When our most recent flock of chicks was brand new this past August, we kept them under a heat lamp to maintain their body heat. We were able to wean them from the heat lamp by the time they were about 6 weeks old. But in January, during the recent nationwide cold snap, we made a decision to turn the heat lamp back on. I think it was the low of minus six degrees that did it. 

The girls stayed close together, cuddling and fluffing up their feathers to insulate themselves and conserve energy. I could also see that they were eating more food than usual. 

Even through the bitterest of days, I made my way out to check on everyone and to refill the water and feed buckets every other day as usual. In case you were wondering, the water sits on a “heater” base that is set to 40 degrees, warm enough to keep the water liquid, though cold to the touch. 

And except for a bit of frostbite on the tips of the combs of our two Rhode Island Reds, who do tend to grow much larger combs than the other breeds, everyone came out of it without a scratch. They even seemed to become a bit happier to see me with their treats. I certainly enjoy having friendlier chickens. 

Once the hard freeze broke, I saw them all start moving around a lot more, clucking, making happy noises, eating snow, and celebrating their release from “polar vortex prison.” We weren’t expecting them to start laying until spring, but I think the sudden change in temperature may have provided some kind of impetus. Because one day, maybe two weeks after the break in the weather, I went out to the coop and found a small pale pinkish brown egg — frozen solid — right in the middle of the inner coop. What? Unfortunately, since it was frozen and cracked, it was not edible. But I realized that it was time to start making a daily trek out to the coop. I didn’t want to find another frozen egg.

The next day I found another beautiful pinkish egg. And the next. And the next two after that. Four eggs. I remembered that our very first flock of three silver Wyandottes used to lay small, angular, pinkish-brown eggs like that. And we have a silver Wyandotte in our current flock. So I realized she must be the one laying now! I made a pan of fried eggs for breakfast and shared them with my husband. Gorgeous, orange yolks, sitting way high up on firm, clear whites. 

The next day there were no eggs. That’s okay, I thought. She won’t lay every day. I wouldn’t expect her to anyway. 

The next day there were, once again, no eggs. Nope. That does not track. One day without eggs was fine. But two? After five days in a row with an egg? I wasn’t buying it. It was time to start thinking like a hen. I started looking all around. Every nook. Every cranny. These little hens are not laying in the laying boxes. So where, oh where, can my little eggs be? There’s a little corner behind the last laying box where there wasn’t quite enough space to put one more so we left the space empty. It was extremely difficult to wrap my torso around that corner and get a look back there. But I was so glad I did. Bingo!

That’s where I found them. Not one, not two, but five little eggs. Three small, pink, and angular. Two creamy beige, and rounder in shape. Someone else is laying! It’s anyone’s guess who. I am sure it is one of the girls with yellow legs, and not someone with greenish legs. And it’s not a Rhode Island Red, who lay large, occasionally massive, warm brown eggs. 

I made scrambled eggs for two grandchildren, and sent them home with the rest in a sturdy little yellow egg-carrying case I purchased this past summer for just this purpose. Today I will block off that corner once and for all with a large piece of wood. The girls are just 5 months old, but we are back in the egg laying business!