The Marbled Rooster
A Childhood Memoir - First Chapter
A few weeks ago, I sat down to paint what I thought would be a portrait of myself. I didn’t want the best portrait ever, I really just wanted something honest. Something that felt like the true essence of who I am.
Instead of the adult version of myself that I had planned, the brush kept returning to a much smaller girl: seven years old, long golden-brown hair, running toward the woods at the edge of my family’s farm in Michigan. Tucked firmly under her arm was a very determined rooster—with only one leg.
His name was Marble.
Marble wasn’t just a chicken we happened to own. He was my rooster. I raised him when I was a little girl, and he became the unlikely companion for a childhood full of wandering fields, inventing adventures, and learning how to care for something fragile.
When I finished the painting and stepped back from it, I realized something: Marble deserves a story.
So this is the beginning of a small series about him. What follows is a cozy little memoir from my childhood.; about the birthday when a box of chicks arrived, the accident that left one rooster with only a single leg, and the adventures that followed as a stubborn farm girl decided she was going to fix him up and keep him by her side.
Some stories from childhood fade.
Others stay bright and strange and wonderful.
Marble’s story is one of the ones that stayed.
Chapter One: May 25th
A rowdy yellow school bus groaned to a stop in front of the quiet yellow farmhouse on Ionia Road; it was exactly 3:31 p.m. on a cloudy spring afternoon. A squirmy little girl with golden-brown hair tugged her backpack from where it had been squished into the corner of the middle-most seat she’d claimed that day and half-ran, half-skipped down the aisle toward the folding doors. She trailed her fingertips along the tops of every seat as she passed, offering bright goodbyes to the children with longer rides home.
Once planted on the muddy shoulder of the road, she tipped her chin up and waited for the signal to cross. Jeff, the driver, checked his mirrors twice, then a third time, before giving her a firm wave forward. He had a reputation for being cross, a man with little patience for the chaos of children. But this girl admired his quiet steadiness. Besides, the small gold hoop shining from his left ear surely meant he liked pretty things. And anyone who liked pretty things couldn’t be all that gruff, not deep down.
Evie Leslie was in a supremely cheery mood. It was her seventh birthday, after all. What better way to spend it than at school, surrounded by every last one of her friends? Soon they’d all be here on the Leslie farm, eating cake and bouncing on her ratty, but still perfectly functional, trampoline until the sun slipped down behind the barn.
Breakfast
A soft rain sprinkled down the morning after Evie’s birthday. She thought nothing of it as she dressed for the day; it was Saturday, and her friends would be coming over soon!
The farmhouse smelled of fresh lilacs, blooming roses, and Momma Leslie’s famous chocolate chip pancakes. The scent drifted up the staircase and slipped beneath the door of Evie’s butterfly-clad room, causing a grin to spread across her face. She threw open the door, bounded down the carpeted steps, and slid across the linoleum floor of the kitchen in her favorite pink socks. Startled by the abrupt entrance, Momma Leslie jumped while mid-pancake-flip. The half-cooked pancake splatted onto the floor in front of Evie, who couldn’t help but burst into laughter at the sound it made.
After the splatter was cleaned up, Evie sat down for a special birthday breakfast with Momma Leslie and her brother, Jonathan. Freshly picked lilacs and roses from the front garden made a beautiful centerpiece on the table. Around it stood a leaning tower of hot pancakes, little porcelain pitchers of maple syrup, a butter dish, and tall glasses of milk at each place setting. The happy little family dug in.
The Birthday Party
The sun decided to peek out from behind the wispy gray clouds, and the blustery wind softened into an occasional gentle breeze just as Evie’s friends began to arrive. Evie, with her hair plaited into two French braids, bounded down the creaky porch steps and hugged each friend as they arrived.
Little did she know that the arrival of one special person would change her life forever.
After a lively scavenger hunt across the farm, the children ran to the driveway to see who was pulling in now. Out of the passenger side of a white minivan stepped a petite Amish woman in a sky-blue dress and bright white bonnet. In her arms she carried a large brown box with air holes cut into the top. The woman gently set the box on the ground so she could reach back into the van for one more bag and to close the door.
“Mira!” Evie cried.
The woman’s face lit up with a grin as she opened her arms to receive a big hug. Evie’s friends knew exactly who this was—according to Evie, Mira was the world’s best babysitter.
Mira had come to work for the Leslies after a devastating car accident in which Jonathan suffered a traumatic brain injury and Evie some light internal bleeding. Evie healed quickly, but between Jonathan’s medical, therapy, and legal appointments, Evie needed someone to watch over her. With all of this on her plate, Momma Leslie struggled to keep up with the farm until Mira came along.
Mira was the missing piece of the family. Before long she felt like a second mother to both Evie and Jonathan—and she adored them just as much as they adored her.
“What do you have in the box?” Evie asked.
Mira reached out and gently poked Evie on the nose.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
The Box
The chocolate cake was cut and passed around before Evie opened her presents at the dining room table. All the while, her thoughts drifted to the box still sitting between the porch and the driveway. Not wanting to hurt her friends’ feelings, she carefully tore open each package and thanked every guest with a big hug.
But what is in the box? she kept wondering.
The children soon grew antsy in their chairs, Evie being the wriggliest of them all, so Momma Leslie and Mira led the group outside like a pair of pied pipers. Everyone gathered around the brown box, and the children shushed one another until the only sounds left were the breeze whispering through the trees and a faint cheeping.
Evie’s heart thumped wildly in her chest. She knew what was in the box now; but was it really happening?
The children leaned closer and closer. Just as Evie reached out her hand to lift the lid, Mira gently placed her own hand on top of the box and smiled.
“Just one more present before you open this one.”
Evie watched as Mira pulled a folded bundle of fabric from the bag slung over her shoulder and handed it to her. As Evie unfolded it, another rush of excitement bubbled up inside her. In her hands was a very small quilt made of yellow, brown, and white linen patches. Chickens of all shapes and sizes were lovingly stitched around a cozy-looking barnyard.
It was happening.
“Now you can open the box!” Mira said, giving the birthday girl a gentle pat on the head.
Evie didn’t hesitate. After handing the quilt to Momma Leslie, she lifted the lid from the box. Time seemed to slow as the crowd of children leaned in for a better look.
Inside, about fifteen tiny fluffballs huddled together at the bottom.
Baby chicks.
Evie squealed with delight and jumped up and down. Spinning around, she nearly knocked Mira off her feet with a hug that felt more like a flying tackle.
“Thank you! Thank you, thank you!” she cried.
Very nice! loved this line for some reason 'Momma Leslie jumped while mid-pancake-flip' love the painting.