This isn’t what The Byrds had in mind when they told us, in lyrics that Pete Seeger adapted from the Book of Ecclesiastes, that there is “a time to every purpose under heaven.” But it applies nonethless.
The molt is upon us.
Nellie and Hope, our Rhode Island Reds, have not yet begun the annual ritual of dropping their feathers to make way for new ones. But Snow, our white Plymouth Rock, is losing feathers at what we would fear is an alarming rate if we had not seen it happen before.
Every morning for the past few days, I’ve found a coating of feathers atop the pine shavings in the coop. The process continues out in the pen throughout the day, creating the impression from a distance that a mysterious snow storm has come and gone in the pen while leaving the surrounding terrain completely untouched.
Snow is starting to look disheveled — her tail has all but disappeared in the blizzard of discarded feathers. But a mature chicken has an estimated 8,000 feathers, give or take, so Snow is far from bald. Chickens have either a hard molt, when they lose and replace all of their feathers quickly, or a soft molt, when the feathers drop and regrow gradually, and Snow normally has a soft molt. So we’re hoping history will repeat itself. We’ve seen the alternative; it ain’t pretty.
Not surprisingly, the normally bossy and energetic Snow is somewhat subdued these days. She stopped laying shortly before her molt began, which is not unusual. I have the sense, from personal observation, that molting is not so much painful as uncomfortable, especially when the new, tightly rolled pin feathers begin to poke through the skin. So we have to cut her some slack.
If the past is any measure, Snow will emerge from this experience brilliantly white, as if bleached, the somewhat faded old feathers having been replaced with a spiffy new set of clothes. It will take a few weeks for her to get there, but we’re looking forward to her "rebirth." No doubt she too, in her own way, is even more eager to get through this. And not for aesthetic reasons.
To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven.
