We lost one tiny life today on the farm. One so small, if you weren’t really watching, you might miss it.

But then, this morning, when I opened the coop to offer the new flock it’s breakfast, I noticed the same little one was not looking refreshed and seemed to be struggling. I snatched it up and took it to the barn. I have an emergency station set up in case of needing some extra heat or a bit of sugar water for a weak chick to give it a boost. I popped this little one in and turned on the warming light. It was standing, although it was obvious it was making a great effort to do so. I prepared a tiny dish of water and added a drop of molasses to it, instant energy. I offered it a bit on the end of a dropper but it was spending all it’s energy just staying upright so I didn’t force it.

Knowing that sometimes, just a bit of extra heat can make the difference between life and death, I left it standing under the light to provide it additional warmth. A sorry substitute for snuggling under Mom or Dad admittedly, but Mom and Dad were pretty busy at the moment getting their breakfast and keeping their eye on the other tiny yellow bits in the coop.

Every 15 minutes for the next couple of hours, I went out to the barn to check on this little one. After the 3rd or 4th check, it was receptive of a drop or two of the vitamin rich molasses water. It opened it’s tiny eyes after having them closed from the time I brought it in the barn, blinked, and I was hoping we were maybe, just maybe, turning a corner.

I wish I could say there was a happy ending to the morning but, there’s not. The little one lost it’s battle with weakness.

What difference does it make that one tiny farm animal doesn’t make it? After all, there are plenty more where that one came from, right?

I covered her with the wheelbarrow at one point, to shade her from the blazing summer sun and the rains and offered her dishes of water and food to keep her comfortable.

When the eggs hatched, 15 new Royal Palm turkey lives filled the garden and the coop with their tiny yellow fluff and little feet, following their Mom and then their Dad wherever they went. Now, there is one less.

Losing this little one brought back memories of when I drove across country with one of my son’s friends. If you’ve never done it, put it on your bucket list. We were crossing Iowa. The land out there is so huge, you can’t imagine it. Fields of wheat stretched to infinity. It was then it occurred to me how small we all are. Specks. It also occurred to me the importance of each speck.

This tiny chick was an important speck on the Bittersweet Farm, even for it’s short life. I’ll miss you little turkey. You gave it a good fight, and you left a tiny mark on this humble farm. I won’t forget you.

MORE FROM DYAN:

• Dyan’s Springtime To-Dos
• Raising Romeo, a Love Story
• Farmer Dyan Gets a Four-Legged Valentine
• A Bittersweet Month on the Farm
• Lambing, Loss, and the Cycle of Renewal

Dyan Redick calls herself “an accidental farmer with a purpose.” Bittersweet Heritage Farm, located on the St. George peninsula of Maine, is a certified Maine State Dairy offering cheeses made with milk from a registered Saanen goat herd, a seasonal farm stand full of wool from a Romney cross flock, goat milk soap, lavender woolens, and whatever else strikes Dyan’s fancy. Her farm is also an extension of her belief that we should all gain a better understanding of our food sources, our connection to where we live, and to the animals with whom we share the earth.

PHOTOS: DYAN REDICK

Tags: Bittersweet Heritage Farm, Dyan Redick, farm, life, loss, turkey

This entry was posted on Thursday, September 24th, 2015 at 8:10 pm and is filed under Contributors, HOMEGROWN Life Column, Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.