When I lived in Lancaster, Pa., 4 years ago, we lived on a farmette. I guess you would call it a tiny farm. One of the things I miss is sitting all night in the barn waiting for the chicks to hatch.
I thought since Easter is a week away I'd show you the miracle I use to be able to watch. I spent many nights in the barn watching our chicks hatch. The first sign would be a tiny hole in the egg.
As the day went on, the chick would peck around the top of the egg until he had pecked a full circle and had broken it free, like a cap.
It took hours for him to get to this stage of hatching.
The chicks were not pretty when they finally got most of the way out. They were exhausted from the fight and usually just stopped once they had gotten most of the way out.
After resting for some time, the fight was on to free it's self from the egg shell.
Once free, he was put into a warmer. If there were other chicks in the warmer that were up and walking around, they would huddle around the chick to warm him.
Sometimes we had baby quail that were only half the size of the chickens, but if they were a day or two older, they did the natural thing and took care of the newborn chick.
Soon the chick would dry and fluff and be up eating and drinking.
I miss living in Lancaster. I miss the farmette, the huge vegetable garden I had, the experience of seeing new life, the Amish families. Lancaster was home. There is nothing worse then living where it's not home. Home is where the heart is..my heart is in Lancaster.