Sometimes the hardest lessons on a farm come wrapped in silence.
Day 25 arrived this week with no peeping. No cracks in the shells. No shadows of movement when we held the eggs up to the light.
The incubators had been humming faithfully for weeks, but inside? Stillness.
When Hope Meets Reality
I already knew in my heart. That quiet place where hope and realism sometimes wrestle had been whispering the truth for days. Still, I carried each egg to the light one more time, turning them slowly, searching for any sign of life in the glow.
They did not look viable.
Not a single Serama. Not one from our own flock's brown eggs either.
My shoulders sank. In just three days, I'd be flying to Alabama to bring Aunt Jean home. I had imagined the surprise of tiny cheeps greeting us when we returned. Instead, there was only the soft hum of empty incubators.
Grandpa and I talked it over. It felt too final to discard them just yet. We decided to wait until after I returned with Aunt Jean before making any decisions.
I just could not let go yet.
The Day of Two Disappointments
During that same day, I had been texting with a lady near Aunt Jean who claimed to have Seramas and many of the breeds we'd been dreaming about. Seven dozen eggs. A rainbow of possibilities. I was so excited I could hardly sit still.
I even ordered a much larger incubator, one that could hatch nearly 400 chicks.
Not that we plan to hatch that many.
But hope makes you bold.
As the messages went back and forth, something didn't sit right. The lady asked for gift cards instead of cash.
I paused.
Gift cards are often a red flag in these situations. The excitement cooled into discernment. I had a bad feeling. I stepped back and decided not to move forward.
Two disappointments in one day.
The incubators were quiet. The new eggs weren't coming. I whispered a prayer. God could see the end of the road, even when I couldn't.
Finding Joy in the Mud
But outside, it was beautiful.
The snow had melted into thick mud, but the air was warm and soft. It was in the sixties, and the sun felt like a promise.
With Milo and Panda Bear at the doggie spa, I had uninterrupted time to work. I put up temporary fencing for the teenagers and for the Big Girls, Esther, Naomi, Ruth, and Janice, so they could stretch their legs a little farther from their usual run.
Our pasture raised girls were impatient. They watched me with sharp eyes and restless feet.
When the run gate finally opened, they burst toward the green grass. Wings flapping. Feet flying. Joy in motion.
Uncle spread mulch inside the run since rain was coming. Instead of standing in mud, our hens would have dry ground to scratch and peck for bugs.
The Birth of Mercy Coop
I turned my attention to the Big White Hen House. It had been neglected for almost two weeks, and it didn't smell very pleasant.
I swept. I scrubbed. I refreshed.
Grandpa and Uncle helped carry six heavy bags of sand from the van and poured them neatly onto the shelves.
When I stepped back inside later, I saw one of the hens rolling happily in the freshly poured sand. She wiggled and fluffed and tossed sand over her back as if I'd created a personal spa just for her.
I laughed.
"Well, I guess your name is Sandy," I said with a grin.
Sandy didn't object. She simply rolled again, completely delighted.
After finally going inside for a short break, I looked out the window and froze.
Ruth was standing on the gate.
Beyond that gate was wide, green grass.
I opened the door and called out, "No you don't."
I slipped my boots back on and headed outside. Just as I reached the run, Ruth launched herself into the yard.
"She escaped!" I yelled. "Nooooo. I am tired and need this break."
Ruth and I were suddenly playing Catch Me If You Can.
I was not in the mood.
Finally, I caught her and gave her a stern talking to about ruining outside privileges for everyone. As I carried Ruth back inside, I shook my head.
Even on disappointing days, life kept moving.
Standing there, I looked up at the simple wooden cross Grandpa had built above the coop door.
The Big White Hen House was not just a coop.
It was Mercy Coop.
Not getting what we deserve. Being given another chance. Life protected even when it looks unlikely.
The name felt right.
The Pip That Changed Everything
That night, as I locked up, I walked past the incubators one more time.
I stopped.
Was that a sound?
I leaned closer.
And then I saw it.
A pip.
A small crack in one of our own brown eggs.
Earlier that day I had almost thrown them out.
My heart began to hope again.
The next morning: the day before I was flying to get Aunt Jean: there it was.
A tiny chick.
Wet. Wobbly. Alive.
Twice I had believed the eggs weren't viable. Twice I thought the story was over.
And twice, God had shown me mercy.
Just one little chick.
She was much too small to be placed with the other girls just yet. I hoped at least one more would hatch so she wouldn't be alone.
The Growing Girls
In the other room, the four little chicks from a few weeks ago were growing so quickly. Aunt Jean was going to be surprised. They were hardly the tiny fluff balls they had been just days before.
I went in because they were noisy that morning. They needed food and water.
How these girls managed to get pine shavings into both the food and water when everything was elevated was beyond my understanding. It seemed like a special talent.
After fixing their setup, I decided it was cuddle time.
Sunshine was first.
Sunshine did not want to cuddle. She squawked and squawked and protested loudly. Milo jumped into the chair beside me and simply watched, tilting his head at all the commotion.
I covered Sunshine gently with a washcloth, thinking perhaps she was cold.
No.
Sunshine wanted her sisters.
I returned her and picked up Mohawk.
Mohawk loved to cuddle. She settled right in, content and calm. Mohawk would happily sit with me all day if allowed.
Next came Dolly (or perhaps Little Bit: I still haven't fully settled on her name). She, too, loved to cuddle and snuggled down without complaint.
Fiesty got a reprieve. I needed to get ready for the day.
Tom was coming to pick up four dozen of our farm fresh eggs, and I still needed a shower.
What Mercy Looks Like
Life was moving forward.
There was one tiny new chick in the incubator. Four growing girls in the brooder. Mercy over the coop door.
And hope humming softly in the background.
Sometimes we don't get what we think we need. Sometimes what looks like disappointment is actually protection. And sometimes, just when we're ready to give up, a tiny pip appears to remind us that God's timing is not our timing.
That 400-egg incubator is still on order. We avoided the scam. We lost most of this hatch. But we gained one precious life and a new understanding of what mercy really means.
Not getting what we deserve. Getting grace instead.
Would another hatch while I was gone? I didn't know. But I was learning to trust the stillness and wait for the pip.
That's what we do here at Faithful Flock Farm. We raise our girls with care, we trust the process, and we celebrate every single miracle: no matter how small.
"The Lord is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love. The Lord is good to all; he has compassion on all he has made." : Psalm 145:8-9
Want to follow more stories from the farm? Visit our Tales of Faithful Flock Farm page or reach out through our contact page. We'd love to hear from you. 🤍
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