1 The Incredible, Indelible Egg Tick-tock, Tick-tock. The echo of my mother s grandfather clock taunted me as I sulked at the kitchen table. I looked out the window in hopes of inspiration but the sight of melting snow and small buds sprouting on my cherry tree exacerbated my anxiety. It was early March, and I hadn t the faintest idea about how I would secure victory at the Webster Elementary School Science Fair. The necessity of calcium for human bones; brilliant. The history and lifecycle of the silkworm; ingenious. Both projects had earned me blue ribbons previous years, but it was during the fourth grade that my creativity was at a roadblock. Why not research the natural causes of earthquakes, or read up on the biology and behavior of honey bees? my mom would suggest. Ideas would come and go, but nothing was worth writing down. I stared down at the empty notebook flopped open in front of me and tapped my pencil impatiently. Tick-tock, Ticktock. The pressure was on, but I wasn t about to waste my time working on any project less than extraordinary. An epiphany came to me when I had least expected it. I was at a baby shower thrown for my mother s friend Angela, and to my dismay I was the only guest under twenty-five. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I watched young women mingle and laugh amongst each other while sipping from decorative wine glasses. To keep myself occupied, I rummaged through the mountain of opened gifts piled in the center of the living room. I sorted through several shades of pink dresses, bibs, and towels when a very pregnant belly loomed over my head. You must be Molly, Angela said while extending a hand towards me. The beaming smile on her face put me at ease as I shook her hand. I was just about to go feed the chickens out back. Would you care to come join me? she asked while rolling up the sleeves of her striped maternity blouse.
2 Chickens?? I asked, surprised by the unexpected offer. Yes, I have nine of them in a coop out back, Angela explained to me. And it s just around their dinner time now if you d like to help feed them, she said still smiling. Up to that point, I had never known anyone who actually owned chickens as pets. With my interest increasing, I timidly followed her out of the back of her house. The coop was a small wooden hut, with a fenced pen jetting out from its side. I watched Angela let open a latch door that the pen surrounded, and a colorful flock of roosters and hens began to step outside clucking loudly. rickety shelter. I can t believe you actually raise chickens! I exclaimed as more of them piled out of the Angela showed me how to throw the feed out correctly to the poultry, and she told me about their odd habits. Despite living in New Hampshire, I hadn t been up close to farm life before. I d only see chickens when visiting farms in nearby towns during apple picking season. The fact that Angela actually raised her own poultry was an idea so eccentric to my fourth grade mind. This was the qualifier for my ultimate science project. During the ride home that night, I announced my desire to raise my own chickens to bring to the fair. My mother initially rejected my idea, but the more we talked about it, the better it sounded. I would learn about the possibility of eggs being fertilized or unfertile. I would learn about the anatomy of the egg and the importance of each of its membranous layers. And most importantly, I would actually be able to experience hatching eggs to life. How more educational can a project get mom! I exclaimed, knowing that I had successfully convinced her.
3 It was a grand slam. My only worry was to not have the eggs hatch in time for the fair. As I explained this concern to my mother, we knew it was time to get an incubator. Conveniently enough, Angela had an incubator in storage she was willing to let me borrow during the month before the fair. Structurally the machine was simple, but I figured it must be powerful enough to heat such little lives. The next step was to actually stock the incubator. The farm that my mother chose to buy the eggs from was about twenty miles outside of town. We parked our Audi station wagon in a desolate dirt lot, and walked down a narrow path looking for the man my mother spoke to on the phone that morning. A thin layer of snow covered the long white barn s roof and thawing icicles hung from its gutters. I was hoping to spot livestock grazing out in the pasture, but only rows of yellowish cabbage surrounded us. As I scrutinized the unhealthy crops drooping onto the trail, I was startled by a gruff voice. Hiya, folks! Here for those eggs aint yous? I turned around to see a farmer covered in filth, who was not too much taller than my nine year old self. The small man welcomed us kindly, and led us down a seemingly endless hallway with cages crammed all along its wall space. I could not make out what the farmer was saying because roosters and hens were squawking above his voice. As we walked further down the aisle, he signaled for my mother and me to wait. He rushed into a room at the back of the tight coop, and returned with a box full of a dozen fertilized eggs that we had requested. He instructed us to hurry home and to immediately place the eggs inside our incubator. And so we did. The first couple of days were exciting. I thought I could see the color of the eggs changing already. I took down daily notes of any altering appearances of eggs; there weren t
4 many. Time began to pass more quickly and there were still few signs of life inside the eggs. I thought to myself, Why isn t anything happening yet?! I was not aware of what a painstaking process the experiment would become. Once I completed the poster board and visual work for my demonstration, there was only one week left until the night of the science fair. Still no eggs had hatched. I was now panicking that something was wrong with the incubator. What could be the problem; the temperature was set correctly, I had turned the eggs as I had been instructed Why weren t there any chicks yet? I debated dropping out of the fair entirely until one egg suddenly cracked. A beak poked its way through the small hole, and then retired to lifelessness again. The next day, the chick fully made its way out of the egg. The only survivor of my experiment, I named him Lucky. Lucky was born a mere six days before the fair. I fed him proper bird seed for young chicks, and made sure to keep him warm. Although Lucky was healthy enough to leave his egg, he had a defect that kept him from attending the fair. The baby chick was born with a clubbed foot which inhibited him from walking upright. Lucky had to limp on his side to move about, and could not manage to easily. He spent most of his time huddled in a corner of his incubator, and would only get up to eat or drink. In the end, I decided not to bring him to the fair. Lucky s life was too fragile to be put at that risk, and so I left without him. When Principal Dallaire announced the first place winner that night, my name was not called. I did not take home any ribbon that night. As I watched the victors pile up onto the stage and present their colorful ribbons to the audience, I did not feel disappointment. Instead, I
5 wondered why only Lucky survived my experiment. I had cared for my eggs just as all of my research had directed, so why was only one embryo given the chance to live? The car ride home was quiet. I slouched in the backseat with my eyes focused on the rain droplets streaming down my window. The first April shower had begun. When I walked through my front door, my brother explained to my mom and I that Lucky hadn t moved all night. The next morning he still lied in the same corner of the incubator. I lightly stroked his fluffy yellow coat but he didn t move. I decided to bury Lucky underneath my cherry tree. I placed a gray stone in the dirt to mark his burial site, and said a quick prayer in his name. The tree was in full blossom, and its pink petals swayed softly on the branches. Soon the flowers would cover the ground.