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. 🤩