Page 79 of Till The Cows Come Home
“Hello. I have someone who’d like to talk to you.”
“Oh?”
“Uncle Jack!” Asher screamed into the receiver. “The chicks are hatching! Can you come home?”
“Yeah buddy, I’ll be on my way in a minute. Watch them for me until I get there?”
“Okay!” he squealed, tossing my phone in my hands before taking off towards my room.
“You better hurry.” I chuckled.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m checking out now. Did you let the other kids know?”
“Yeah, I sent out a group text.”
“Okay, let me know if anyone needs a ride, I’ll scoop them on the way.”
“Okay, thanks. Love you.”
I hung up the phone, already almost caught up with Asher, who’d pulled up a chair, taking his role as poultry police very seriously, his narrowed eyes watching the small pips like a hawk. Wheeling my own chair next to him, I sat down, and as a tiny beak popped through, my own excitement started to bubble.
I’d watched hundreds of chicks hatch, but something about seeing them emerge for the first time tugged at the strings of my heart. Maybe it was because it was one of my first experiences as a farmer, or maybe it was because it reminded me of Peaches who’d now passed, but the experience was nostalgic and I leaned into the feelings it brought along.
I heard footsteps barreling towards me and as they reached the threshold of the classroom they unleashed a wave of squeals.
“Mrs. Carver!” they screamed, surrounding me in my chair.
“Hi, guys! You’re just in time, a few of the chicks have started to poke through.”
I stood, turning towards Miles who was ushering in the last of the kids.
“Ruby is right behind me bringing the last of them. Any jailbreaks?”
“Not yet,” I chuckled, “Thank you for grabbing these guys.”
“Of course,” he hummed, bending down to kiss my cheek.
A chorus of disgust erupted from around us, disapproving of the affection, and as Ruby walked through with the next wave of kids, she of course made it worse.
“Are Mr. and Mrs. Carver smooching again?”
“Yeah!” they yelled.
“Disgusting,” she sneered, bumping her shoulder into mine.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, playfully swatting at her.
A few parents trickled through, along with Ali, and before we knew it we had fifteen kids and seven adults hovering over the incubators. A few of the chicks had broken further through, and I could tell the kids were minutes away from experiencing one of my first memories. Each egg was marked with initials that corresponded with the kiddo that championedit, and the chick closest to fully hatching belonged to a little girl named Bridget.
“Bridget,” I whispered, motioning her over to me.
She was a quiet kid, and if you didn’t pay attention she’d fade to the background. Even though it was her chick that was hatching she was in the back, peeking through the kids in front of her, and there was no way I’d allow her to miss this experience. She shuffled towards me, and as she got a full view of her egg, I could see the excitement start to bubble.
“It’s coming out,” she whispered, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
And she was right, a few moments later the chick exploded through the cracks along the egg. A chorus of muffled laughter erupted as the broken bit of the shell balanced atop the chick's head, as if it was wearing a tiny hat.
“Shh.” I chuckled, and the kids responded with hands over their mouths, adorably attempting to quiet themselves.
