“It’s hard to impress me with chicken.”

It’s hard to impress me. With chickens? It may as well be the easiest thing in the world. When I first arrived in the valley, the very first thing I wanted to have on my farm besides crops for the spring was a glorious little chicken coop.

I remember visiting my grandpa on his farm when I was a child, years and years ago when everything made sense. I loved the swaying green fields and the trees in the distance, and the glittering pond off to the side of all the growing crops. But, what I always loved the most were the chickens.

They were half my height at the time covered with fluffy vanilla or chocolate feathers. They clucked softly when I would pet them. I have many memories of chasing them around the farm on days where the sun shined, and laying flat on the dirty coop floor as they walked over me and nipped at my limbs when the rain poured down outside. I was always so happy there on my grandpa’s farm, but I always had to return to the city eventually. Not anymore.

It was grief and loss that brought me back, but it was joy that made me stay. The farm and my heart were both a mess at first, neglected and crumbling. I threw myself into it, working faster and harder than I ever knew I could and, within only a few weeks, I was the proud owner of four tiny baby chickens.

When I brought them home to their freshly-erected coop, I felt that old, forgotten spark returning, filling my chest with warmth. So much has changed over the years, but it will never be hard to impress me with chickens.