Speaking of Mom. We’ve been talking about once a week, and she keeps me up to date on the Hannah/Hailey situation. Hailey is getting bigger every day and starting to talk more clearly. Mom puts her on to talk to me, but it is still a lot of gibberish. “Gimme phone.” Gimme is her new favorite word. She likes to pretend she’s Mom talking to her office by holding a pretend phone and saying, “No, no, no!” Mom tries to get her to say Billie, but it comes out Bibbie. Great, all I need is another nickname. For now, Hailey calls Hannah Momma and my mom Mema. Mom texted me a selfie of Hailey, Harvey, and her at the neighborhood park. I don’t know the last time I’ve seen Mom look that happy. I guess she and Harvey are in a state of wedded bliss, other than Harvey’s daughter, Hannah, always being on the brink of self-destruction (thus the need for the adoption) and Mom’s demanding job. I miss her and I wish I could be there sometimes. She did mention maybe coming for a visit this fall, after the adoption is finalized. That’ll be cool, but strange to see her interacting with Jodie, Elliot, and the other people around here.
April 1, 2013
I have been getting up early a lot lately. I usually have a couple of cups of coffee and some toast with jam. I can’t figure out if that’s European or an old person habit, but either way, it kind of settles me. The strange thing is, when I first wake up, I swear I can smell pipe smoke and hear someone outside on the porch. When I go out to check but no one is there. It’s probably my mind playing games with me. I have been reading more of my dad’s journals and some of his notes on the farm. I feel like I know him better now. Weekly phone calls can only get you so far.
I just started my second cup of coffee this morning when my phone rang.
“Is this Billie Hatcher, Dan Hatcher’s daughter? This is Betty, down at the post office.”
“Yes, this is Billie.”
“Well, good morning, Billie. Your chicks are in.” Betty spoke with a sure voice. She could have just as easily said, “Your car’s due for a tune up.”
“My chicks?”
“Yeah, your chicks. Well, your dad’s. Sorry for your loss. We like hearing them cheep and all, but you should probably come get ‘em soon. They’ve been across the country.”
I still did not comprehend, but I didn’t want to sound like an idiot. “Okay, I’ll be right over.” I called Elliot.
“Yep, April 1st, that’s about right.”
“They ship chickens through the mail?”
“Yeah. He gets ‘em from a hatchery in Iowa.”
“But won’t they die from the cold or lack of food and water?”
“No, they overnight ship ‘em. They huddle together to stay warm and have food left over from their egg sack.”
“But we can have eggs to hatch anytime we want. Why would we buy chicks?”
“It’s the meat birds.” Now Elliot was being annoyingly certain, too.
“They’re different than the birds we have?”
“Oh, yeah. And we feed ‘em different, too. You want me to help you go get ‘em?”
I figured I could fit them in the back seat or the very back of my car. “No, I got it. But you’ll be here to help me set them up, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.
I walked into the post office and found Betty at the front counter. “Oh, hey, hon, your birds have been cheering us up all morning.” She went to the back and brought out two big white boxes with holes along the top lid. “Sorry I had to ask around to get your phone number." I wonder who had it. "I guess there’s no landline out at the farm. Your dad always gave his cell phone." She pointed to a paper on the bulletin board behind me that simply read COMPUTER HELP and had Dad's phone number on it. "But I tried that, and I guess it’s shut off.”
“Yep. So, you knew my dad?”
“Oh, yeah. He was so funny. He ordered some turkey chicks once, I don’t know what they’re called, and they were so ugly they were adorable. He gave me one, and we could never bring ourselves to eat it. We called it Thomasina and kept it forever. It either died of old age or ran off with a group of wild turkeys. Every year he told me I’d better eat it for Thanksgiving before the coyotes do. Your daddy was a good one.”
“Thanks.”
“Anyway, here ya go.”
I look the stacked boxes over. “How many birds, you think?”
“Oh, I’d say about a hundred between the two boxes.”
One hundred birds? I tried to peek in at them, but all I saw was beaks, eyeballs, and feathers, none of it adding up to a whole chick. Rather than risk escapees, I ignored my curiosity and didn’t open either box. Also, I was afraid there might be a dead chick.
“Thanks.” I took the boxes and headed out the door. There was a lot of scratching and excited chirping as I walked to the car. Once in the car they finally settled into a rhythmic soft peeping for the short drive.
By the time I got home, Elliot was starting to feed the adult chickens, but he stopped
