Chapter 11: The Girls Come Home
1308 Words
Saturday morning was Christmas.
Except there were no gifts.
Because today, after months of planning, preparing, painting, measuring, and hoping…
They brought home chickens.
—
The youngest had been awake since six.
“Mom!”
Becca cracked one eye open.
“What time is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why are you awake?”
“Because today’s Chicken Day.”
Becca chuckled into her pillow.
“I believe it is.”
“Can we go now?”
“The farm doesn’t even open for another three hours.”
The youngest exaggerated a huff and sighed.
“They should change that.”
—
The Drive
Craig rolled into the driveway just before nine.
He had even washed his truck.
A large pet carrier in the bed beside bags of chicken feed and pine shavings.
His feet hit the pavement as he wore an old baseball cap low over his eyes.
“Morning.”
The youngest bolted toward him.
“It’s the day!”
Craig chuckled softly.
“I have noticed.”
The oldest climbed into the backseat.
“I brought the list.”
“What list?”
She held up a sheet of notebook paper.
“The rules for owning chickens.”
Craig raised an eyebrow.
“You made rules?”
“I researched online.”
He nodded slowly.
“Good research.”
The middle child hovered next to him.
“I still say we need to name one Nugget.”
Craig pretended to ponder the question.
“I think every family has at least one child that likes to inflict emotional trauma.”
“I don’t!” yelled all three kids at once.
“You want to name a chicken Nugget.”
Laughter filled the truck.
—
The Farm
The family farm was small and sat just outside of town.
White fences lined acres with green pasture.
A red barn stood tall in the distance.
They could hear chickens clucking before they even parked the truck.
The youngest gaped when their car rolled down the drive.
“This is heaven.”
Craig nodded.
“I think you’re right.”
A cheerful older woman with wrinkles around her eyes walked toward them.
“Y’all must be here for laying hens.”
Becca grinned.
“That would be us.”
Martha nodded toward the children.
“I hope you’re ready.”
“We’ve been ready for months,” piped up the youngest.
Martha clucked and ushered them toward the chicken coop.
Once they arrived, dozens of hens pecked around a spacious pen.
Buff Orpingtons. Barred Rocks. Rhode Island Reds. Australorps.
Becca stared wide-eyed at her future flock.
“They’re beautiful.”
Craig stole his gaze from the chickens to look at her.
“You’ve wanted these since you were fourteen.”
She glanced over at him, eyes not leaving the coop.
“I know.”
“I think we’re way overdue.”
Picking The Girls
Everyone got to pick one favorite that they wanted to bring home.
The oldest settled on a gentle Buff Orpington.
“She just looks sweet.”
Middle kiddo grabbed an adventurous Barred Rock.
“She has spunk.”
Craig laughed.
“I could tell.”
The youngest pointed forcefully.
“I want THAT ONE.”
Over in the corner proudly stood the tiniest Reds of Rhode Island, staring right back up at them.
Martha winked at her.
“She is fearless.”
The youngest beamed.
Perfect.
Martha turned to Becca. “And which chicken will it be for you?”
She scanned the coop carefully.
Her eyes landed on a lavender hen, quietly stepping aside as bigger chickens tried to bump past her.
She wasn’t hiding. She just seemed at peace to observe everything around her.
“I think…”
Becca smiled.
…” I want that one.”
Craig stared at their new chicken for a moment.
“She kind of reminds me of you.”
“Huh?”
“Calm.”
“Observant.”
“Quiet strength.”
Becca laughed.
“You think chickens have personalities already?”
“Absolutely.”
—
Naming Them
The ride home consisted of arguing over potential names.
“Nugget.”
“No way.”
“She could be Biscuit.”
“Or Daisy.”
“What about Lavender?”
Becca grinned.
“I love Lavender.”
Craig sighed in agreement.
“She is Lavender.”
By the time they pulled up into the driveway, all four hens had names.
Daisy.
Lavender.
Biscuit.
And despite grumbling about it for weeks…
Even Craig had conceded to…
Nugget.
“I can’t believe you let that one stick.”
Craig mock-mourned his loss.
“I’ve come to the realization that I’m outnumbered.”
Setup
Slowly, the three kids carried each chicken into the coop one at a time.
The chickens nervously inspected everything.
Lavender immediately jumped into a nesting box.
Biscuit explored every nook and cranny, sniffing all around.
Daisy jumped onto the perch.
But Nugget stalked around the ground, proud as if she were ruling the land.
The youngest giggled.
“She’s already our leader.”
Craig crossed his arms stubbornly.
“I could have told you that.”
The Bench
A few hours later, the kids had long since skipped away.
Bringing home chickens was only the start of their weekend projects.
It was late afternoon, and Craig surprised Becca yet again.
“I got one more thing to show you.”
He steered her toward the old oak tree in their yard.
Tucked beneath a tarp was an old wooden bench Craig had built.
Simple. Classic.
He used cedar and carved daisies into the backrest where she could lean.
Becca gasped.
“You built this for me?”
“A little help.”
Her eyes darted over to her children.
All three of them grinned from ear to ear.
“We sanded it out.”
“We stained it.”
“We picked out where it went.”
Craig shrugged, ears turning red.
“I just knew…”
He glanced over in the direction of the chicken coop.
…” that you would be out here watching them.”
Tears sprang into her eyes. Not from the gift, but everything that had led to it.
The First Egg Isn’t the Miracle
The sun dipped below the tree line, and the four of them sat on the bench admiring their work.
Kids played in the yard nearby. Neighbors waved as they walked their dogs.
The chickens clucked softly in their enclosed run.
“What time will we get eggs?” the youngest wondered.
A phrase kept ringing in Becca’s head.
“Probably won’t be for a few weeks.”
“I wanted eggs for breakfast tomorrow.”
Craig chuckled.
“They need time to adjust.”
The girl plopped down against him.
“Okay…”
Becca took it all in as dusk fell across the yard.
Where once was nothing…
Now grew flowers.
Where once was an empty slab of grass.
Now sat a beautiful coop.
Inside that coop?
Four curious chickens.
Plus, one beautiful bench.
And three children spent their weekend with their Daddy.
Learning. Laughing. Living.
She knew in that moment…
The miracle wouldn’t be the first egg they pulled from the nesting box.
No.
The miracle had already occurred.
It was every Saturday morning after that which wouldn’t feel like something she just scraped by.
As night crept over the yard, Craig’s hand found hers.
She rested her head on his shoulder, watching her family.
Birds roosted themselves for the night.
Outside light turned on automatically.
Crickets began to chirp.
And life, at last, felt normal again.
But it hadn’t magically happened overnight.
Peace came piece by piece.
Conversation by conversation.
Day by day.
Until suddenly.
She looked around and realized she wasn’t just building a coop.
She was building a life.
- Writer
