No, it isn’t a family member’s birthday or an anniversary that we’re looking forward to. Instead, it’s the hatch date for our new batch of baby chicks. If you don’t understand our excitement, then I’m guessing you aren’t a chicken keeper. For this chicken keeper, the thought of adding a new set of hens to the coop is definitely reason for celebration.

These chicks will be the second batch that will come to call 1840 Farm home. Our first chicks arrived in September of 2010. We’ve learned a great deal about chickens and farming since then, but we learned our first lesson immediately after they arrived. From the moment we opened their small shipping box, we were hooked.

In an instant, we found it impossible to imagine our farm without a flock of hens living right outside our farmhouse door. Now, the heritage breed hens have company at 1840 Farm. There are three Nigerian Dwarf dairy goats residing comfortably in the old barn’s horse stall. Out in the aisle of the barn, our French Angora rabbit, Herbert, takes center stage. It was the hens that started it all.

Our hens showed us that farming was indeed hard work, but the best kind of work we had ever found. After they taught us that lesson, there was simply no looking back. As a family, once we began collecting our own fresh eggs, harvesting fresh goat’s milk was a small leap to make.

Our first batch of tiny chicks was the biggest thing to happen to 1840 Farm since we had moved in five years earlier. Eight-day-old chicks might not seem like a big statement, but for my family it was a triumphant pronouncement of our victory over an invisible antagonist. Nearly two years later, I still get the same joyous feeling every time I see my son reach into the nest box to retrieve what he calls a “homemade” egg.

We had entertained the thought of becoming chicken keepers three years earlier. We had begun our research into coop construction and even started talking amongst ourselves regarding a potential coop and its residents. We decided to move forward and the whole family was excited about our new farm project.

As we prepared to learn more about chickens and coops, we discovered that my son was allergic to eggs. All preparations stopped. None of us could bear the thought of tending to a flock of hens without being able to eat the fresh eggs left in the nest boxes. It seemed easier to just put the thought of chicken keeping out of mind and put our energy into the vegetable garden.

We did just that and became better gardeners for it. Heirloom tomatoes became our summer currency and we found ourselves growing more of them each summer. We enlarged the garden bit by bit. Every year we added something new to the gardens and each summer we found that our harvest had grown exponentially. Together, we were producing more than 100 pounds of fresh produce for our family. It was an achievement that we were all proud of.

As we considered the options for enlarging our gardens during the summer of 2010, there was welcome news. My son had outgrown his allergy to eggs. They were suddenly back in the cast iron skillet and on the menu at 1840 Farm. We celebrated by eating eggs in every form we could think of. We colored Easter eggs in June just because we could. We were deep in the midst of an egg frenzy.

It didn’t take long for the whole family to start dreaming of adding a flock of chickens to our farm. In a matter of weeks, we had broken ground on the foundation for our coop. The eggplant bed would have to be relocated next year. It had been commandeered by the structure that would become a bed for our egg-laying hens. We were mid-growing season, and yet next year’s garden expansion had already begun.

We carefully chose our first batch of chicks based on their egg laying ability, temperament and cold-hardiness. Our hens would have to endure long and bitterly cold winters living in New Hampshire. As vegetarians, we would be farmers who raised chickens but didn’t eat chicken, so table readiness was not a deciding factor. In the end, we ordered two Golden Laced Wyandottes, two Silver Laced Wyandottes, two Plymouth Barred Rocks and two Black Australorps.

We were one step closer to becoming chicken keepers. As the hatch date drew near, we prepared our brooder and purchased the necessary supplies. We read about chick care and visited the local feed store to purchase starter feed. The chick feeder and waterer were ready for filling and the pine shavings were ready for spreading. All that was left to do was wait for the little chicks to arrive.

I was in the midst of canning and preserving some of our summer garden harvest that September morning when the telephone rang. A postal employee was on the other end of the line. He informed me that our chicks had arrived at the post office and asked if I would please come to pick them up. The canning jars were midway through processing in the boiling water canner. I grabbed the kitchen timer and ran to the garage to confirm that the brooder was ready.

I turned on the heat lamp to warm the brooder and filled the sliding feeder with chick feed. I added cold water and a splash of apple cider vinegar to the waterer and set it firmly upon a stone paver to elevate it above the thick pine shavings in the brooding pen. We were officially ready for baby chicks to come home.

Back in the house, the canning pot’s processing time was coming to an end. I grabbed my purse and cell phone and waited rather impatiently as the final minutes elapsed. I turned off the heat under the pot, removed the lid and headed out the door.

As soon as I arrived at the post office, I could understand why the postal employee had so politely but firmly encouraged me to come immediately to pick up my living, breathing package. The chirping baby chicks were making enough noise to fill the post office lobby with their own sweet melody. The entire lobby was abuzz with patrons talking about the baby bird noises.

I waited my turn in the line until I reached the counter. When the postman greeted me, I only needed to say, “I’m here for the chirping package.” He smiled, happily retrieved the little cardboard box and sent me on my way.

It wasn’t long before I was standing over the warm brooder carefully inspecting the fluffy chicks inside their shipping container. They were cuter than photos could do justice. They were active and noisy just like any good baby should be. With a little encouragement, they settled into their new environment.

We watched them endlessly during those first few weeks. They grew from fluffy chicks on unsteady legs into awkward juvenile chickens on legs too large for their bodies. We finished their coop in spite of a heat wave and an unfortunate trip to the emergency room. The rest, as they say, is history.

During the last few weeks, we have been making preparations for the new batch of chicks. This time around, we’ll be adding standard-sized heritage breed hens and bantam hens to our flock. The bantams will be the first to live at 1840 Farm. I am hoping to use them to work the dormant garden beds and patrol the fruit and vegetable patch for pests. We now produce more than 250 pounds of fruits and vegetables on our small farm and with any luck, these small beauties will help us harvest even more.

I am certain that this group of chicks will teach us as much as the first batch has. They’ll be sure to amaze and entertain us as we watch them grow each day. I’ll be sharing their experience and mine with you in my recurring series of posts detailing A Year in the Life at 1840 Farm. Prepare yourself to be inundated with photos and videos of baby chicks so adorable that you might be tempted to add a few to your backyard. Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.