As a newcomer to the world of chickens, there are certain experiments I would rather avoid, such as determining how well hens can withstand a northern New England winter. But Mother Nature is calling the shots now, not me, so I must play along.
I’ve read that chickens, when housed properly, can survive zero-degree weather, and even below-zero temperatures. But reading some expert’s claim is one thing. Seeing for myself is something else. Even if the experts are right, after all, the question remains: Have I done enough to protect the girls from the cold?
Snow and Nala spend their nights in a wooden coop at the back of our lot. We bought the coop from a supplier here in Augusta, Maine, so it should be suited to our winter needs. The girls themselves come from a farm in Maine. They are Plymouth Rocks, which is a hardy breed. Initially, though, we had a third hen, a New Hampshire Red, another good cold-weather breed. Stella died in early December for no obvious reason, making me all the more nervous about what lay ahead.
Caring for chickens at this time of year is not at all like having cats and dogs, for the simple and obvious reason that chickens do not share our toasty home with us. They’re out there, in their four foot by four foot coop, all night long. The colder it gets, the smaller and more vulnerable that coop looks.
No doubt people who grew up on a farm, or at least have experience dealing with livestock, have a different outlook on this sort of thing. But for those of us whose only prior contact with animals involves house-dwelling critters of the canine and feline variety, coming to terms with the idea of leaving chickens in a coop in the dead of night throughout the winter takes some getting used to.
I’ve tried to give the chickens as much help as I can. The floor of the coop has a thick layer of bedding. I’ve placed two saddle blankets atop the pitched metal roof, and I’ve stapled a third saddle blanket to the outside of the north-facing wall. In addition, I’ve propped 15 bags of leaves - 5 per side - against the west, north and east walls, to provide some insulation. (That’s not practical along the south wall because it abuts an open-air run that the girls roam during the day.)
The experts disagree on whether to use lights or a heating lamp in a coop, to boost the temperature a bit. Some recommend it, but others say it may screw up the natural moulting cycle, or make it harder for chickens to acclimate to winter weather. I've gone back and forth on this in my mind, but the last thing I want is a naked chicken that is moulting in January. (Stella was moulting when she died early last month.) So I’ve opted against interior lighting.
Then there’s the matter of ventilation. All of the experts seem to agree that chickens need at least a wee bit of fresh air in the coop, even on the coldest nights, because breathing and pooping create moisture and unvented moisture can cause frostbite. So, against my better judgment, I’ve been leaving a window on the front of the coop open a crack, to prevent a buildup of moisture inside overnight.
The results? My education has come gradually. When the mercury first dipped to 25 degrees, the hens were just fine. Ditto, 20 degrees, 15 degrees, 11 degrees, even 8 degrees. Then, on Wednesday night, the temperature dropped to zero for the first time this season, with a wind chill of 10 below. As I lay in bed that night, I worried about the girls while trying to convince myself that I shouldn’t do so.
Come Thursday morning, I held my breath when I headed out to the coop at dawn to let the hens out and feed them. But Nala and Snow were just fine. They bounded out of the coop, down the ramp and into their pen, where they immediately began gobbling down their morning snack of scratch.
Now that I finally have a better idea of how resilient chickens can be, I see that tonight’s low is supposed to be a balmy 20 degrees. Time to shift my focus to keeping the coop cool?
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