Mother hen...

In late fall, when the days get shorter, many chickens cease to lay eggs.  They require a certain number of hours of light to keep their reproductive tract firing along. Many people put a light bulb on a timer in their coops to fake the birds out and keep some eggs shooting through the pipeline. We did that our first year or two of having chickens, but then I decided to let them rest as nature obviously intended.

Though we are still firmly in winters grip, the days are growing longer, and my hens have begun to lay a few eggs.  Two a day last week, then 3, and yesterday there were four brown eggs in the nest box.  It was good timing, too, because Chris, as he heaved 50 lbs. of chicken food into the back of the truck, was commenting on how expensive our home raised eggs are.  He had to hush when he realized the egg carton on the second shelf of the 'fridge was overflowing.

All of this gets me to thinking about mother hens.  In English, the term is used to describe someone who is mothering, especially in a fussy or overprotective way.  Growing up, my siblings and I often described our mother and maternal grandmother as being "mother hen's." Oh! They were worriers.

Having had the lovely opportunity to see actual chickens mothering their brood has been a delight.  Of course, some hens are better at raising chicks than others.  One especially devoted hen suddenly completely and utterly abandoned her 4 chicks when they were barely as big as my hand, and really too young and silly to be out and about without supervision.  But others seem to keep a special bond with their chicks well into adulthood.

A good mother hen will "set" on her eggs until all or most have hatched, then take her wee fluffy chicks to find food and water. She stays near the source of nourishment, letting the chicks eat, then fluffing her feathers and huddling over them to keep them warm.  After a few days, when they are stronger and have learned to stay near mama and listen to her voice, she will venture further afield. There is more activity, less resting.  I can't think of anything much cuter than seeing little chicks poking their heads out from under their mamas warm skirts. The hen keeps up an almost constant commentary when she has babies.  Sometimes the clucks are almost conversational, "Stay near me, little's, come along, scratch your feet in this nice dirt..." I imagine she is saying. Then there is an excited tone she makes that has the chicks running, "Here's a fat worm, a bug, some seeds!" There is also an emergency tone that has them running for cover, "HAWK! DOG! Unknown human! Come NOW!" The peeps dive for her underfloof, and vanish as she settles over them, muttering.  During the day, the babies converse back to her, as well, in shrill little peeps.  If one gets separated the volume turns up to an astounding level from such a small creature, and keeps going like a smoke detector until mama comes to rescue it. Even at night, when they are snuggled up and resting, one can hear sweet, soft, "peep, peep's" coming up from under the hens warm feathers, and she will answer with  soft, sleepy, reassuring clucks. "I'm here. All is well. Sleep now...."

When I see a biddy with her babies, so fragile and small, I understand why "mother hens" fuss and worry as they do. It's an awesome responsibility to raise a clutch of scrambling little peeps to adulthood. Every predator on the farm wants to eat chicken!  I feel a little sorry for teasing my own mother for her fussy ways, and realize I can't imagine what it was like to raise 5 kids and see them scatter as they grew beyond her careful control.