Page 43 of Till The Cows Come Home

Sage

Four Years Later

I crouched in front of the incubator, feeling the tension of tiny hands pulling on my overalls. The chicks were due anyday, so I wasn’t surprised when the shrill screams of my favorite toddler approached me after noticing pipping in a few of the eggs.

“I swear I saw it, Auntie Sage.”

“I believe you, Asher,” I whispered, and a moment later we watched one of the eggs jolt from the commotion inside.

“See!” he whispered as best he could, but he practically screamed in my ear.

“Why don’t we get a hold of our friends?” I chuckled. “That way no one misses their chicks hatching.”

Asher was at the barn more than not, and for the past two or three days he sat in my classroom, eyes glued to the incubator.

We had a calendar marked on day twenty-one, the predicted due date, and he insisted on crossing each day off.

As we grew nearer, he couldn’t handle the excitement in his tiny body, so he used his energy to guard the chicks, watching carefully for signs of hatching.

“Can we call Uncle Jack too?”

“Yes,” I chuckled, “We can call Uncle Jack.”

As Miles and I’s relationship progressed we spent more and more time with Ruby, which then turned into time with Ali and Asher, and Ruby being Ruby made Uncle Lumberjack stick, Uncle Jack for short.

Miles welcomed it with grace, though, smitten with Asher’s baby voice each time the words left his mouth.

I sent out a group text to all the parents before dialing Miles, who was picking up fencing at the hardware store to finish up the expanded coop.

“Hello, pretty girl.”

“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 championed it, 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.

As if signaled, a domino of hatching ensued, and the children mindfully arranged themselves to ensure the owner of the egg could see the hatching.

I couldn’t help the tears that followed as I watched the majority of the kids experience the same moment that made me fall in love with farming.

I’d made little coloring sheets for the kids to draw a picture of the chick once it hatched, and every single kid was doodling away except one.

Asher. He stood at his post, vigilant as ever, staring at his egg that hadn’t moved an inch.

“Hi buddy,” I said, crouching down, and as I got to his level his entire little body rested on my side.

“It’s not hatching, Auntie Sage.”

“What do we know, buddy? An egg incubates for approximately twenty-one days. There’s still hope. It may just be that your little chick is extra special and needs a little more time to grow.”

“What if it never hatches, though? ”

“Then we try again, sweetheart.” I had extra eggs, a few that had pips, but I knew Asher didn’t want mine, he wanted his own. “Do you want to ask mom if we can have a sleepover? That way we can try and make sure you don’t miss it?”

“You mean it?”

“Of course I do.”

Before I even had a chance to stand Asher took off towards Ruby and Ali, undoubtedly begging them to let him stay. When Ruby sauntered towards me, eyebrows narrowed, my suspicions were confirmed.

“Asher just asked us if he could stay with Auntie Sage and Uncle Jack. He said you guys were going to stay up all night and watch his chick.”

“Asher!” I playfully scolded, but the toddler just maniacally giggled back.

Turning back to Ruby, I sighed before beginning my responsible Auntie spiel.

“No, we will not be staying up all night. Well he won't. I’m sure I’ll be on a twenty-four hour chick watch.

He on the other hand will be tucked in at bedtime, pajamas on with teeth brushed.

If the chick hatches at two in the morning though, I’ll be waking him up, and my admission to that fact should ease your concerns. ”

“Ali?”

“I’m not even going to attempt to say no to this.” She sighed, Asher dangling off her leg.

Ruby turned back towards me. “Fine. I’ll pick him up in the morning.”

I’d hoped that the chick would hatch before Asher went to bed, or better yet sometime tomorrow, but as if I jinxed myself, at two on the dot the egg began to move.

“Dammit,” I muttered.

Ten minutes later, Asher and Miles had joined me, and we all hovered again around the incubator.

In the time it had taken me to walk inside and wake them, a pip had formed, and as we approached, the egg was still wobbling around as if the chick had realized all its friends had woken without it.

Miles pulled up chairs and Asher crawled into my lap, wrapped in a blanket as he watched the progress.

A few minutes later the pip expanded, and Asher jumped from my lap to watch the tiny bird emerge.

We stood, Miles taking my hand in his, and I watched the moment Asher became enamored.

I listened as he gushed to Miles about how pretty his chick was, and I felt the love that radiated through the space as Miles matched his enthusiasm.

It wasn’t ever the farm I needed. What I truly craved was a life that could emit the type of happiness that people could only wish for, and I was living it.

“What are you going to name it, buddy?”

“Blueberry. Kinda like Peaches, but blueberries are my favorite, not peaches.”

“It’s perfect.”

And in that moment, everything was.