Chicken Chat
Since 2017, our family of four has had a small flock of hens living comfortably in the backyard of our suburban home in Missoula, Montana. I don’t know for sure what possessed us to start urban chicken-keeping; we had zero experience raising poultry or any other farm animal for that matter. I can, however, tell you that over the years, it has taken us down some unexpected paths and taught us some unexpected lessons.
Newbie Surprises
The trials and tribulations of raising chicks in a homemade brooder that first year were real, but the delight we felt at watching our young children proudly show their hand-raised pullets in our county fair that August was worth it all. Later, nursing wounded chickens, tending chickens in frigid Montana winters, losing chickens to raccoons, and the constant upkeep and repair of the coop were twists and turns that surprisingly didn’t drive us away but endeared us even more to this feathered diversion.
So, when two of our younger hens went broody for the first time in spring, we felt compelled to see this path to its end, not knowing that it would help get us through a worldwide pandemic and remind us of some basic truths.
Quarantine Time
Knowing that the broody mamas would need lots of privacy while they set on their eggs for 21 days, the first thing we had to do was create a separate brooder. This felt sort of symbolic given the state of the world. Our girls were going into a self-imposed quarantine while we had to out of necessity.
We modified our coop so that it had a private bedroom of sorts and designated it “Ivy’s,” our Australorp’s new home for the month.
Due to space constraints, our Gold Laced
Wyandotte, Pikachu, would just have to make it work in the main coop among the other hens. While we couldn’t supply diversions such as Netflix and good books to fill the empty hours of their seclusion, we tried to make their nests as comfortable and appealing as possible.
Our next task was to secure fertile eggs to replace the infertile ones they had unknowingly been trying to hatch; city restrictions prohibit us from having a rooster. Luckily, we found a small farm in the Bitterroot Valley selling fertile eggs for $1 each. We bought 10!
Dreaming of the soon-to-be chicks inside, the kids excitedly wrote funny sayings and song lyrics on the eggs to help tell each apart in the weeks to come. Under the cover of darkness that night, we snuck six fertilized eggs under Ivy and four under Pikachu, only removing a few of the infertile ones so as not to change the clutch size too dramatically. Now all we had to do was wait!
The anxiety and excitement of having eggs under our hens proved to be a great distraction from the problems of the world that spring.
At a time when things seemed to be so unpredictable and unnerving — school closures, park closures, face mask requirements, health checks, protests, curfews — we found ourselves taking comfort in caring for our hens and worrying over the progress of their eggs.
We nervously candled the eggs each week to check their development, clapping and giggling when we saw signs of life. We fussed over whether the mamas were getting enough food and water, fretted over the rainy weather, and compulsively watched every video we could on caring for broody hens and chicks. Our hens going broody had given us a healthy outlet for the emotions we were struggling to express.
Entering a New Phase
Finally, the hatch date arrived. As we were conducting our morning inspections, we heard peeping sounds coming from an egg! Grabbing our face masks, we rushed to the local farmsupply store to purchase chick supplies. Giddy with excitement and feeling like soon to be parents ourselves, we texted our friends and family to let them know the babies were on their way. That night, we pushed back Ivy’s plump breast and found five fluffy baby chicks, and one unhatched egg. We considered her hatch a huge success and cheered Ivy.
The same was not true for our Wyandotte, Pikachu, in the main coop. Only one of her fertilized eggs had hatched successfully. We sadly removed two dead chicks and one egg from her nest, leaving only a tiny yellow chick behind.
We had worried something like this might happen but were unsure of how to handle it. We knew it wasn’t a good idea for one chick to be raised on its own, so Jayne, our 11-year-old daughter, quickly hatched a plan. Although we knew it might be risky, we agreed to give it a try.
Plan B
Leaving the babies warmly under their mothers, we headed straight for the farmsupply store again this time to purchase three 5-day-old chicks. We weren’t sure the hen would take to the chicks or the chicks to the hen, and the prospect of raising three baby chicks again in our house was not particularly appealing to my husband; he had to replace the carpet in his office after the last go-round. However, we had agreed to see this path to the end and felt this was the last step.
Jayne rightly decided the single yellow chick should be introduced to Ivy’s nest where she could grow with chicks of a similar age. We knew we were asking a lot of the situation, but we also had faith in the instincts that nature instills in all new mothers. So, after a bit of fuss, three new babies were snuggled safely under their adoptive mom, Pikachu, and her single chick had happily joined Ivy’s nest.
Now that the two new moms were caring for their young, we began to realize a bigger problem. How were we going to introduce the chicks to the other hens without a fight breaking out or chicks getting hurt? Everything we read said the chicks should be kept separate for weeks if not many months before they could be safely introduced. But with an ongoing fencing project and space being limited in our backyard, we didn’t think this was possible. Perhaps because of our own stay-at-home order, we desperately wanted to see the babies moving freely around the run and yard — not confined to a brooder or coop.
By the third day, it was apparent that we couldn’t keep the chicks separate from the flock. The moms wanted to stretch their legs, take dust baths and begin instructing their babies on how to hunt for bugs. We decided to just open the door to Ivy’s separate coop and see what she would do.
Within hours, she had moved her babies out into the main run and was protectively watching over them. We also opened the door to the main coop to let out Pikachu. The other hens rushed in (seeking their favorite nesting boxes) but stopped to greet and examine the chicks and the mama. After an initial curious introduction, the other hens quickly adjusted to the sounds and sights of nine baby chicks among their flock. No big fights; no injured babies. A sense of relief and accomplishment washed over us; feelings that had been in short supply in our home due to the frustrations and limitations of now having to learn and work remotely.
When I think back on that month, the memories are infused with mixed emotions — trepidation, excitement, hope, loss, unease and faith. Those memories are also imbued with a variety of sights and sounds — the sweet smell of hay; the quiet, calming sound of a hen clucking to her eggs; anxious news briefings from our governor informing us of the latest closures; the energetic chorus of peeps that emanates from nine baby chicks; and tearful memorials paying tribute to lives lost unnecessarily.
Our hens going broody that spring was a wonderful reminder of how at times in life, it’s best to hunker down and stay close to home. It also reminded us to look to nature for comfort and wisdom. I look out in my backyard now and see mothers and babies and hens all moving freely about enjoying their best lives. It gives me hope.
Jen Jencso is an elementary school teacher in Missoula, Montana. In the classroom, she enjoys teaching her lively 8-year-old students the craft of writing. Outside of her classroom, she enjoys spending time with her family, exploring the beauty of Montana and writing whatever strikes her fancy.