"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven..."
(Ecclesiastes 3)
A season, according to that biblical sage -- a time -- for everything. For war, and also peace; a time to plant, and also a time to pluck up what is planted. Those, and all manner of other things and times and miscellaneous pursuits. Whatever else there might be on that list with varying degrees of applicability, the chickens understand that there is a time for scavenging, a time for pecking, and ultimately a time for cuddling.
It’s cold in Iowa. That is routinely the case here this time of year, but this time, though the calendar signaled a warning, we have enjoyed a reprieve. Snow has only fallen a couple of times, and neither particularly interruptive. Temperatures have see-sawed between chilly and mild, but until now we have been largely spared the usual biting aggression of winter in the upper Midwest. In the chicken yard that has meant the flock has been free to make choices about activities according to the energies, comforts and proclivities of each. The three coops afford some flexibility in their sleeping arrangements, though the first two see most of the action. Every evening as the sun descends, the citizens of the chicken community distribute themselves between the sleeping options, sometimes ascending and descending the respective ramps multiple times before finally choosing the company behind door number one or door number two. Each structure is rated for 10 birds, give or take one or two depending on size. With a current census of 30, the group would, in a perfect world, equally divide themselves among the three; but that has never been their apportioning mathematics. Two coops, as I mentioned, have been the draw.Except for one. We call her Cleopatra — “Cleo” for short — in part because of her regal appearance. A Light Sussex by breed, she is pure white except for the black striated necklace that looks like jewels. There is, then, her appearance. There is also her royal aloofness. For the past several weeks she has been the lone inhabitant of coop number 3 — what we have come to refer to as “her royal chambers.” It could, we acknowledge, be the opposite. She could be the victim of a bullying ostracism that turns this nocturnal isolation into a sad and lonely but protective prison. But I don’t think so. In daylight hours she plays and scavenges alongside of and indistinguishably from her neighbors; we’ve observed no harassing interactions. Similarly, during the day the other chickens freely visit this third sheltering option, contentedly availing themselves of the food supply there and the water, leaving behind an occasional egg. Come nightfall, however, the anticipation of sleep lures them elsewhere. Among these social creatures, Cleo alone steals away to her private chambers, to pass the night in spacious quietude.
Until, that is, this recent storm. Once again snowflakes have fallen and the winds have blown, but this time the temperatures have plummeted. Teens have topped out the afternoon highs, while nights have dropped to single digits — both above and below zero. Tonight they are predicted to fall into the double-digits below zero, coupled with fiercely blowing winds. A certain existential stillness has quieted the chicken yard — or maybe they are simply stuck. Since the storm began a couple of days ago, the birds have further consolidated their community into a single coop — Cleo included. Thirty chickens, self-crammed into a space designed for 10. Whatever else they might prefer to be doing, and wherever else they might prefer to be sleeping, they have collectively and unanimously concluded that this is the time to keep warm. Setting all other concerns aside, they have, at least for the time, huddled themselves together. Though some question the intelligence of chickens, count me among those who are routinely impressed with their common sensibility. They quickly retreat inside when they note flying predators overhead. They seek elevation at night, knowing that ground level has intrinsic vulnerabilities. And they stay sheltered when it is unsafe to be outside. Humans may be a more sophisticated species, some rungs higher on the food chain, but we haven't yet managed to learn that there are times to hold fast, and times to argue, but
other times to set aside our principles and preferences and simply do what we can to keep each other warm.
I’ll be interested to see how much of this togetherness they can take. There is more snow predicted, and the coming week makes no pretense of any warmup. It will remain bitterly, mortally cold at least through the extended forecast. They could eventually get on each other’s nerves. My money is on Cleo to make the first outward move. But we will have to wait and see.
Rubbing shoulders with the common folk will likely start wearing thin. Besides, a queen requires her space. At least she seems to think so. Meanwhile, the others would likely disappoint her with how little they care.
For now, however, goodnight girls…and SamTheRooster.
