This morning, we said goodbye to Louise.
Not “just a chicken.” Not just a silly bird. Louise was a protector, a feathery little bodyguard who watched our yard like she paid the property taxes. The kind of girl who gave side-eye to hawks and humans alike. You felt safer knowing she was on patrol.
And then, like life often does, it didn’t ask permission. It just… changed.
So what do you do when your coop feels quieter than it should? When you instinctively count heads and come up one short? When the sun still rises but a little spark of it feels like it’s missing?
You cry. You remember. You tell stories.
And, if you’re us, you drive to Bomgaars with your heart still cracked open and leaking, and find yourself surrounded by tiny chirps, warm heat lamps, and signs that say “Pullets – Straight Run – babies!”
There’s no replacing Louise. But there is something beautifully full-circle about meeting new life in the wake of loss. Chicks peep like tiny hope machines, flopping around with zero clue how healing they really are.
We picked up a few (😉) new fluffballs today. They won’t know Louise, but they’ll grow up under her legacy. We’ll teach them the same way we taught her, with treats, wing scratches, and a firm “no” to the great escapes!
Grief and joy, it turns out, can share a brooder and a coop.
So here’s to Louise.
And here’s to soft beginnings.
To the cycle of feathers and feelings.
And to everyone who’s ever cried in a farm store and still left with hope in a cardboard box. 🐥
Today we welcomed to the family: Phoenix, Raven, Mary Catherine, Sacagawea, Avril, Magdelin, Laverne, and Shirley.
Stay tuned for pictures!
Yard 2 Yield! 