Baby Chicks Arrive: Tiny Wings, Big Feelings at The Inkwell

Three tiny chicks moved in to the Inkwell last night—and the house is suddenly brimming with life.

They’re already full of curiosity. This morning they discovered the mirror and have been hopping around and over each other, tapping at their fluffy little reflections, testing out their tiny wings and peeping at each other like they’ve just remembered they’re not alone. They try to perch on anything slightly raised, wobble as they do, then fluff their feathers like they meant it all along. It’s hard to believe how much personality can fit into something so small and new.

The new chorus of contented chirping echoing through the house feels like sunlight in sonic form—bright, soft, and impossible to ignore. I don’t think it’s a sound I could ever grow tired of.

They don’t know yet what they’re becoming—but they’re certainly in no rush. They’re just… exploring. Peeping. Becoming. And in their presence, I feel it too—that subtle reminder that every season begins with curiosity and hope. That joy doesn’t need to be big or loud to change the shape of a day.

We’re all, in some way, trying to figure out what the world’s about. Maybe that’s why I find myself just sitting with them, watching, letting the to-do list fall to the background a little more. There’s something so grounding about their smallness, their softness, their complete trust in the moment they’re in. It feels like a kind of invitation.

These three came from Spring Creek Heritage Farms, a small family-run preserve where the animals are deeply loved and well tended. I’m grateful to have found such a thoughtful source—and to bring home not just chicks, but a little thread of connection to the land, to care, and to the season unfolding.

More soon, I’m sure. For now, we’re just settling in—me and the fluffballs, all of us blinking awake to summer.

Love,
Karin (with an eye)