When Dreams Come Home to Roost!
How Sixty Chickens Filled My Life With Love, Joy, and Deep Connection
When I was about five years old, I had my first flock of Bantam chickens. Tiny, fluffy, and endlessly adorable, they were my world. I loved them with the pure heart of a child who sees no separation between herself and the small creatures in her care. Every day, I would jump off the bus and run to the brooder to see them. Truly, I couldn’t stop thinking about them.
But life, as it often happens, is not so pretty. One day, the neighbor’s dog broke into our run, and in a single, heartbreaking afternoon, I lost all of them. The devastation wasn’t just in the loss itself. It was in the helplessness, the feeling that something so beautiful could be taken away so quickly. HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN? I can still remember the look on my mother’s face as she decided that there would be no more chickens. She couldn’t bear the risk, the heartbreak, the weight of it happening again. My father didn’t even try to change her mind. It was done.But even then, as sad and angry as I was, I distinctly remember saying, One day, I will have chickens again.
Fast forward through the years. School, growing up, and all the life in between. That small, determined seed inside me never withered. It simply waited. And when the time was right, it bloomed. Building a boutique farm filled with chickens, vegetables, and flowers became not just a dream, but a return to a part of myself that had been patiently waiting. It was like finding a secret garden that had been locked away in my heart, just waiting for the right key.
When we brought home our first new chickens, I imagined maybe a dozen. Enough to fill the yard with some beautiful girls. Enough to gather fresh eggs in a basket and experience their quirky personalities again, the ones that had lived in my memory for so long. But there is this thing called chicken math… and oh, chicken math is real. What starts as a few turns into a dozen, then two dozen, and before you know it, you’re looking around and realizing you have sixty feathery souls depending on you. They brighten your life in ways you never knew you needed.
Every morning, stepping into the yard feels like walking into a world apart. A world where the simple act of scattering feed or refilling a water bowl becomes a meditation. Where tiny feathered feet patter around you in excitement, and curious little beaks tug at your shoelaces. Joy doesn’t quite describe what they bring to me. I’m really not even sure I could describe this emotion in one simple word. The clumsy way they waddle after treats, the unique squawk of a hen announcing she has laid her egg, the quiet hum of contentment as they nestle together under a tree in the afternoon sun. It really is a state of nirvana. My nirvana isn’t flashy. It’s stitched into the smallest, most ordinary moments. It’s a quiet, steady heartbeat reminding me that life’s greatest treasures are usually the simplest ones.
The act of caring for sixty chickens isn’t just a task. It’s a relationship, a tapestry of tiny acts of love. It’s checking on them during storms. It’s noticing who’s acting a little off and needs an extra eye. It’s worrying when you hear a strange noise at night and breathing easier when you count every head before you close them up each night. Each chicken has her own personality. The bold, the shy, the bossy, the sweet. Loving them means seeing them as individuals, not just a flock. It means showing up every day, no matter the weather, because they trust you to. And in that simple, steadfast love, I have found a deep peace. A peace I think that little five-year-old me would recognize and smile at.
This little farm, this not-so-accidental army of chickens, has not only reconnected me with the earth but also with myself. It has made me feel part of something bigger, something timeless, something that whispers, "This is what you were meant to do." The chickens remind me every day to live with my hands in the soil and my heart wide open. They remind me that even after heartbreak, new life can flourish. That love and loss are woven into the same beautiful story. And if you’re brave enough to keep your heart open, it will lead you to something even more wonderful than you ever imagined.
Sixty chickens later, my life is full in a way that words can barely capture.
It’s full of laughter, love, muddy boots, early mornings, quiet nights, and a kind of joy that comes not from having everything perfect, but from loving deeply, tending carefully, and living wholeheartedly.
And every single day, I thank that little girl inside me for never letting go of her dream.
Many blessings,
Kim
