With autumn coming on, things have slowed down in the Hen Garden. The girls are enjoying the cooler weather, a late hatching of grasshoppers, and a well-deserved respite from egg-laying as they go through their annual moult. All free-range chickens (and wild birds as well) moult this time of year, shedding and renewing their feathers before the cold of winter sets in. Feathers are a bird’s crowning glory, not just because they are beautiful, but because they help regulate body temperature and protect against wind and moisture. Over time, feathers get worn down and lose their water-resistance, so it is essential that they be shed and replaced. The warm days of early fall are a perfect time for the moult, because food is plentiful, the weather is mild, and nesting season is over, so a hen can devote all her inner resources to making new feathers rather than keeping cool or laying eggs.
Most people know about moulting because its the time of year when chickens stop laying eggs. Feathers and eggs may not seem to have much in common, but in fact, they are made of the same essential nutrient: protein. Feather are about 85% protein, so when a hen is replenishing her plumage, the protein she consumes is used to make feathers instead of eggs. This vacation from egg-laying also gives the hen’s reproductive system a much needed break and lets her put on a few pounds before winter as well. Moulting is essential for the well-being of my girls, but I think there is a message here for me as well.
As I watch my girls scratch for grain and dustbathe in the mellow autumn light, it occurs to me that my hens have an advantage over me: Their lives are guided by the cycles of the natural world, not the artificial rules created by humanity. Chickens like mine, who live free and happy lives, trust Nature’s sublime wisdom and listen to the needs of their bodies, not the voice of a world demanding productivity. Barnyard hens may not build great cities or unravel the secrets of string theory, but at least they know that their bodies need rest – something we humans have apparently forgotten. In our desperate attempt to prove that we are “above Nature,” we deprive ourselves of the wisdom that has kept the natural world in order for millions of years. We say proudly how we refuse to be at the mercy of nature, but there’s a catch: When we aren’t at the mercy of nature, we cannot receive Nature’s mercy. It’s a high price to pay just to prove we can do whatever we like.
Watching little Sylvie Ann, Ariadne, Miss Hennypenny, and Hen Boelyn puttering around in the barn lot, chasing grasshoppers and plucking plump spiders from their webs, it is clear that they feel no guilt about shorting us a few dozen eggs a week; they need a vacation and that’s that. Their bodies speak and they listen - without argument and without conflict. What a lovely way to live.
Julie Atkinson
Steve
Holly Atkinson
