In the bleak mid-winter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone.
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter, long ago.
19th century hymn (one of my favorites)
As January draws to a close, Maryland is finally emerging from an early winter blizzard and deep freeze that had me doubting I would make it to the end of December with my sanity intact. Is winter this difficult for everyone? While I could force myself to go outside to exercise, to rake leaves, to do anything, the cold makes me want to stand with my back to the fireplace and "toast my buns," as I call it.
This is why my chickens have been a Godsend in so many ways. At least twice a day, I am forced to check on the status of their feed and water, and to look for eggs. Just before the December 19th blizzard, I discovered the push-in "nipples" on their waterers had frozen. The poor things may have been deprived of water for as long as three days--one of the down sides of my low-maintenance invention. I decided drastic measures were in order and put the red brooder lamp up in the coop. For nearly a week, I left it on almost around the clock. It may have been a cool 15 outside, but it was a spring-like 55 within the chicken inner sanctum.
The next shock for the flock was the 30-plus inches of snow. I trudged my way out to them midway through the blizzard and opened their door so they could get some fresh air. As usual, they noisily fought their way to be first out the door, until the first hen put her little toe into that icy white stuff and came to a screeching halt. Those behind her, especially the rooster, began complaining and looking over her shoulder to investigate the hold up. The result reminded me of their first trip outdoors as chicks: hens 1 through 3 and Randy the Rooster were ingloriously pushed out into the strange, white world by hens 5 through 10. The resulting commotion would have been rather funny if they were not so obviously traumatized. I left the door open during daylight hours after that, but I don't think they emerged until the snow began melting during the Christmas Day rain.
With nothing to do while they were all "cooped up," the hens apparently decided to focus their attention on egg production. On a slow day, I'll collect 5 or 6 eggs, but most of the time, I open the hatch to find 10 or 12 and 14 on one busy day. For a short time I became concerned that leaving the red light on was forcing them into a laying frenzy--organic egg standards actually mandate that lights are not left on for more than 16 hours a day. But as wind chills dipped to single digit and subzero levels, I decided keeping them warm was more important. When temperatures rose above 25 or 30 degrees, I began leaving the light off at night, and haven't used it at all for almost two weeks now. The eggs continue to roll in. One bumpy, enormous egg weighed in at 3 1/8 ounces--for a little perspective the largest USDA size is Jumbo, which is about 2 1/2 ounces. The same day, we collected one that would barely qualify as "peewee."
After exhausting my current file of recipes, including
Smoked Salmon and Cream Cheese frittata, Coffee flan, Cajun Spoonbread with Andouille, and Enchilada Strata, I decided I'd better try to get rid of a dozen or two here and there to friends and family. How fortuitous that one friend recently became a vegetarian! My mother-in-law is firmly convinced of the health benefits of home-grown eggs. And my Mom and brother have waxed nostalgic about the flock they used to have and will take as many eggs as I can spare whenever I see them. I charge a modest $2 a dozen and while I hate collecting money, I need to justify the costs of my rather expensive "hobby." So far, my hens have earned me $42.50. Of course, I still owe some of my customers about 10 dozen eggs, since they gave me cash to put on account, but that will buy about four 50 pound bags of feed. I am contemplating designs for a hand-painted sign that I can put out in the front yard on days when the refrigerator is overflowing with cartons.
So while the mid-winter blues keep trying to muscle their way in, my New Hampshires and Delawares keep me feeling like my little homestead is producing something. And hey, I still have lettuce in my hoophouse, carrots under a blanket of straw, and rosemary on the southern side of the house! In two more months, I'll be planting potatoes! The seed catalogs have arrived! Perhaps I'll make it through this bleak midwinter.
