Hey remember in yesterday’s post where I said that Marc was going out to get chicken feed before the storm hit?
Well it turns out it was a good thing. This is what New Hampshire looked like this morning:
This is literally the first big snow storm we’ve had this winter (if you discount that freakish Halloween blizzard from which we are still cleaning up branches and limbs) and the chickens don’t know what to make of it. (I’m not sure that chickens retain memories of things like snowstorms and suet-decorated cookies.)
I do know that our chickens are not fond of snow. Those in our flock who love to explore the yard in the summer, scratching and exploring in every corner, prefer in the winter instead to huddle together on the roosting bars, glancing up with one eye toward the heavens as non-stop feathered-snowflakes cover their world.
And maybe that’s it right there. Chickens molt. Like a snake loses its skin, once a year chickens lose their feathers. It usually happens in the fall when the daylight starts decreasing. Egg production also decreases or halts until the molt is complete. Life gets put on hold for the chicken while they take a breather.
It’s a time of rest and also a time of introspection for the girls. – Am I on target? – Have I hit my goals? – What is it I’d like to accomplish in the next 12 months?
Maybe it’s not so much that they don’t like the snow as much as the snow causes them to stop and reflect, an enforced quiet period in a world that rarely seems to stop.
