Winter has arrived. Not officially, of course, but the most telling sign of all leaves no doubt. I’m not talking about chilly temperatures, or biting winds, or even the white stuff. No, I measure the change of seasons by something far more important.
Our hens have stopped laying.
Snow and Hope called it quits weeks ago, as soon as they began to molt in response to the days growing shorter. Nellie, our third hen, kept working long after the other hens gave up, laying an egg every other day until Nov. 21. Then she, too, stopped. Days later, she began dropping feathers, to make way for new ones.
It's a double whammy, really. Less daylight, in and of itself, means fewer eggs, or none at all. And molting, which usually occurs at this time of year, has the same effect, as hens divert their protein stores from producing eggs to creating feathers.
When our hens were younger, they laid all winter long, although less frequently than during the warmer months. Last winter, though, “the girls” simply stopped laying until the end of February, when an occasional egg finally began to materialize in the nest box. The pace picked up as the days grew longer and warmer.
When our hens were younger, they laid all winter long, although less frequently than during the warmer months. Last winter, though, “the girls” simply stopped laying until the end of February, when an occasional egg finally began to materialize in the nest box. The pace picked up as the days grew longer and warmer.
It’s a proven fact that lighting a coop to create the illusion of longer days will trick hens into laying during the winter months (after the molt), but that strikes me as cruel, or at least unfair. Snow, Nellie and Hope have earned some down time. They seem more relaxed now that they’re on vacation. The rising and setting of the sun, not electrified trickery, dictates their behavior.
The other day, I was talking to a woman who kept chickens for a while but has stopped doing so. Among other things, she expressed frustration that her hens had been “freeloading” during the winter. They had to be fed, watered and cared for, yet they were not producing eggs, which struck this woman as a bad bargain.
I don’t see it that way at all. Even while on sabbatical, our hens remain beautiful and entertaining and full of life. Isn’t that enough?
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