Don’t count your chickens before they hatch!
Peanut, No!” I screamed as he chased the chicken. Five dogs were hot on Peanut’s trail. And feathers were flying. I was running as fast as I could to keep up with “Mr. P.” He spotted Mr. Morton pecking along the fence and took off for the chase. He trailed him down the path and into the woods. I had been practicing with my lariat rope when the scene unfolded. Swinging my rope with all my might, I batted off the dogs one by one, losing my balance, I slid down the embankment. Quickly gathering myself and prying Mr. Morton from the jaws of Peanut. Thankfully, only feathers were lost in the event. I found Mr. Morton in the back of the chicken yard; both of us were breathing heavily from the excitement. I stared. And he stared. “See, I told you about breaching that perimeter. Next time you’ll listen.”
Driving the old truck down the road to get fresh farm eggs from my neighbor, the windows were down, and the fresh air was meeting us on the inside. The kids were piled next to me on the full seat across the cab. Tyson standing next to me, and the girls beside the passenger door; not a seatbelt in sight. The old truck runs really deep. I eased up the drive and parked. My neighbor had family visiting from California (I’m sure I was a sight in my barn clothes, cap, and boots). Before I could say a word, her relative started in, “This country life isn’t for me. Too many trees and farms. I need the city.” I stared in bewilderment, then asked if she minded opening the truck door for me, “It sticks badly from the inside. Go ahead and pull hard.” It was as if I had given her another reason to like the city.
In my purchase of fresh eggs, my neighbor asked if I was interested in her old chicken coop. She was selling it and knew I was interested in getting chickens.
“The cost of a chicken coop will be offset by the responsibility and involvement of your kids in the cleaning, caring, and tending of the chickens, Sis. And when the kids get their first egg, pure enjoyment will be attached to it.”
It wasn’t long until the coop made its way to our home. Our neighbors came and helped us unload the coop and get it to its new home. We placed two-by-fours under the coop, which made it easier to lift. Chuck was on the opposite side of me. With everyone in position, the command was given to lift! I did. But I was no match for Chuck. As he lifted, I was knocked down into the coop, and my board twisted out of my hands. Down went the coop. I knew he was strong, but being on the receiving end of his strength was reaffirming.
Before they left, my neighbor asked me which brooder I wanted to borrow from hers: the commercial-grade or her standard brooder? Tempted, but I settled with, “I may be a glutton for punishment, but it seems to defeat my purpose if I get a machine that does all the care for the chickens and my children do nothing? “She smiled and said, “I was hoping you felt that way.”
In early spring, baby chicks arrived, accompanied by tiny peeps and heat lamps, as we cared for a handful of them. The girls began naming them. Fluffy, Grammy, Silky, and Mr. Morton.
“Pa, we got chickens!” The girls told my dad in the morning. “And we named one Grammy for Grammy!” My mother laughed at her namesake. Dad quietly told me, “Go ahead and get a half dozen in the brooder behind them, you’re gonna need ’em.”
Springtime came in full swing with the smell of honeysuckle and the beauty of the dogwoods. The sun was warm on my back as we worked. Chuck didn’t want chickens. He couldn’t see the reason I needed them. Yet, he tirelessly worked for what was important to me.
He was thrilled to be digging holes and running fencing for yet another one of my dreams. He wonders why my dreams sometimes include his back. I encourage him.
I mentioned to my neighbor while caring for the little chicks that we were going to get some established hens so we could get eggs right away. She cautioned, “Don’t turn them all out together. If you do, the hens will kill the chicks. There must be a slow introduction process so the hens learn that the chicks are part of the flock. There is still a hierarchy, a pecking order if you will.”
Ladies, we are no match for the strength of a man. His shoulders are made to withstand our dreams, our troubles, and our weaknesses, yea even our chicken coops. God designed a pecking order for a reason. It is under the man’s covering that the woman finds the grace and strength to carry on (Ephesians 5:23).
The day arrived when the chickens could finally enter their new coop. I enjoyed watching them peck around very much. Except in the evenings, they would enter their chicken house and sit on the floor instead of climbing to their roosts, which we had built for them. Every night, the same thing. I asked my neighbor what I was doing wrong. She smiled, “Nothing. It’s because they have no one to show them how.” I stood there nodding as she spoke. What a concept.
These chickens sat on the floor of their coop with perfectly good roosts going unused, all because no one showed them the way. “All it takes is one,” she continued. “Once one finds its way, the rest will follow.” We all need a leader, someone to show us the way. Our children are counting on us to show them the way.
We have watched the hens grow and the roosters become territorial. The girls grab their egg basket every afternoon and can’t wait to open the hen boxes to collect their golden eggs. When Mr. Morton does his side pass dance over next to me, I shove Eva out in front of me and grab my stick (wink).
I know there are mansions in heaven for those that are His, but I wonder if He may know me best. I would much prefer a house down an old dirt road where the creek meanders by and the birds sing. Where horses can be seen grazing and chickens peck the ground.
“Marilla, I wasn’t born for city life. And I am glad of it. It’s nice to be eating ice cream at brilliant restaurants at 11 o’clock at night once in a while, but as a regular thing, I’d rather be in the East Gable at eleven o’clock sound asleep, but kind of knowing even in my sleep that the stars were shining outside and the wind was blowing across the brook. – Anne of Green Gables
It was our anniversary. The pool leaked almost empty, Tyson pooed in the tub, and the vacuum belt broke. I ate cold pork chops and salad. Sitting at the kitchen table that evening, I could see Chuck pulling all kinds of unwanted materials from inside the vacuum cleaner. I thought about all the extra work he does just for me; all the projects and the “Mr. Fix-it” I may cause him. I thanked God for the man whose shoulders could withstand all of my dreams, even if he didn’t want the chickens.
By them the birds of the heavens have their home they sing among the branches. Psalms 104:12
