A secret garden, a broody hen, and a headcold (that disappeared!)

 

Miss Broody Hen 2026....

 

What's been going on lately as I returned home from Silicon Valley....

So much to say, but only forty-six minutes to write before I check on Broody Hen. One of the Barnevelder Triplets has decided to go mildly broody; she doesn't try to bite, though she does growl if approached in her nesting box. She has plucked many feathers, but not down to her actual skin. And when removed from her box, placed in the Broody Hen Condo for an hour, then finding a way to escape she doesn't immediately race back to the coop. She hung out with her sisters, scratching through gravel and dirt near the coop as rain softly began to fall.

Then the rain came down hard and I went inside and she went back to the coop, dang chicken!

This is our first rodeo with a broody hen. She started this instinctual hoo haa on Friday, hanging out in a nesting box all afternoon. And evening. And sleeping there until at some point on Saturday, the day I drove home, she came out of the box 'rather aggressively' (my husband's words), and ran away. Leaving one egg behind, but who knows if it was her egg. So much to absorb when keeping chickens.

The condo. Hopefully she'll be back to her usual free-ranging self in a few days.

 

She returned to the box, where again she slept, but this time she had Camilla's fave nesting spot. Once it was light out, well after my husband gave them their breakfast, I donned boots and a light jacket, as it's not cold, what with a strong storm rolling in, and I removed that still somewhat grumbly hen from her spot, no egg under her this time. She was toted to an old dog run with a concrete floor, food and water included. She didn't know what to do, trying to squat, but finding it cold and hard. Plenty of space for her to wander, unlike a typical broody hen jail. Now she's back out there, and we'll keep her there until.... Bedtime maybe? My hope is this evening to put her directly on the roosting wall in the coop, turn off the light so she can't see a nesting box to claim. We'll see how that all progresses as rain continues to fall.

A different Barnevelder on the shelf. Bless her henny-penny heart!

Many/most Americans are gearing up for the Super Bowl today. We're not. I'm unpacking, doing laundry, writing this post. My better half is trying to nap in his recliner. I came home a sneezy mess, slept in the guest room not wishing to make my husband sick. I woke feeling...FINE. Weird. But I'm not complaining, merely explaining the latter part of today's title.

Camilla doing her thing.

And a secret garden? Maybe that's how Broody Hen feels, poking around the concrete, wondering where in the HAY is her hay-cozy nesting box? LOL! But seriously.... My eldest has been reading aloud The Secret Garden to her daughters for a couple of weeks, and I thoroughly enjoyed each night's chapter while I kept them company. I couldn't find my copy before I left, wondering if I had purged Frances Hodgson Burnett's classic in our move to the North Coast. Thankfully I had merely glossed over it on the grandkids' bookshelf, WHEW! Despite receiving it in 1974, I never read it as a kid, the Yorkshire dialect too much for eight-year-old me to grasp. Now I am eager to finish it at the same pace as my daughter and her girls. Last night Colin finally entered the garden, softly but strongly announcing he was going to live forever! When you're ten years old, once you enter a secret garden, death can feel far away, even if you have been expecting it all your conscious life.

My copy, given to me by an older cousin. As my daughter pointed out, I was the same age as my youngest granddaughter is now when I received it. Where have all those years gone???

Now if Broody Hen can forget her instinct as easily as Colin has forgotten his morbid thoughts, it's a Win-Win all round!