Fern Creek

We had good intentions of hatching out our own eggs after last year's experience with shipping day old chicks. Last year a packing error meant that only 20 chicks were shipped instead of the 25 required to maximize body heat during their trek from the hatchery. That, and sub-freezing temperatures meant that several were DOA, and several more died in the first couple of hours after I picked them up from the post office shipping yard, despite my best attempt at calling them toward life.  We did not want to repeat this experience.

But hatching out eggs means we'd get about 50% males, and since we aren't raising chickens for meat, that is problematic.  Besides, more Craigslist people will buy pullets (females) than roosters because, like us, most people keeping backyard chickens do it for the eggs and also perhaps because keeping hens is simply satisfying. While not like having a pet dog, hens offer an echo of life before food production left the family farm. 

Chickens develop rules, a pecking order, personalities.  For instance, I resist taking eggs out from under any of our hens, mostly because some of them find it distressing, but only the Production Reds will peck at me if I try.  Most Americauna, Marans and Leghorns are skittish, the Gold and Black Sex-Links are less so. Skeddal is an Americauna so named because she is a skeddaler.  Liza stamps her feet and then bows to be petted whenever I'm in proximity to her. And so it goes. About half our hens have names, like Ruby, Amelia, Bertha, Maud, Erma, Sule, Coila, Molly, Sister, Mourning, Chicken Little, and Penelope.  They delight us. They require more care than a cat and less than a dog and give us eggs and nitrogen-rich poop besides. 

Milder weather contributed to the chicks fiesty arrival at Fern Creek, chirping all the way home in the car.  As I lifted each one from the box, I welcomed her to Fern Creek, dunked her beak in some sugar water and set her down by the water under a warming lamp. Still, at first they stumbled into a giant heap under the heat lamp for a collective snooze. We'll have about a dozen pullets for sale in about a month, so if you are local and interested let me know.  I'm glad to provide some guidance on getting started for first-timers.  We have Barred Rock, Rhode Island Red, and Black and Gold Sex-links. One of the Gold Sex-Links (a very human-friendly breed) has already imprinted on Mark, wanting him to be her Mama. Erma did that with me last year, and while she backed off after going through puberty (as many adolescent daughters do!), she will still come forward and greet me when I walk into the hen house to refill their feed and water and collect eggs.

Yesterday, December 22nd, was the winter solstice in the Northern Hemishpere--the shortest day of the year, or the Longest Night, depending on your perspective.  That means, starting today each day gets a bit longer until the summer solstice in June. What a delightful fact that the lengthening of the days corresponds to the first day of winter! Several days of heavy frosts and thick fog have ushered in the changing of this season, with occasional clear nights studded with stars celebrated by the hoot owl that lives in the forest by the creek.  Some mornings Mark and I walk in the dark, our way lit by the moon and eventually by the hinting of daylight to come.  On one recent walk the hoot owl had not yet settled down from her night's activities, so we heard her low resonant call as we made our way up Williamson Road, past other, mostly slumbering, creatures.  

Every season holds reminders of the wonder of how Life cycles through the year. This season of earth-rest reminds me of the gift of sleep, a break from school and farm work, and a celebration of a different sort. That Christmas is situated at the beginning of winter recalls every year the Christian belief that because of God's tender mercy, the light of Christ came to shine on those living in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the path of peace (Luke 1:78-79). With the economic, political and social challenges of this day, I cling to that hope, and the simple gifts of seasonal changes that remind me of the faithful presence of God throughout time and space.