These are frigid days. The snow came by the foot on Sunday, and bitter temps will keep it here until at least the weekend. How can we imagine spring or summer in days like this? I suppose it is good for us, in a way, when we have to tangle with nature. It reminds us of what is really in charge.
As the temps plunged, however, I had one concern: our 8 chickens. Our backyard coop has provided us with eggs all year, and our 3 New Hampshire reds and 5 brown leghorns have become a surprising joy and worry to me. When I wake up a night suddenly, my first thoughts go to them -- did I shut the coop door? are there any predators around? do they have enough food? My husband Jesse reminds me without even asking: "The chickens are fine."
This week, Jesse braved a train journey through the snow to go to Michigan, and I am enjoying some much needed downtime after the holidays. As the weather worsened, I checked on the chickens every few hours -- replenishing water after the heated fountain couldn't keep up, checking food, giving them scratch corn an hour before bed, gathering eggs before they freeze, and even cooking them some hot oatmeal. I read countless articles on protecting chickens from the cold. Some said to heat the coop, others said no. Some said use vaseline on frostbit combs, others said no. I now know a lot about chickens -- and I want to learn more.
The fact that I don't know very much about chickens is odd. I grew up with them at home, from the time I was in third grade. My parents got our first chicken, and I met her in our garage. I named her Mrs. Peepers. She was the first of many that soon inhabited our family's farm. I never remember my mom buying store eggs. In fact, I didn't buy my own eggs until I moved too far from my parents to get them on a regular basis. When I did buy them, I didn't think they looked like eggs -- too large, too white, with yolks too pale. The farm fresh egg is a treasure.
And now we have our own treasures! I am happily picking up this hobby of having chickens. Of all the interests I have right now, I am most interested in chickens -- the different breeds, personalities, building different shelters, and how to tame them. Even as the cold moved in this week, I learned about how hardy chickens are against the cold, how they hold their feathers to stay warm, and how their bodies acclimate to colder temps than humans can bear. What marvelous creatures. My mom always told me that chickens were smart, and I believe her. And like her chickens, none of ours are on the menu. When we say "chicken salad," we mean the scrap greens and vegetables from our dinner that they happily peck through on the compost heap.
Even as I worried for their comfort this week, I also relished being attuned to their needs and focused on the present. I marveled that they continued to lay perfect eggs in below zero temps, producing a dozen over the course of the weekend.
Nature wins, every time.
No comments:
Post a Comment