Last night the temperature was brutal. I fussed over my hens before the snow began, laying a wad of hay and wood chips, plugging in the water heater, propping boards to keep the wind out of their feeder. It didn't work as well as I hoped, by the way. The snow was two inches thick on top of the pellets when I went out to check on them
midmorning. I make it sound as if I only went out once. It was at least nine times during the day and evening. They clucked their disapproval at me and I offered lame excuses for the conditions as I poured cooked corn in their dish and broke the ice forming on their water. I hugged each one and told them I loved them.
There is a running conversation around weather among chicken folk and I have heard a few stories. One man went out on a frigid January in Vermont to close
up the coop and could not find the last two Barred Rocks. He called but eventually gave up and closed it up for the night. In the morning light he could see on top of the coop. There they were, feet frozen to the bar they perched on. He poured warm water on their toes and they were able to break free. After a stretch and a shudder they flew down and rejoined the flock.
One friend sent around photos of knitted coats you can make for your hens to keep off the
draft. They come in fashionable color schemes.
Another chicken keeper got a call from the ASPCA.
"We have a complaint that your chickens are not being cared for. Is it true that they are left out in freezing conditions?"
Pause. "They are birds. They live outside. They are related to dinosaurs."
The other day as I was fussing with bedding and feeders I saw a chickadee
on a bare branch. She couldn't have been bigger than my fist, and certainly had no coat to keep out the chill. Her feathers were beautiful though, and were especially fluffy in the wind. She regarded me. I looked at her. Suddenly all my helicopter farming seemed superfluous.
In that moment I realized that as vital as I may feel in my tending of chickens, or children, or other people's marriages, my contribution is probably fairly small. God has been taking care of
His creation for longer than I can fathom, and my paltry efforts, however well intentioned, are actually a tiny fraction of the picture. Don't get me wrong, He uses me just like He uses you. I can pour warmth into a cold relationship and see if it starts moving again.
But I can let go of my anxiety that has me running around like a... never mind.
But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Do not fear therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows. Luke 12
