You Never Forget Your First

You never forget your first.

Your first car (…a yellow VW beetle)

Your first beer (…a Natty Lite in Dylan Craft’s shed with Ariana Arroyo and Dougy Bauer)

Your first heartbreak (…Matthew Mangarella turning me down at recess in fifth grade)

Your first lay (…in the bottom row of nesting boxes, the second in from the right, Thursday, July 23, 2026)

I’m talking the first egg lay.

Keep your minds out of the gutter - this is a family business.

Drew and I were outside Thursday morning when we heard a throaty, feral cackle coming from the chicken coop.

We looked at each other, side-eyed and trepidatious, and left the tomato plants we’d been tending to and approached the coop.

The black hen proudly emerged, emerald highlights shimmering across her dark, velvety wings… and left a small egg behind.

I’ve always remembered my firsts.

Not because they’re necessarily the most important or the best, but because of the comforting escape of nostalgia. Like that old pair of jeans I used to love but no longer fits. Something I only notice in the very back of my closet when I’m looking for something else. I can’t imagine myself wearing it again, but I’m too fond of it to completely throw it out. 

This life we’re building on the farm will give me plenty of things to remember that I won’t realize were important until much later.

But some things, I think, you know you’ll remember in the moment.

Like the sound of a hen singing her first egg song on a Thursday morning.