This morning the chickens looked, well, morose. Maybe it’s all the social distancing. Maybe it was the frost. Maybe they are still incredulous over the fact that they molt and look bald just as it starts to freeze outside. Maybe they miss laying eggs during this molting season. Maybe they are still in shock over the fact that it rained for a couple of days.
It’s hard to know.
I decided they should go on a field trip. Literally—today was the day those grumpy hens were going to venture out into the fields. I put food in their little trough, cleaned out the water dish, and then opened the gate to step out…only this time, I didn’t close the gate behind me.
“Come on, Sweeties,” I said. “Let’s go cause a ruckus.”
The Notorious RBG was the first one out. She stood at the doorway for a few moments like a passenger disembarking from a long ship’s journey, assessing the view before leaving what had become home for what was once home. Notorious and the others used to have run of the farm, but they got a gated home after the continuously trashed the place, causing mayhem to the landscaping and the gardens with their fierce nails and beaks and relentless scratching.
Notorious is the only one of the hens who is able to fly over the fence. My brother, a farmer in Maine, told me RBG is a “jumpah”. She’s only done it three times since I came to Spirit Hill in December, and she’s the reason I keep a bag of dried meal worms around. All I have to do is say, “Do you want some bugs?” and all the chickens, even the stray Notorious, come running to snack on the little golden treasures.
The others gathered at the opening and surveyed their options: in or out.
Same old same old or adventure.
They all went back in.
Except for Notorious.
When I left, she was busy tearing apart the ground under an olive tree.
I’m going back now. If it looks like a bomb hit, I’ll pull out the bugs. Otherwise, the field trip will go on.
Wish us luck.
Drawing by Laura Foote.