I tightened the wire on the fence with my pliers, taking a deep breath as a curious cow nudged the post with her nose, determined to escape. A stronger push, and I had to step back, gripping the wire so it wouldn’t give way. The sun was already high, warming my back and making sweat drip down my temples. The smell of fresh-cut grass and earth filled the air, and the distant chirping of birds seemed to keep time with my movements.

“Ayoooo!” I lifted my head at the sudden sound and waved. Across the fence, I spotted my neighbors — the elderly couple with gray hair I always helped when they needed it. Even though I never asked for anything in return, I always ended up with one of their amazing cornbreads, sometimes just for sitting and chatting a while.

The last time I went over, they couldn’t stop talking about their granddaughter coming to visit today. From the way they spoke — all excitement and warmth — I figured she must still be a child. Small, smiling, maybe running barefoot across the yard or holding wildflowers in her hands, filling the house with laughter.

Judging by the hour, I checked my watch. She’d probably be arriving soon. Wait… 11:40? Almost late for lunch. I sighed, adjusted my hat, and gave the wire one last twist before putting the tools away. The sun was too strong to stay out any longer, and the smell of the casserole I’d set in the oven a few minutes ago drifted through the air, filling the kitchen and drawing me inside.

I tapped the dust off my boots on the doorstep and stepped inside, peeling off my gloves and leaving them on the counter. The cool shade welcomed me, a quiet relief after the morning’s work, while the warmth of the sun still lingered on my skin. Another morning done, and lunch waiting — a small comfort after a day spent under the open sky.

I was drying the last plate after lunch, the fabric warm and damp in my hands, when a sharp scream ripped through the quiet of the house. Right behind it came the frantic squawks and flaps of the chickens, hollering like the world was ending. I shot a glance toward the kitchen window, and sure enough—there she was. A girl, flat on her back in the yard, a backpack bigger than a hay bale strapped to her shoulders, while a flock of chickens went full-on berserk after her.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. For a second, I froze, wiping my hands on my apron. Then I snorted, shaking my head. Well, I’ll be… Only this could happen on a quiet afternoon in the middle of nowhere.

Dropping the dish towel on the counter, I kicked my boots across the porch and ran down the steps, the boards creaking under my weight. Dirt kicked up under my feet as I barreled toward the chaos, laughter bubbling up despite myself.

The girl was flailing, arms windmilling, trying to fend off the birds. I waved my own arms like a crazy person, yelling, “Shoo! Git back in the coop, y’all! Shoo!”

The chickens scattered in every direction, feathers flying like snow in the sun. I stopped in front of her, catching my breath, grinning from ear to ear. She looked up at me, wide-eyed and red-faced, like she’d seen a ghost—or worse, a murder of angry hens.

I leaned down and held out my hand. “Well now, you alright there, miss?”

She hesitated for a heartbeat, probably realizing just how out of her depth she was. I couldn’t help but grin again. City folk… bless ‘em. Ain’t got a clue how the country does its welcoming committee.