’ve sat on the porch on slow mornings and had glimpses of talking with Sam’s grandpa and imagined the boys walking through the garden with mine. My grandma has told me multiple times, with a smile on her face, that she can’t believe I live on a farm. Life in this house is different than it was a year ago but in so many ways I’d like to think it is the exact same as it’s always been.

This morning as I sit here on the porch listening to the ducks, and the birds, and the slow traffic far away I’m remembering my college roommate and know that our life is exactly what we’ve made it; pretty dang grand. This old yellow farmhouse, and all the endless amount of work included, is a perfectly imperfect dream I don’t ever want to wake up from. ❤️