Saturday was a full moon. We went for a high-moon cross-country ski and the dogs came along for the run. The light bounced off the snow with a silver glow. The last full moon shone for the once-in-a-blue-moon new years eve. That night, a bunch of us had an amazing meal and skated on the pond around a fire set alight on the floating raft frozen in the ice. During dinner we raised our glasses and challenged our imaginations to transform the next decade.
We have thirteen chickens on the farm. One rooster, seven red hens, one white Sussex hen, a small banty and her three chicks. The small banty I call Mama rules the roost. The care she provided for her three babies enthralled me. Despite being half the size of the other hens, she pecked a secure boundary around her babies, they ate first at the feeder, they had uninhibitited passage to all corners of the farm-yard, all three slept under her wings, and the rooster knew to keep his distance. She was the only hen not laying eggs, her sole purpose was to nurture the wee ones.
On new years day however, the tide shifted. The chicks, still a few months away from full maturity, no longer had the full protection of their mama. The red hens chased them away from the prime feeding spots and Mama did nothing. That night, the little ones roosted on their own away from Mama’s protective wings.
On the second of January, my routine egg collection revealed an amazing surprize; Mama had laid an egg. This was her first egg since she had come to the farm in the fall with her three chicks. It was tiny and pointed compared to the clunky round brown eggs the other hens drop and it was the most incredible blue. The blue moon had indeed delivered a transformative stroke as the three chicks were resolutely asked to leave the nest to make room for the next generation.
