Hen Chronicles: Chickens bring joy, even in winter

At this time of year here in northern New England, caring for chickens is a bit of a chore, especially for a newbie such as myself.

First, there’s the task of getting out to the coop during a snowstorm, which requires repeatedly shoveling a lengthy path, as I did on Thursday. Then there’s the matter of keeping the outdoor run (relatively) free of snow. This involves, in my case anyway, placing two long pieces of plywood atop the pen and covering them with a tarp. I then top the perimeter of the tarp with bricks and pieces of firewood, to hold the tarp in place when the wind kicks up. Low boards are propped around the base of the pen, to try to keep the snow from blowing in.
 
The well-built coop, with its wooden walls, metal roof and ample clean bedding on the floor, remains dry no matter what Mother Nature brings. I’ve even tossed a saddle blanket over the roof, and banked the outside of the coop with bags of leaves, to provide a bit of insulation. Still, questions nag at me when the mercury drops and the snow flies. Are the hens warm enough at night? (So far, yes.) Do they show any signs of frostbite on their combs or wattles? (So far, no.) Should I be doing more than I have to shield them from the cold? (I know. They're birds. Birds have feathers. Feathers insulate. And yet . . . .)

Then, in the midst of my shoveling and tarp laying and worrying, “the girls” remind me that they’re well worth the trouble. Shoveling my way out to the coop yet again on Friday morning, I removed the snow-covered tarp to let the sun shine into the pen. I then peered into the nest box in the coop and spotted a fresh egg. Very fresh. When I picked it up and wrapped my fingers around it, the heat from the egg was strong enough to permeate my wet, snowy glove, and I felt its warmth on my palm.