Springtime Babies

As the calendar page flipped to March, I knew that any day, Dad would bring home baby chicks, sometimes around a thousand of them, from the hatchery in town. I was so excited and happy when I got off the school bus and Dad or Mom told me the little yellow chicks had arrived.

I would hurry to change into farm clothes and run up through the grove of trees to the brooder house. Quite often, I would find Dad already there with the babies. "Be quiet now, when you open the door," he'd say. "If there is too much noise, the chicks will run around in circles, stepping and piling up on top of one another."

Following Dad's orders, I would carefully open the door. I can still remember how quiet it was when the door was opened -- the baby chicks stopped chirping. They would be clustered together under the heater. I would stand still, waiting for them to realize that things were OK, and soon they would start chirping again. I always had to pick one up and hold it close to my face. It was so warm in its coat of fuzzy yellow feathers.

Dad always told us that the first six weeks of a chicken's life were most important. He would quote the old saying "Cleanliness is next to godliness." Each spring, Dad would give the brooder house a thorough cleaning and make sure it was in good repair. All the water containers and food hoppers were cleaned too.

Dad's chicks were fed a good mix of well-balanced cracked grains and dry mashes. Dad always told us, "You don't want to skimp on their feed if you want good growth in the chickens." Fresh water was important too.

The day the chicks arrived was a busy one from morning till night. Dad set the brooder house stove at 95 degrees. Clean litter was on the floor. Papers had been put down, and the feeders and water containers were set out.

During the first few days, Dad used a retaining ring of cardboard to keep the baby chicks near the stove. It was round, with no corners where the chicks could pile up and smother one another.

Raising chickens was a big job on our farm. Dad usually sold about 500 roosters in the fall, leaving a flock of 500 laying hens from the original baby chicks he had bought in the spring.

The hens were kept in three henhouses to avoid overcrowding. Dad would clean out the buildings about three times during the winter. Keeping things clean was important to the hens' health and to their egg production. Dad's hens were fed a choice of corn and oats. Dad also knew how important it was to have fresh water for the hens. He would always tell us, "Hens have to have plenty of water if they are to be good layers."

My sister and I usually had the job of gathering eggs. Along with that came the job of getting them ready to sell. Working in the basement, I would sort through the eggs, wiping them off and putting them in egg crates for Mother to take to town and sell. Then she would buy groceries for the week.

Yes, chickens did make work, but it was part of our lifestyle. Farm children always helped their parents; it was expected of us, and we never thought of not helping. These fond memories of springtime at Wayside with the fuzzy yellow chicks will always be a part of me.