The Minnesota Farm Woman

Being a Farm Woman is not all the glitz and glamour that you might think. I had been very excited to hear the peeping of a new baby chick in the coop. Just one, though. Mama Hen (one of my five Buff Orpingtons who all look alike and all have been given the name of Mama) was still sitting on the other three eggs. Baby hatched a day early, and I waited a couple of days for the others. Yesterday, I no longer heard peeping, but was hoping that she was asleep under Mama’s protective wings. Today, still no peeps. Uh oh. The sound of silence is never good news in a chicken coop. Expecting the worst, I donned some rubber gloves and quickly lifted Mama off the nest. She cried and shrieked like a banshee. There was no baby chick in the nest. There was no baby chick anywhere. Uh oh. I searched for the body, but it was nowhere to be found. My next Farm Woman duty was to check the eggs for viability. You can “candle” the eggs by holding them up individually to a light bulb, but I have found from either experience or stupidity that it is hard to see through the shells of dark-colored eggs, and mine are all blue, green, and brown. The next thing to do is put the egg up to your ear and listen for activity. That is quite difficult to do when one is in a chicken coop being screeched at by a banshee. Since the wind was blowing, and a cold north wind at that, I carried them to the truck, closed the door, and put each egg up to my ear. These eggs were underneath Mama for 23 long days and were not too clean, but I did it anyway and took my time. Nothing. It was Mother’s Day, poor Mama had no babies, and she was still crying for them. It was really hard to hear, and since I have a soft heart, I had to do something. While Mama was carrying on, some of the other hens were arguing over who got to lay an egg in the coveted spot. Now, there are plenty of nesting areas, but all of them wanted that certain spot. There were three, and all of them sitting on top of each other like a chicken totem pole. The screeching didn’t seem to bother them, and in fact, seemed to egg them on. I grabbed an armful clean straw and put it in a safe spot, making a nest in the middle. Quickly, to avoid getting pecked, I gathered up a few eggs from the coveted laying spot and placed them in the nest. Next, I picked up the banshee and put her next to them, and suddenly, the screeching stopped. It wasn’t completely quiet though. Fluffing her feathers and settling in, Mama began purring, sounding just like a contented cat. Some days, it is best to practice kindness over practicality. The sounds of that grieving mama hen would have haunted my dreams for many nights to come. Now, it is time for this mama’s Jacuzzi bath. Not so much for the glitz and glamour of it all, but to wash the chicken poop off my ears. After all, I did hold those eggs up pretty close.