Sometimes I forget I live on a farm. Oh sure, I have chickens wandering in the back door on an almost daily basis, pigs eyeing me like a fresh baked pie, hay dust in the backseat of my car, and the assorted smells of a working farm wafting through the air...but yeah, sometimes I still forget. Then something miraculous happens that reminds me why I moved here.  And how much I love it.

Saturday morning the hubby and I headed out to the coop to collect the daily eggs and roust the brooding hen out to eat before her chicks were due.  Hubby opened the door and yelled, "Oh no!" He said our mama chicken had been taken, likely by a fox, and all that was left of her eggs were the shells.

I nearly cried on the spot. I'd been so proud of our chicken for being such a good mama, raising her three little ones over the winter, then sitting on a new clutch of eggs this spring. ​I was heartbroken that she was gone.

And then my hubby yelled, "There she is! And she has babies with her!"​

Our little mama was coming around the back of the pig pen, eight fuzzy chicks trailing behind her as they made their way around the yard. It was the most exciting thing I'd seen in ages. ​Five little black chicks and three yellow. Babies...born right here on the farm.

We moved quickly to collect the chicks and their mama before any harm could befall them--the yard is a dangerous place for tiny babies--setting them up in a temporary pen until we have the permanent pen finished. And then I just sat back to observe. The miracle of life is an exciting thing to behold.

Until the next time...I'll be chick watching!​

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