October 2, 2020
We received our “replacement” chicks from the hatchery this week, and they are not only alive but thriving.
It will be at least 6 months before they provide any significant contribution to our egg production, and the challenge, as always, is to keep them safe from predators, until they are big enough, fast enough, and smart enough to fend for themselves- at least a bit. They are growing fast but even so, it will be several weeks before they can safely join the rest of the flock in the coop.
As the days grow shorter our flock's egg production always, without fail, slows down. I presume this is an evolutionary choice to not have eggs, or baby chicks, in the winter. It also means the energy they would have spent on laying eggs can be reallocated towards replacing the feathers they have lost, during their seasonal molt.
Even though this makes total sense to me, people still want eggs year round, so we leave a light on in the coop, for a couple hours a night, to simulate the length of a summer's day. It definitely helps with egg production, and turns the inevitable seasonal dearth of eggs into a sort of a mild “work slow down” as opposed to an out right chicken strike, and complete cessation of any egg laying at all. We take what we can get.
Also – and I know I am projecting a bit, but they seem to enjoy the coziness of their well lit coop. (The coziness that only a 40 watt bulb swinging in the breeze can bring...)
In the Fall, by the time we have finished dinner and I go outside to do evening chores, it's dark outside. Their coop is lit up and from the outside, it looks like- and sounds like -an overly crowded and very busy chicken cafe during the height of the evening rush. The hens are all clucking and clattering about, scratching and pecking and fussing - and fighting over a tasty morsel (which is exactly like the other morsel they leave untouched).
They are social beings and even though they don't always get along, they definitely prefer the company of each other. Happily ensconced in their chicken drama, and safely tucked away until the first morning light, they seem unaware, or unafraid, of what passes by them unseen, in the darkness. Perhaps they know it's just me, walking by on my way to check on the sheep, but last night I doubt they took any more notice, an hour later, when the fox I spotted on the trail camera sauntered past.
Ignorance is indeed bliss!