So I have these chickens.
I know, you say. Laura, you never shut up about your chickens. You’ve turned having chickens into a personality.
Fie upon you, I reply. There are many other aspects to my personality. I also garden and make soup and write books and am Mennonite. But this post is about my CHICKENS.
Then we cease to argue and I carry on with my post.
SO I HAVE THESE CHICKENS.
Six of them, to be precise. I had thought that after our move to Weymouth Cottage, I would not have chickens any longer, as the bylaws prohibit us from keeping them in our neighborhood. Being Chaotic Good at best and Chaotic Neutral at worst, raising contraband poultry wouldn’t have bothered me in the least. But Tyler is generally Lawful Good and I try to respect his Lawful.
It’s fine, I told him. I’ll get ducks. The bylaws don’t say anything about ducks.
But I really like your chickens, he said. I think we should just get chickens anyway. You keep them in a run and they don’t smell or bother anyone. Get some contraband hens.
So it was that we proved the adage about Chaotic company corrupting Lawful character, and also acquired a new flock of half a dozen very good birds.
This time around, I did something I haven’t done before with chickens. In my former flocks, I kept just one or two breeds. But this time, I wanted FANCY chickens. ASSORTED chickens. Chickens I could actually tell apart and give names to.
The obsessive perusal of poultry catalogs and websites commenced.
And in due time, I received the traditional spring box of frantically peeping day-old chicks, which people at my former, rural post office were just annoyed by, and people at my new, more suburban post office thought was COMPLETELY ENCHANTING. We’ll see how they feel in a year or two when I order a box of live bees.
BUT ANYWAY, I got the chicks, they lived in the house for two months, got gawky, ugly and stinky, and then! Began to look like actual hens! And were old enough to move outside, where hens truly belong.
Before this point, I had names in mind for them. Given the fact that I am cut off from most of my family by the Canada/US border, I wanted to give them comforting and homey names. Familiar names.
Family names.
So I named each fluffy member of this flock of hens after one of the women who are my elders on my mom’s side of the family.
This, at center, is Helen. She is a Speckled Sussex.
Helen is named after my maternal grandmother, a woman of devout faith, possessed of an excellent sense of humor, who loved fine china, the royal family, and giving all her money away to the impoverished. She had an incredibly traumatic childhood and somehow came out of it very emotionally stable. Miracles do happen. Helen, fittingly, is the most stable hen of the flock, and a general good influence upon the others. She’s not a busybody, but not shy. She lives up to the legacy of her namesake.
This is Barb. She is a Double-Laced Barnevelder.
Barb is named after my mother, one of my most favorite people in the entire world, who has gone through some stuff in life but grown immeasurably since I was young. I trust her more than anybody, and she is the only person I send first drafts of my books to. Barb the Chicken looks shockingly like human Barb, but has Avian Anxiety (sorry mom). Her security blanket is Helen the Stable Hen. As she is a very anxious bird, it’s hard to get a picture of her. HOWEVER, this morning the chicken whispering vibes were strong in me, and I was able to get a decent shot of Barb. Poor Barb. Go hide under some goldenrod now.
This is Beth. Beth is a Dominique.
Beth is named after my Aunt Beth. She and my Uncle Harold and cousins Sean and Breanne all lived five minutes down the street when I was a child, and Breanne and my sister and I were back and forth from each other’s houses constantly. Accordingly, Aunt Beth was the aunt I saw the most of. She is clever, precise, kind, and takes no nonsense. In a word, the ideal aunt. I really enjoy getting to see and chat with her now that I’m an adult, and it was from her that we received Darcy, the Witless Wondercat. Dominiques are my favorite chicken breed and have the intelligent precision and hospitable nature of my Aunt Beth.
This is Ruth, in the foreground. Ruth is a Cuckoo Maran.
My Aunt Ruth is a very forthright person. She’s a staunch defender of those she feels need her help, and generally interested in everyone and their lives. She also very capably managed a household composed of four (!) boys while I was growing up, while still finding time for a dazzling succession of fascinating hobbies. Accordingly, I named my Cuckoo Maran Ruth. Ruth the Hen is flock manager. If you enter the chicken run for ANY reason, Ruth is the first to approach and investigate, and will shepherd you about with great diligence. When not herding people, she herds the rest of her feathery companions. Without her, the flock would be considerably more directionless. You go, Ruth the Chicken and Ruth the Human!
This is Diane. Diane is a Gold-Laced Wyandotte.
When I was nineteen, I moved across Canada to live with my Uncle Harold and Aunt Diane (yes, I have two Uncle Harolds. Yes, it is an improbable name to have repeated twice in your family). Aunt Diane thought this was a great idea. Aunt Diane thinks most things are great ideas. She is a boundlessly cheerful, thoughtful, and attentive person who is up for pretty much anything. Thus, I named a very go-with-the-flow hen after her. Diane the Chicken is a happy-go-lucky creature, content to wander with the rest of the flock and happily scratch about. She never causes problems, and is just generally enjoying her chicken life. A fitting counterpart for my easygoing aunt.
Last but very much not least, we have Maxine. Maxine is a Silver-Laced Wyandotte.
Uncle John and Aunt Maxine live out in Canada’s west, along with Uncle Harold and Aunt Diane. Aunt Maxine is a gracious and elegant woman, who thinks deeply about her role in our world, and who’s raised two incredible daughters. So her poultry alter-ego is Maxine the Hen, the flock investigator. Maxine the Hen’s mental wheels are always turning. I have about a hundred more pictures of her than of the other hens, because as soon as she sees something new and interesting, she wants to sort it out. What is it? How does it work? What does it mean for me, and for my flock?
Anyway, I’ve gone on for far too long now, rambling about chickens and the women of my family. Here are the rest of the creatures for a change of pace.
Now it’s time for me to say, along with all your friends at Weymouth Cottage,
Farewell and Be Well.
xoxo Laura