I have been fortunate to share our baby chickens with young family and friends who come to visit. They want to know if they can pet the baby chickens. “If you can catch them”, I tell them. Hen-raised chicks are wary of humans (they have yet to learn that we are the ultimate source of their food) so the best time to socialize them is when they have gone to bed. I seat the human, then extract a chick from under Calamity Jane where she sleeps with them in the nest boxes. I tell the human “Put one hand against your chest, palm up, and the other hand on top of the chick to keep it calm and warm.” And I tell the chick, “It’s OK, sweet baby chicken. Shhhhhh……”
Jewel was a model chick-holder
Leila was not entirely sure how best to hold her chick
My nieces Kinsey, Evy, and Clara, each with her own chick
I have decided to focus my ongoing olla experiment on tomatoes this year. The past two years I grew 4 tomato plants per olla. The tomatoes grew, I did not get split skins from over/under-watering, but the plants sometimes seemed stressed. This year I have decided to be generous, and give each plant more access to water. At two tomato plants per olla, I have used up most of my olla reserve just for the tomatoes. (Como siempre, I only made a few ollas, which does not cover my needs).
This year I am also using my own starts again. Having germinated with lights and heat like a pro and then transplanted to my cold frames for further grow out and hardening off, they are off to a good start for a change from the gangly starts of old.
Chickens are not known for their intelligence and cunning. But they’re usually pretty good at being chickens. Except when they are broody (akin to being pregnant).
Pregnant humans often feel like they are losing their minds. And, in some ways, they are. It’s the hormones. To the scientific research on this topic with pregnant humans, I add my own anecdotal evidence from chickens.
My hen Calamity Jane has been ‘pregnant’ twice now. And both times she has lost her little mind. In mammals, a fertilized egg within the body triggers cascades of hormonal changes that allow the female to incubate the fetus. In chickens, the fertilization of the egg is immaterial to the process of being ‘pregnant’. It is a combination of spring and the visual cue of eggs that cause some chickens to become ‘broody’. Broodiness, like pregnancy, is a hormonal change that allows the hen to incubate eggs.
A broody hen sits 23+ hours a day on ‘her’ eggs (or someone else’s, or no one’s if you’ve taken them away). She pulls out her breast feathers to give more heat and humidity to the eggs. She rotates the eggs so they may develop properly. She lowers her head, raises her tail and wings, puffs out all her feathers and growls at a perceived threat. These changes increase her chance of being a successful brooder.
Calamity Jane (and now Little Sister) does a great job sitting on her eggs. But when she steps out for a bit I see other changes that don’t appear as helpful. Calamity Jane gets testy, attacking other hens. She randomly flaps her wings and shrieks. And she becomes, tragically, even less intelligent. Instinct tells her to grab a snack while she is out. But she’s no longer bright enough to accomplish this task (good thing there is feed in the broody box). Most notably, she lamely scratches and pecks at objects that will not yield food. Hardy plants. The tarp. And the whole while she mutters under her breath – “cluck cluck cluck cluck…”
This is obviously the origin of the expression ‘Dumb Cluck’. And it is real. After the eggs hatch Calamity Jane appears ‘intelligent’ again. She’s as bright as she can be and is admirable in teaching her chicks about their world.
What I love about this little story is what it teaches me about myself. We like to think that we are more or less constant. So robust in many ways, but we are fragile in others. It is a delicate delicate balance of chemistry that creates our personalities.
Little Sister sitting her eggs and warily watching a very very small mouse
While we were away in Moab, Little Sister got the urge. Upon our return, she could not be removed from the nest box. Day and night she quietly lay there. She had ripped out the feathers on her breast to be closer to the imaginary eggs that she was incubating. And she was pro-tec-tive! Anytime I opened the nest boxes, she raised her feathers and growled. Always a little feral, Little Sister drew blood when I reached in the nest box to mess with her. She had it bad.
Since Calamity Jane only hatched three of her eggs, and we lost two hens while we were away, I decided we could afford to raise another wee batch of chicks. OK, OK, I admit, it’s a bit of an addiction. It’s fascinating and they’re just so damn cute!
Fertile eggs for the Sympathy Brooder
So it was back to The Bradley Farm in Puyallup, WA to choose fertile eggs from amongst their lovely breeding hens. This time I decided 6 was enough and chose two each of lavender orpington, blue orpington, and salmon faverolle.
Unlike CJ, Little Sister did not take immediately to her eggs in the broody box. First she indulged in the solitary access to fresh water and food. Sip, sip, nibble, nibble, sip sip nibble. Then a quick pass by the eggs. Then she freaked out.
But by dusk she decided she could sit the eggs. Well maybe just one. I shoved the rest under there (wearing a glove this time) and she’s been at it ever since. That was 2 days ago. I spy on her with binoculars from the kitchen window to make sure she is doing her job. 19 days left to go…
Little sister defending the food and water in her broody box from the curious hens outside
Sustainable Scientist 