Nowadays chickens have their broodiness bred out of them. Since egg production is what it is all about, commercial farms are not interested in the dillydallying of a hen setting on a clutch of eggs, and clucking to her chicks when she could be cranking out profit. Still against those odds our golden girl Toffee went broody. She laid claim to the most popular nesting box and scooped up all the infertile eggs that the other chickens timidly squeezed in next to her to lay. I happened to have a few eggs fertilized by our rooster Nessa, and tucked them under her. I slipped a few in the incubator as well, just in case she was lackadaisical in her efforts. 

Over the next three weeks she sat her ground. In good weather and bad, she fluffed herself up like a feather duster and kept those promises warm. Yesterday it happened. I peeked into the incubator just as a scrawny black chick broke apart her shell and wiggled to life. I was stunned by the miracle. No amount of repetition can dull the wonder. Another egg had signs of piping, and sure enough in the morning there was a little white girl to keep her company.  

I gently picked up the two tiny birds in my cupped hands and carried them out to the coop. Toffee raised her eyebrows at the intrusion but forgave me when I slid two babies under her supremely warm breast. She is a mother. I think she named them chick A and chick B.

Church this week was about keeping things warm. There were glass hearts encased in ice cubes, that we passed around and held in our palms to melt. Ben was especially diligent in his efforts. Warmth is as essential to living as air, and is worth the effort to break through the ice to achieve it. 

Having checked on Toffee morning and evening for twenty one days I have a role model. Maybe those relationships that feel frosty will thaw out if I can be half as patient as a six pound broody hen.