Open Contest Memories of Summer—2025

[Esc_Quaily]

One of my favourite memories of Summer 2025 is sharing my successful courgette/zucchini harvest with friends and family. My 6 y/o helped me to grow them too.

I had such an abundance of them I gave some to my neighbours. One whom I'm close with had just started a new job. She took her batch of yellow courgettes to work and cooked up a courgette feast with one of her vulnerable, difficult-to-engage client to share with everyone at the centre that my neighbour works at.

The courgette leaves, I dried and crushed and added to my quail coop. I even harvested the caterpillars for the wild birds in my garden. Nothing got wasted from my courgette patch.

It's my favourite summer 2025 memory because I like to feed people. I like to share. I like to help my community. I'm especially happy that my neighbour reported that the cooking session with her vulnerable client made her more comfortable with the others who attend.

 

[peafowl_Lover]

My favourite memory of the summer was hatching eggs under a broody hen for the first time. Only one hatched and of course he's a cockerell. Now he has a brand new coop, a run that's in the making and 5 lovely new ladies!

 

[DuckLady]

My favorite 2025 summer memory is celebrating mine and my husband’s twenty fifth wedding anniversary by revisiting the place where we honeymooned.
(Mackinaw City and Mackinac Island)
This trip was our first time returning in twenty five years.
It brought back many happy memories, but we also made new happy memories with our daughters who traveled with us.
Our family stayed at the same hotel where we had honeymooned previously.
A priority was to visit the same fudge store where we loaded up on yummy fudge.
My husband jumped for joy to visit Fort Michilimackinac.
He remembered the “wall gun” displayed in the armory.
We all enjoyed seeing Mackinac Island and visiting the Grand Hotel. My favorite part of the trip was the carriage ride around the island.
The drive across the bridge brought out a little nervousness in myself and the girls, as the bridge was being painted and there were partial lane closures.
We toured the lighthouse, the lighthouse museum, and the Coastguard ship - Ice Breaker.
The whitefish at Skalawag’s tasted amazing!
When it was time to head home, we were tired. We took our time driving and stopped in Indiana overnight to rest.
It was good to be home, see our animals and give them love, and to sleep in our own beds.

What a wonderful trip! And so much more meaningful to make memories with your daughters on top of your own memories!

My favorite memory this summer is going to New York City with my mum. It was an unplanned expedition that worked out perfectly in so many ways. We left at 3:30 in the morning and arrived in NYC just after the rush hour traffic. Over the next two days I managed to figure out the subway system on my own, got my mom to talk to a Coast Guard recruiter, and saw everything from the Statue of Liberty to Fort Washington. On the way home we stayed a night in Philadelphia, and I got to show her around (I’ve been there once before). We ended our journey with a walk along the pier and a delicious chocolate milkshake in Baltimore before driving off into the sunset toward our house.

There are so many pictures it was hard to choose just one...

St Patricks' Cathedral, NYC
View attachment 4215695

What a magnificent cathedral! Those unplanned excursions make the best memories!

One of my favourite memories of Summer 2025 is sharing my successful courgette/zucchini harvest with friends and family. My 6 y/o helped me to grow them too.

I had such an abundance of them I gave some to my neighbours. One whom I'm close with had just started a new job. She took her batch of yellow courgettes to work and cooked up a courgette feast with one of her vulnerable, difficult-to-engage client to share with everyone at the centre that my neighbour works at.

The courgette leaves, I dried and crushed and added to my quail coop. I even harvested the caterpillars for the wild birds in my garden. Nothing got wasted from my courgette patch.

It's my favourite summer 2025 memory because I like to feed people. I like to share. I like to help my community. I'm especially happy that my neighbour reported that the cooking session with her vulnerable client made her more comfortable with the others who attend.

The best part of gardening is sharing. The people you share with will always remember that fondly!

My favourite memory of the summer was hatching eggs under a broody hen for the first time. Only one hatched and of course he's a cockerell. Now he has a brand new coop, a run that's in the making and 5 lovely new ladies!

Those memories of the excitement of a first hatch will always stay with you. I will always remember my first one and look back on it often.

 

[BDutch]

After 3 years of trying to expand my flock of 6 bantam hens with 2 more pullets I finally succeeded last year.

4 times I bought fertilised eggs when I had a broody. And last year I added an extra coop (children’s playhouse) to avoid roosting troubles amongst older hens and new family members.

Finally it all worked out well. So I was rather pleased to have a chick-fuzz-brake this year. On the other hand I missed the fluffy tiny chicks too of course.

This summer was great for 2 amazing things.

A great garden party for family and friends. ^^ The invitation with chickens on the side of the road.

Followed by a vacation in the French Alps without flock worries. With amazing views and sunsets.

 

[Lacy Duckwing]

@Blue Raptor, you should enter this!

 

[Beau plus penny]

View attachment 4214845
This contest is brought to you by our BYC Sponsors
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Memories of Summer—2025
Ends October 5th, 2025​

What did you do over the summer on your farm or residence? Did you add a new species of poultry or livestock and how did that go? Did you build a new coop or barn, we would love to see photos! Were there equipment breakdowns at the most inopportune time, (tractors, haybalers, front end loaders) and how did you go about fixing them? Did you take a vacation to get away for a spell and where did you go? Or did you just pull up a lawn chair and with a good book to read, admire all you have created over the years. What ever left a big impression on you this past summer at your farm or residence we want to hear about it! Rants, raves, tell us all!


In this contest, the winners will be picked using a random number generator.

Prizes - 3 month PFMs. The more entries, the more prizes!

To increase your chances of winning, please read the rules before entering.
.
Rules:

1. Post your favorite Memory of Summer as a reply to this thread. Entry must be in your own words. AI is not allowed. The entry must be at least 100 words long.
2. Only one entry per member will be accepted.
3. Feel free to share a photo if it ties in with your story.
4. We will use a random number generator to select our winners for this Contest.
5. Prizes are limited to one per person per contest.
6. All BYC rules apply: Terms of Service (Rules)
7. Entries will be accepted until October 5th, 2025

hate to be a debby downer but my summer sucked i lost my best friend

This was no ordinary summer—it was the summer of Bunny.


When my dad brought home that carton of free chicks from my brother’s hatchery, I had no idea how profoundly it would change my life. Among a chaotic jumble of yellow, black, and brown fluffballs, one tiny gray chick caught my eye instantly. She was different—quiet, delicate, almost fragile in a way that made you want to protect her. Something inside me clicked. Before I even touched her, the name “Bunny” appeared in my mind, soft and certain, as if she had always belonged to me. From that moment on, she wasn’t just a chick—she was mine.


At first, she didn’t trust me. Every time I reached into our homemade chick brooder in the basement, she would shriek and flail, wings beating wildly, a tiny storm of panic in the hay. But I was patient. I sat with her, whispered to her, held out my hand, and played soft music. Slowly, day by day, fear gave way to curiosity. She tiptoed closer, tilting her wide, glimmering eyes toward me, studying me with careful wonder. Then came the miracle: one afternoon, she collapsed into my arms, feathers warm and soft, and fell asleep.


In that moment, something shifted. She wasn’t just a chick in my care—she was my baby. Her tiny, fragile body trusted me completely. Every peep, every tiny flutter of her wings, felt like a signal of her reliance on me for safety and comfort. When she nestled against my chest or burrowed into my hoodie pouch, I felt the weight of responsibility settle on me, as if her entire little world depended on my presence. Her soft murmurs, meant only for me, were secret whispers of trust and love, a language that only I could understand. Every movement, every glance, every sigh of contentment made me ache with the fierce, protective love I had never known before. She was delicate, she was dependent, she was mine in a way that mirrored the bond between a parent and a child.


Bunny was unlike any other bird. Quiet, reserved, an introvert in feathered form, she shied away from the commotion of the flock. But with me, she was bold, curious, completely herself. In her cautious curiosity, her selective trust, and her love for small comforts, I saw pieces of myself mirrored back. Her quiet observation of the world, the way she studied before stepping forward, reflected my own tendency to watch and think before acting. Her comfort in music and curling up in my lap mirrored my own need for solace in small moments of beauty. Watching her navigate the world, I recognized my own reflection in her careful, sensitive, introverted spirit. It was as if in Bunny, I could see the softest, most vulnerable parts of myself—made tangible, alive, and entrusted to my care.


I’d play music on my phone, and she had favorites—the same as mine, Lady Gaga and Taylor Swift—curling into my lap or draping herself across my elbow, swaying as if she shared the rhythm. It felt like we had our own secret language, one no one else could understand.


When the chicks moved to the coop, the transition was overwhelming for all of them, but Bunny clung to our bond. She tried to burrow into my hoodie pouch as if to say, “Take me home, this is too much.” My heart melted. Eventually, she explored, but always returned to me, checking in, whispering in her tiny, private chatter: soft murmurs, cheerful tweets, intimate sounds meant only for me. “I know you. I trust you. You’re mine.”


And oh, she was beautiful. Her feathers were a masterpiece, gray and white splashed with perfection, as if painted by an artist’s meticulous hand. She was not just a bird—she was a living work of art. I would watch her for hours, utterly captivated, wishing the world could see what I saw.


But joy carried the shadow of grief. One by one, chickens began to die. Each morning, my stomach twisted with fear, dreading the day Bunny might follow. On the night of July 26th, I held her close, her soft feathers pressed to my face, tears soaking her gray fluff, whispering to her, feeling in my bones that our time together was precariously short. I didn’t want to let her go.


And then came July 27th—the day that will never leave me. I stepped into the coop, the air heavy and wrong. My eyes darted across the floor. And there she was. Bunny, stiff, feathers puffed, her comb gray and lifeless. My chest shattered. I screamed, cradled her in my arms, shook her gently, whispered “Please, please, don’t leave me,” pressed my ear to her chest, tried to force life back into her tiny body—but it was useless. She was gone. My baby, my little gray companion, cold in my arms.


I buried her in the soft morning light, hands trembling, tears streaking my face. My mom tried to comfort me, but nothing could fill the emptiness. A piece of me had been ripped out, leaving a hollow ache that no words could touch.


This summer had given me so much—the joy of watching her grow, the secret chatter meant only for me, the warmth of her sleeping in my arms—but also my greatest heartbreak: losing her far too soon. Bunny was not just a chicken; she was my companion, my baby, my confidant, the soul of my summer days.


And yet, in the quiet moments, I cannot escape her. I relive her endlessly—her soft murmurs, the gentle curl of her body in my arms, the warmth of her feathers, the way she tilted her head to watch me. But just as often, I am thrust back into that morning, the moment I found her, lying cold and still. It replays over and over, like a scene from a Stephen King novel: the shadows of the coop stretching long and thin, the sharp tilt of her tiny head, the unbearable silence where life once pulsed. I wake in a cold sweat, heart hammering, as if the memory itself is breathing down my neck. Joy and terror, love and loss, are forever intertwined. Bunny lives on in my heart, yes, but also in my mind—a haunting presence I cannot quiet, a story I am doomed to replay, endlessly vivid, endlessly raw.

 

[thecatumbrella]

This was no ordinary summer—it was the summer of Bunny.

I'm so sorry for your loss, Beau.

 

[Beau plus penny]

I'm so sorry for your loss, Beau.

It's been nearly 2 months

 

[Beau plus penny]

It's been nearly 2 months

Yet I still miss her

 

[thecatumbrella]

I had a fun experience with my mother this summer. We played through a video game together for the first time in over 30 years. Back then, she'd do all the hard stuff, and I'd be in charge in exploration/puzzles. This time, we switched. It took us a few months to get through the story, and it's a nice memory that I'll always treasure. Especially since we'd take breaks to play with the many bantam chicks that came through my house this year. Baby chicks just love grandma!