Hardy

If my fingers hadn't been transformed into frozen appendages, I would have snapped a picture of  the gigantic drift that surrounded the hen house. Although we'd been marveling at the drift, from the warm comfort of the house, I took my time getting out to check on the gals this morning. I was procrastinating, it's true. It took some time and self-encouragement (and maybe a little chiding) before I bundled myself against the cold and wind and made my way to the coop.

I figured the gals were tucked safe and snug inside their refuge, not needing me in any urgent way. When I reached them, our hardy gals were indeed inside, but I'm sure that was due less the peaceful nature of the place and more a result of the drift that encapsulated their home.

When I was finally able to liberate them, all eleven of our feathered friends indignantly made their way from the coop. It seemed like they enjoyed their new freedom, until they discovered that their water and grain were buried somewhere in the epic drift. I'm pretty sure I could tell they were wondering why they wanted so badly to get out, when there was just more of the cold and snow outside.

After we found their feeder, the flock made quick work of the grain and then filed one by one back into their cozy little home. After all, they each have a job to do. There were three eggs neatly laid in the top-most nesting box. That place also happened to be the only spot in the coop that didn't have remnants of a blizzard. I imagine a few of the gals had a keen eye on that spot, which looked 'comfortable.'

I'm a bit surprised that the flock is as hardy as they've proven to be thus far... seemingly unperturbed, they continue to lay their precious eggs through the cold and blustery weather. I feel much less hardy... could it be that I'm getting soft-ish in my older age? Maybe I'm beginning to understand why people (and birds) long to fly south in the bitter cold and dark of winter.

But since there is no flying south for me, hardy I will become, for I too have work to do.