The Minnesota Farm Woman

Chickens are fickle creatures. In a perfect world, they are supposed to eat, lay eggs, and hatch dozens of cute little fluffy chicks every spring. My world, as we all know, is far from perfect. For the last five years, the chickens in my coop have managed to hatch just one cute little fluffy chick, which turned out to be a big fat rooster. Just my luck. Every spring, the girls start laying eggs in a hidden nest, thinking they’re hiding them from the human who gathers them every day. At least I think that’s what they’re thinking. Every spring, I pretend to ignore the hidden nest and wait for someone –anyone- to start sitting on that nest. Nobody ever does. Every spring, one by one, I throw a basket of rotten eggs into the swamp. After last year’s rooster, I gave up. I decided to change my way of thinking, purchase my baby chicks every year from the farm store and not worry one bit about the birth rate in my own coop. There’s nothing wrong with that. You can always choose laying hens of different breeds, unless you’re unlucky like me and manage to pick the one baby rooster that was put there by mistake among the dozens of hens. I won’t have to ignore the hidden nest anymore and that means more eggs and less waste. Two days ago, when I went to gather eggs in the evening, one of my younger hens did not jump out of the nesting box to greet me like she usually does. When I reached under her to gather the eggs, she glared and squawked at me, but let me take an egg. Yesterday, she glared and squawked again, but when I reached under her, she pecked me. Hard. Hard enough for me to feel it though my winter jacket. Hard enough to hurt. Today, she just glared at me when I walked into the coop. Now before you think that I am just some crazy Farm Woman who has had just a little too much of a very long winter under her belt, I am here to tell you that a broody hen CAN give a stink eye that can put you right in your place. This time, I know exactly what she’s thinking, too. “DON’T. TOUCH. I’ll draw blood next time.” Yes, Ma’am. I think I’ll leave Mama alone and let nature take its course, but I will not, under any circumstances, count my chickens before they are hatched. Well….except to send a small prayer heavenward that there will be no more roosters. Think pink.