Tribal attributes

A tribe: a place of being, connection, family, sharing a similiar perspective, living together in harmony....these are what I have discovered in the last year in my home town of Jericho. We are all part of a certain tribe, whether it be religious, political, social, or ancestrial. I love my tribe. I am lucky to live in an area that allows my tribe to exist. Where else can you call upon one of your fellow friends and have them drop everything for you, and aid or assist. Vermont is a wonderful state to behold tribes.

The other day I was feeling tired, sick and needed to rest but could not. My tribe entered...can I take the kids for awhile, do you need anything, dinner a drink, a talk. It was so welcoming to have this at my fingertips. It left me smiling, in the lowest part of my day, I was smiling and feeling good, because of my tribe.

Recently had my entire life taken from me, my social security number, license, bank cards, photos of my children....a locked car is no safer then an unlocked car. It makes for an awful empty feeling....someone knows me, and I don't know them. Creepy, frustrating and angry. But I have my tribe, my family, searching for hours to look for items the perpatrators left, my sister whom had traveled an hour away and called to see how I was dealing, my friends letting me know they cared and were there for me. This is a great feeling...and I thank everyone of them for being there. I want them to know that I will be there for them.

To feel connected to such wonderful people creates a warmth that every soul should experience. It is contagious and makes you want to spread that fuzzy feeling everywhere. The people who invented the saying "what goes around comes around", were not stupid...I have faith in my tribe and they in me and I believe we will all be taken care of in our next world, whatever that may in-tale. I am grateful for such a loving family, even though at times the house rocks, and things get misunderstood, or mis-spoken. In the end we want to do good, we like harmony, peace and love. This is my tribe and I am proud to be a part of theirs.

Social Dilemma

As I take turns with my daughter digging a small hole big enough for the 1 pound lamb named Peanut Butter we tried to save, my thoughts flood my mind. Why did such an innocent loving animal touch so many lives in the less then 12 hours she had lived? How come I put my children in such a position to become attached to something that had such a minimal chance of survival? Even though I kept reiterating " She may die, she is very weak", this seems to not register in their innocent minds.

Peanut Butter came to us via my sisters farm in South Royalton, the mother had had triplets, a fate that often ends in death of one of the young lambs. Sheep tend to have 1 to 2 lambs, and it is just survival of the fittest when a third is born. My sister too has seen too much death in these last few months, and a quick knock on the head with a farm instrument would put a failing lamb out of its' misery painlessly. By many this is considered barbaric or cruel, however to one whom has dealt with farming and the difficulties with lambing, it is one of the unfortunate duties of a farmer. There is no pleasure, or satisfaction, just the thought that you are sparing the inevitable. The alternative, leaving the lamb to die a slow, death of cold, starvation and eventually lungs filling up with fluid and being unable to breath. My sister however could not face another life ending in her hands. I was grateful for that.

I was visiting my sister while waiting for a medical procedure to be done on my husband at Gifford. Berkeley and I decided to see her fresh batch of chicks, ducklings and lambs. She asked me to hold a mother sheep while she extracted colostrum from her and syringe fed a triplet that had a low chance of survival. It was a two person job that required a strong hold on the mother and two hands on the teats. We were able to extract about 40mls of colostrum, a good start for the now floppy lamb, that was 1/3 the size of her brothers. Peanut Butter was named because of the brown after birth that still lay on her fleece, the mother sheep tends to sense when her young are not going to survive and therefor did not clean adequately once she was born. We syringe fed the small amount of colostrum and watched as Peanut Butter stood for the first time. Our minds said "Maybe", and that was that.

I purchased lamb milk replacer at the local farm supply store and off we went with a lamb in a box, suckling anything it could put it's mouth too. Traveling an hour to home, we kept checking the lamb, expecting it to be dead, but it's head would pop up and it would start bleating and resume sucking on whatever it could reach. At one point Berkeley dose off to sleep and Dick and I turned to catch one of those lifetime memories of our daughter sucking her thumb and Peanut Butter sucking her finger, as she slept. I was in love. Peanut Butter was a natural at nursing from the bottle, drinking at least 1/2 pint of formula once we got home, and gaining strength as the day went on. She would run in the living room leaping (or trying to leap), and follow the children like they were her own. She became family quite quickly, and I was starting to think that she had a chance. That chance diminished when I awoke the next morning to see a limp, but still breathing Peanut Butter in her box.

Peanut Butter died in my arms, taking her last breaths as I was surrounded by hysterical children flooding me with tears. She was warm, and loved and died of pneumonia, just as my sister had told me she might. It is an awful feeling to loose something so little and perfect. It is even worse to watch your children try to understand something that had been so alive the night before , be limp and lifeless today. She is buried in our flower garden, and a perennial will be planted at her head, reminding us yearly of how such a small being can touch an overwhelming amount of hearts. I am grateful to my friends and family for such kind words and sincerity, and it makes me realize that we are in the most part a loving species, and in this time of sorrow I think it is a good thing to think about. Lately the news has been pushing this feeling out of my head, celebrating for the death of another humane being, watching gruesome photos of a story I try not to think about.

I of course am thinking of the recent death of Osama bin Laden, although a barbaric individual and directly involved in the death of my husbands good friend Karl and many other family members and friends. I do not wish death on anyone. Osama was misguided, fighting for something he believed to be evil, we( the American) people have done just as bad. In fact every culture has been barbaric and cruel, and we are supposed to be the country that gives a fair trial, not guilty until proven. Was it not as barbaric to shoot down an unarmed man? Isn't that like blowing up a building filled with unarmed civilians...?

I believe in our Military and I am lucky to have such freedoms as others do not, I know people do not fight fairly, I just wish we would not follow their footsteps. I am trying to teach this to my children, but I cannot when everything else claims to fight fair, and then doesn't follow that lead. I have told my children, that Osama was a angry and violent man, who disregarded humane life and did not respect the rights of others. But if they ask me how come we killed him, isn't it bad to kill others...there is no answer, because we too are a culture that kills, innocent and guilty people, we are cruel to one another, to our planet, our loved ones and ourselves...it is a battle that was at least ceased for a moment in my head, when I looked upon Peanut Butter and had something to save, care for and love. It would be great if we could do the same to the human species.

This spring has had quite the ups and downs as your usual spring, first it will be 70 degrees and melt most of the 3 feet of snow in your backyard, then just when your daffodils peek through the ground, we are going to surprise you with another 3 feet of snow, all in a days time. Needless to say that snow has melted again, and we were blessed with another few days of gorgeous sunny and mid 40 degrees days, yet as I look outside my window it resembles a blustery November day, cold, windy, stick like trees bending their branches toward the sleet and remaining snow covered fields. Now I have been in Vermont most of my 42 years of life. Taking a few years off to explore the life of a flight attendant in New York City, or studying 15 different species of birds on a secluded island in Hawaii, but how ever fast paced my life or slow paced, I would always return to the good old state of Vermont. Vermont is home, and it is home because I was raised to appreciate it's beauty, it's hard working environments and it's not so pretty months. Yeah, yeah it is snowing outside and my tomato plants are screaming to be let out and play in the dark rich clay like soil of my garden, but it are these exact moments when you realize you have a good deal going on.

I know we have heard it a million times, "if you don't like the weather, wait a few minutes..." or some version of this saying, but it is truly a vermontism that fits this state. If we don't have the bad weather we can't appreciate the good weather. If we don't have the bad experiences in life, we don't appreciate the good experiences. I must remind myself of these "bad experiences" as positive ones, but in times of frustration and anger I forget. I am trying a new view on the bad parts of life....at least it is new to me, and I want to be better at handling them. Now, I hold it in, the anger tends to eat away all my happy feelings or motivations, which is not how I want my children or their children to experience life. So, I am asking friends who may see me flustered, steaming or smouldering over something to poke, prod, wave a magic wand....I don't know, just let me know it is going to be alright, and it will wake my senses up to the ever changing patterns of the human mind. I tend to focus on the little picture too much, and the little picture is just that, little.

I may complain about the weather outside because I want to go hiking or plant the garden, but why? I have a house that has not been demolished by an earthquake, Tsunami, or mudslide. I have healthy children who are not torn by wars, famine, or abuse. I have a job that provides food, clothing and fun. It is this big picture I need to remember, and share. Peace

Humanity strikes again

Today I was a crazed woman, you know you have a lot on the plate and very little time to do it,

and you just think everything is going to go as you planned it, because it has to. Wrong. We set

ourselves up for failure every time we think this way don't we? Just as it did today. My daughter's

seventh birthday was this week, and I agreed to inviting her quest over to the house for a birthday

gathering or play day that would be creative and fun. I know a lot of people look at me like I am out of

my mind, when she wanted to invite 11 kids, and their siblings, working a grand total of 22 children in our

small 2400 sq. foot home...but she is my first child, and I like her friends...so why not. The part I did

not like was scrambling for last minute presents and decorations, food and drink, and party favors. That is

where the true test of calmness represented itself.

I was walking with my cart in the Christmas tree store, getting plates, napkins and various other party favors at

a reasonable rate, when I noticed something on the other side of the aisle that grabbed my attention.

Leaving my cart packed with planting pots, seeds and potting soil , I ventured to the other side of the

isle not even 5 feet away, however I was hidden behind a large structure holding various seed packets.

After exploring the seeds and choosing the ones I was going to give in my daughters gift bags, I went

back to my cart, only to find all my materials placed in the top side of the basket and not in the bottom

where I had placed them. I thought for a moment ...hmmm that is odd, and then I continued down the

isle into another section of the store. Well , low and behold...this was not the same cart I had started

off with but quite a different cart, that bobbled every time you moved it, with a shrill squeak that

was turning heads left and right...and as I looked out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a large woman

and her two daughters about 5 paces in front of me. The daughter kept staring at me, like she felt

bad for me, and it dawned on me that they had been in the same isle I had been before the mysterious

cart napping. I kept trying to make eye contact with the mother whom in between grunts would yell

at her children to keep up and wobble off to another section of the store. I followed her, squeaky cart

and all throughout the store, just for fun, because I knew she was the cart nabber and I was just dumb-

founded that someone would actually do that , and I wanted to see if she would at least apologize for

mistaking my cart as; I don't know an extra cart.... She never did fess up, but I got my kicks out

of chasing her around the store and squeaking behind her.

Driving home with my trunk full of presents and food, I was coming up the road, when I noticed

a Raven on the side of the road..his wing was broken, and hanging low...so I being the crazy animal

lover that I am, decided to stop and try to pick him up, or bring him to work and fix him. So, with

30 minutes left to drop off my presents, wrap them before my child came home on the bus, and then

pick up my other child, I turned around and headed back to the Raven. Now let me tell you, this was

a day like no other in February. Sunny, 50 degrees and clear as can be. So when I pulled onto the

side of the road to get out of the car, what looked to have been a nice edge of road was really a pile

of soft snow, 4 feet deep. Yup, the car tipped into that ditch, and stayed there. I went to try and

pick up the Raven, and he hopped off like nothing was wrong at all. So now I have 20 minutes to get

my car out of a ditch, no cell phone coverage because it happens to be the one blind spot in Jericho,

and a car full of shit.

The first person that stopped pulled over and said "Are you okay?" with a look like I was from

another planet. Why? Because it was 50 degrees and sunny and I am in a ditch! I told him I was trying

to save a bird and fell into the ditch...which if you think of it I think drinking while driving or texting

would have made better sense. He let me use his iphone, to call one of my best friends who wasn't home at

the time, but got my message in the long run. Three other people stopped by to help me. Others

flew by without question, but those three that did stop were magnificent. I had a propane tanker

stop, he shoveled the whole car out with his handy dandy shovel. Then another man in a car stopped

to ask if I needed chains, which he then dragged out of his trunk. With the help of the propane truck

and the chain I was able to drag my car out of the ditch. With as little as a high five , and a Thank you

I was on my way. That is amazing to me. I made it home, put the presents away, the food and hopped

back into the car to do pick-ups...my heart rate finally dropped to a normal rate, and I could look

back at this day and breath. I wonder if that women at the store would have stopped and helped.

Or if her Karma was not going so good either. All I know is my faith in humanity was restored, and I too

need to have a shovel and chains in the trunk of my car!

Oh and by the way, the birthday party went great! The more kids the marrier thanks to the help of

some special Mom's and Dad's out there, and a little champagne for the host, things ran smooth.

Peace

Choices

I am a bit confused on how I should write this next segment, I am angry and tired from a lack of sleep, and have just no energy to cheer myself up. Yeah, yeah I know I have written a lot about death and negativity, but it seems to be surrounding me this year more then most. I am seeking some advice on what I should do to make this not such a depressing year, but all I have to go by is to write it down, get it out, let it go....so here it is.

I woke up from a 2 hour nights sleep with a throbbing thumb. Why throbbing? Well, little miss lupe decided to try and feed a seizing dog. Yes I know, keep your hands away from any one or thing having a seizure. Well I did for awhile, but the dog was helplessly hungry and not being able to find the food dish, needed some guidance. Mistakenly he took my fingers for the bowl, bit down and did not let go, until I pried his teeth from my thumb. Ouch yes, but more importantly the dog wanted food, and I couldn't give him that satisfaction. It was a struggle to watch this dog thrash in his cage, for 3 days while the owner decided what to do.. For me, it would be an easy decision, but it was not my choice to make. I had no control.

I was awoken the following morning to five dead animals lying in my pen. One being the most kind and loyal of beings....yes I am talking about chickens and roosters, and a very protective duck named Splish. I lost J-Ro a rooster I had raised since an egg, Gerdie, a cuckoo maran I had purchased in the fall from "the chicken man" in Jericho, who laid chocolate brown eggs, Summer, a buff orp, I received for my oldest daughter Sydney, Henny Penny, a Wellsummer with gorgeous red highlights and the most endearing personality and Splish, the partner of Splash, a runner duck mix who was the balls. All laying with various parts of their heads removed, or their whole head removed and nothing else touched, and I thought "fuck", I have a weasel problem. My heart sank, and after all out crying for a good 30 minutes, I tried to compose myself and figure out what I had to do to protect the rest of the flock.

Weasels are the demon of all chicken or fowl flocks, they come in and kill one, two or this case five, and leave the rest of the flock in shock as they had just witnessed their co-habitants executed. You cannot get rid of weasels, they need to be shot or trapped. I don't have a gun. So I have to sit and hope that a live-trap will eventually trap my predator. The only other thing is to watch all my chickens whom I have raised with the help of my children and husband disappear, fearful and alone. It is not fun. For now I am keeping the remainder of hens and J-Ro's son in the coop, which is too small and confining for eleven birds. The ducks are lucky, they have a hoop house at a friends to live in. Chickens will destroy hoop houses, if not properly fenced off and therefore is not an option for my hens. It is February, I have 2-3 months to live with chickens cooped in a pen too small.

I am tired, and the snow keeps falling, I will try another day. I am not going to give up. The live-trap will come tomorrow, the hens will be cramped but safe, and I may or may not get some kind of sleep...but it is a choice, a choice that I made and if I don't stand by my choices and take the consequences that go along with them, then I might as well be thrashing around in that cage, similar to the seizing dog, not knowing if I am living or dying...a choice many living things don't get to have.

It will be hard to see the tears in my daughters eyes as I explain to her, the reason her favorite rooster is not here anymore. And I am sure we will sit together and cry, hug and hold each other. She and her sister will determine whether they too would like to have chickens when they are older. It is a choice only they can provide, but it will certainly not be an easy one.

I have thought through the past years experiences with fox, dogs, and now weasels, if I was cut out for this small scale farming. I believe I can.

We can survive situations that test our boundaries....there are far more evil things in this world then weasels. Many of them are going on in countries I have never visited, let alone heard of, but we humans have an instinct as do all animals, that is to fight for what we believe in...survival: it runs deep even if your brain is the size of a pea...

I want to thank all my friends and family for being there for me, it really helps getting through the rough patches.

R.I. P J-Ro, Gerdie, Summer, Splish and Henny Penny!

So it has been a rough week again, or should I say year already....got over the strep thang, but still have water in the ear that makes me want to vomit if I turn too quickly to the right or the left. Ups and downs are scary, but then I tore or partially tore my meniscus. Totally acceptable for a middle age women as myself, since I partially tore my right one a year and a half ago...but shit...really...give me a break would you. And then the break happened....a shitty death filled week at BEVS, and to top it off a suicide at the school Sydney and Berkeley will attend.

First of all we all have dealt with death...I happen to deal with it more then the normal human being as do my co-workers...but to come into work and immediately have to euthanize three animals in a span of 30 minutes, tends to put a damper on the night. Yes, these animals were suffering, and so were their owners, and "we" did the only humane thing possible, but it sucks...really sucks. I had to cling onto something, and that something was a dog. A dog named Max, who not only survived a surgery that pulled an object from his large intestine that was unidentifiable. But a second surgery were he was leaking poisonous fluid from his incision into his abdominal cavity, causing severe infection and blood loss. Max was stoic, god like if you will, his little stub tail that had at one time been surgically amputated wagged even as we put yet another needle into his already painful and swollen belly. It was amazing and wonderful and every technician who dealt with him pulled for his recovery. His folks had just had some trouble themselves in life, and yet their stoic behavior to do all they could do for their "child" was astonishing. I dreamed about Max, and had to call in the morning to make sure he was alive...a dog I have never known until last week, and I was committed. As of late he is still doing well, a surgeon whom invested his work into a client he'd never met, donated his time, and his tech's time to a dog he believed in...it was a shining moment, in a week of cloudiness.

After leaving Max at midnight in the hands of my devoted co-workers, I drove home, satisfied or relieved that he was going to make it, and the news came on. It brought me back to reality and the loss of a human being. So young and vibrant, sporty and friendly. It was hard to face, and I still am in shock. There are a million questions running in my head, a gun : in school: why didn't anyone know? Why ? Sadness and empathy. Anger for the kids who were left in the dark, and had to concentrate on their exams, after the gunshot rang from the school. I didn't know Conner, and I am sure everybody is looking into the reasons why he did what he did. But it was hard to deal with.

At 15, I had no boyfriends, I was a loner, I was a C student and hung out with the popular crowd, the sports crowd, and the geeks...it was my life to fit in. 15 sucked, hormones, being malested by the people I babysat for, trying to deal with being an awkward teenager, do I smoke pot, drink beer, pay attention to my parents, who do I go for, for help...well the answer was my peers. At that age highschool was everything, it made you who you were, if you were not accepted, you didn't succeed. That was your life. I entrusted friends with my deepest secrets, and they told everybody. I relied on friendships that lasted a year. I told mothers and fathers that their child was having a sleep over at my house, when they were out partying at Middlebury College...it was survival, painful and ugly. I hated my early years at high school.

It took awhile and then I realized that I didn't want to be that person who lied to parents, or friends. I didn't care if you were on the smoking side of the school or on the sports teams. If you were pretty, cute or scum...it was a perfect Fuck you moment, and I decided, if you don't like who I am, I don't care. It worked...I made friends I would have looked over, I lived experiences I would not have and I survived what I thought was the worst part of my life ever. I guess this all ties into the will to conquer, or defeat your demons ...etc...I just look at Max and think, wow, that was me a long time ago, all odds against me and I worked it out, and then I look at Conner and wish I had known him, to tell him this is not your life. It is high school. A stressful, most painful accomplishment, that can be about you or about how you fit in to society....and you need to make it about you. My heart goes out to Conners family and friends and I only hope in the next 6 years that my daughter has to grow, that she is strong and full of self esteem. Because these were things her mother was not, and I could have been in Conners place.

Never grow old

Last night I had the pleasure of seeing my friend play acoustic guitar at Parima. It was an experience that took me back to my college days, pre-kid, pre- marriage, pre-anything that meant I needed to stop, look, and listen. I was free to be me. Eating good food, with good friends, and listening to music that I would enjoy throughout the night. It was as if I was in another state or country, feeling like I could do anything and it would be alright. Of course it was alright, when I walked in the door, and snuggled in amongst my children, husband and dogs bodies, although my head didn't really agree with me in the morning. However I had done it, gone out had a good time and made it back in one piece.

The object of this statement is well, don't grow up. Let yourself go. If everyone just got to step back for one day, or night or hour, there would be no need for depression drugs, therapy sessions, millions of dollars spent on things that we think will improve our lives but just sit collecting dust in the basement. Children our most precious cargo...why not enjoy what they have to offer with their sense of free spirit and carelessness. Now don't get me wrong, these types of events can lead to disaster if taken daily, but that is where our adult maturity and experiences come into play. We know when enough is enough and get back into the grind. I love being a mom, wife, care-taker, and worker...but I also know how to kick back and have a good time. This is who I am and will be for however more days I have on this planet, and it makes me smile.

The New Year's thang

So, here we are in the New Year of 2011, not so kind for the Sears family, 2 kids with strep, mom with strep, sinus and ear infection, but none the less still truckin'. I was trying hard to think of what my resolution(s) could be. Not only the obvious ones,

1) Drink less

2)Lose weight

3) Eat healthy

4) Save the Earth

and it just got me more and more depressed. I need to do all these things and can't figure out how to start or am just overwhelmed by the big picture. I had claimed that I was not going to drink for 6 months, that lasted until the first holiday party....broken, I was pumped to do another session of bootcamp the 5:30 exercise class that motivates me to get out of my nice warm bed with one or two or three humans in it. I started eating breakfast at a regular time, instead of 10am or 11am, I recycle, use less, and re-use as much as possible. However, it wasn't doing it for me. Why was I still in a slumber. And then it dawned on me. People were relying on me to fail. The roll of the eyes, when I would have another glass of wine, the "your not doing bootcamp?"...questions when your head feels like someone took a bat to your sinuses, the pants that just won't get any looser, all these things were eating at my self-esteem and whittling it down to a none sharp pencil. I was down, and not really wanting to get up, and then as I watched my child crawl out of bed, crying, her body limp from sleep, putting every bit of effort to raise her hands and arms around my neck to hold on. I realized I was loved, needed, important. I kicked my depression back into it's corner and squeezed back, needing her as much as she needed me and as I write this it brings tears to my eyes. I was selfish to think of what I needed for a New Year's resolution, it was right here in front of me. I am going to start again, with baby steps, and whenever I feel overwhelmed and down in the dumps, I will reach out, grab a hold of my child and squeeze. It is the best feeling ever.

A year in the life of Lupe

January 5, 2011

It is amazing what can happen in a year, or two. I just read my old blogs from a time when things were not so much black and white, and realize they still are not so black and white, more like yellow and sienna.

I have watched the chicks that arrived so fresh and strong willed in their box, grow and nurture to a point where they could be kept outside, free, graze on the grasses of life, and then to be eliminated by the neighbors dog in one swell swoop. That day was dark. And one that brought me back to my childhood, when we would hear the cackle of the chickens in their pen, that meant distress. My sisters and I would drop everything and run to the pen, scared to see what was inside but also protective of what we had coveted as our own. It was often times bloody, heads chewed off and left with the bodies, wasting away like a used McDonald's wrapper.

That would be a weasel, the next time a hawk, or the worst, the neighbors dog that slipped under the fencing and would run by you claiming his prize in his squawking mouth and disappearing down the road.

The day my daughters chicks died, was one of the worst memories I can remember. It was partially my fault, and 99 percent my neighbors dogs instinct.

I had just let the chicks now pullets out for an afternoon in the sun, after being in our basement for 4 weeks, they wanted to see the light. Well, they saw the light maybe a bit too brightly. We had devised a temporary fencing. Wire around a small pen, which was secured by plastic electric fence poles. I had just put the girls out and was watching their excitement as they flapped and fluttered and ran with new vigor at the space they were not used too. It was time to pick up my daughter from school, a 15 minute round trip, without traffic, 20 minutes at most if behind the bus. Loaded up the Berkster in her car seat, and headed out.

You know that little voice in your head that says 'maybe you should have put the chickens back in, before you left'...well I didn't listen to it. But I did get that no so happy feeling in my gut while driving 45 in a 30 mph zone. I even remember herding Sydney under my wing to get her out of the classroom and into the car, saying 'we have to hurry Sydney, I left the chickens out'...

No herding or speeding could have helped the mass executions we received while driving up the driveway. The chicks were still, silent, and warm. Lying in the same spot as when I had left them, except for one, who lay halfway in the pens door, slowly working to breath just another breathe. She died in my hands as the adrenaline pulsed through my veins , and that little voice became a loud thumping 'I Told You So'. 13 dead, 2 injured, all splayed across my driveway for my daughters to behold.

The screams of the children were almost unbearable. They could not understand how or why this had happened. Berkeley kept remarking' you can take it to work mom and fix it, it's alright, it will be alright' Unfortunately Berk it won't be alright. They are dead, passed on, spirits and soon to be earth. It was a hard concept to grasp even for a 40 year old. I had loved these chicks from day 3 of their lives, and they were gone.

Since that moment I have excepted that little voice, it knows what it is talking about. The chickens were compensated for by our neighbor, the funeral under the apple tree gave a sense of closure to my children, and the new box of chicks arrived several weeks later. However, the haunting truth will never leave and I have a feeling my children will be the ones that have that same childhood memory I grew up with many years ago.