The Heartwarming Journey of Hatching Chicks and Raising Roosters

A Perfect Excursion

Sometime last November, my son and I embarked on a homeschool excursion to a nearby farm. It was one of those golden afternoons—warm, with the scent of sunbaked earth and eucalyptus in the air. We wandered among the trees, met pigs and goats, and then came upon a gathering of chickens scratching under the shade.

The guide mentioned something that sparked everything. “If you’d like,” she said, “you can collect some eggs. You can feed them to the pigs—or you can try to hatch them.”

My son turned to me, wide-eyed. “What’s hatching?” he asked. I explained incubation: the warmth, the turning, the waiting. His face lit up. He had been wanting chickens for so long, and suddenly, this felt like the right moment. So, we did it.

Starting Our Journey

We bought a small incubator and placed it in a quiet corner of our home. I ordered a few fertilized eggs online, and when they arrived, we began. Every day, we turned the eggs, checked the temperature, and watched. This became our quiet ritual. The days passed slowly, peacefully, like turning pages in an old book.

On the twenty-first day, it began—tiny cracks and little peeping sounds. The first chicks hatched in the early hours, damp and blinking, their feathers soft as fog. One after the other, they emerged into the world.

But one little egg struggled. We could hear chirping inside and see the tip of a beak tap, tap, tapping—but she just couldn’t hatch. I recalled the advice we had heard: do not help. Chicks must do it themselves or they won’t survive. Yet… something felt different.

The Decision to Help

The other chicks kept lying beside that egg as if they instinctively knew she was special. They nestled around her, keeping her warm. I felt it in my gut—this one needed help. So carefully, nervously, my son and I peeled back the shell. Out came the tiniest, wettest little chick. We named her Onyx.

She had splayed legs and couldn’t stand. For a week, we kept her warm in the incubator with a tiny splint, tending to her gently. We gave her leg support, healing herbs, and held her close. Finally, one morning—she stood!

The joy on my son’s face was unforgettable. We returned Onyx to her siblings, and she nestled right back in, as though she had never left.

The Growing Flock

As the weeks passed, the chicks grew fluffier and bolder. Most were Silkies, one was a curious little Frizzle (we named him Salty), and then there was Dahlia, our regal Polish hen.

My intuition began whispering early: some were roosters. I couldn’t explain how I knew—I just did. When you spend quiet time with chickens, really watching, they tell you so much.

After six weeks in the brooder, we moved them to their new home—a coop we built ourselves. It had fresh wood chips, cozy corners, and even a “chicken salad bar” filled with herbs for them to peck. They thrived. They greeted us with joy, ran when we called, and found delight in every worm and blade of grass.

The Cock-a-doodle-doo!

Then just last week, we heard it: Cock-a-doodle-doo!

At first, it was just one. Then another. Then more. I laughed. I was proud. But I also felt that creeping worry—roosters are aggressive, roosters are dangerous, roosters will fight and attack; I had heard many stories. But none have proven true.

Yes—we have eight roosters! Eight fluffy, sweet-natured, funny, curious little gentlemen. We love them all.

Now, we’re creating a “Bachelor Pad” just for them, a peaceful space beside the coop where they can live happy, safe, loved lives. I could never kill them or give them away to meet an untimely end. They have become family.

Caring for Our Roosters

We’ve been feeding them a rich diet of organic feed, herbs, spirulina, chia and flax seeds, nutritional yeast, sardines, and the occasional peck at my beloved lemon balm plant. They free-range during the day, scratching the earth and stretching in the sun. When my son and I walk to the coop, they run to greet us, full of excitement.

There’s something sacred about raising animals with your whole heart. Something grounding. Something ancient.

This experience embodies simple living—slowing down, tuning into nature, and finding meaning in small things. I’ve learned so much about intuition, care, and letting life unfold. I trust my gut, even when others advise otherwise.

Lessons from Onyx

I keep thinking about Onyx—the little chick who couldn’t hatch on her own. The one we almost left in the shell. She taught me that sometimes… it’s okay to help. It’s a lesson about how softness can be strength. Love, when it's quiet and steady, changes everything.

Now, when I hear the roosters crow at sunrise, I don’t hear noise. I hear joy. I hear the start of a new chapter. I hear the story we’re living—one peep, one flap, one egg at a time.

🌿 Love stories like this?

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