On Chick Starter and Other Beginnings


One Foot in the CityThe longing for seasonal change must be some form of anxiety Midwesterners have after the winter from the Great North, for we are indeed anxious for a change in temperatures, a snow-free week and anything that is green.

My own symbol for the long awaited season is the sign that appeared in front of the farm supply store this week. “Chicks for Sale.”

Chicks for sale

Hallelujah! I raced inside and there they were, inside stock tanks and under heat lamps. There was also a fence around the tanks and signs that warned us to stay off the fence. To add still another insult – a store employee was watching the chick area. What was I gonna do, grab one and cuddle it? (Well, alright, so maybe I would have, but you know, we all need a little cuddle therapy once in a while.)

Hens cluckin

I grew up on a Kansas “homestead,” as we like to call them these days. My dad farmed and worked a full-time job, but my mother stayed home, tending livestock, chickens and kids. There were three buildings dedicated to raising chickens. Each spring the chicks arrived by mail, cheeping and poking their little heads out the quarter-sized holes.

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