Family Personal

My Chicks Have Come Home to Roost

All my chicks are home, figuratively and literally.

My neighborhood is full of grown children that are home from college and elsewhere, sheltering in place and strolling in the sunshine with their parents. Who would have thought that in January, when I was renovating the carriage house in my backyard, it would soon be occupied by son Jack, forced to move home from college because of a world-wide pandemic?

After a month of isolation in Ohio – and upon my urging – I finally convinced Jack to drive home to Arkansas. I must say, as the proverbial ‘mother hen,’ it’s been nice to have all four of my grown chicks back home in Little Rock.

Chickens Return to the Homestead

Speaking of little chicks: this Spring, the family decided to band together and raise hens again. It’s been years since any scratching and laying went on in that corner of the yard, and we have missed the fresh eggs.

The first time we had chickens was years ago, when the kids were still in high school. At the time, they were so excited at the prospect of this odd breed of pets living with us that they spent the week working alongside us to build the pen and chicken house. It was a great learning experience in carpentry skills, the science of chickens (there is a pecking order), and in the responsibility of caring for another living creature.

Coincidentally, the kids leaving home eerily coincided with the chicken’s natural end of life. They all flew the coup at the same time.

And now…the cycle begins again. All my chicks are home, figuratively and literally. As of this writing, there are eight baby chicks living and growing in a box in my den. The power tools and sawhorses are out, drawing the family together for the process of cleaning up and resurrecting the over-grown chicken coop. We can all draw comfort in remembering the cyclical nature of life; the more things change, the more they remain the same.