A Tale of Two Mamas
By a childless dog-cat-chicken lady
I never had children of my own, mostly by choice, but I’ve always been fascinated by motherhood, and with the subject in the news recently, it got me thinking.
My own mother was the definition of selfless, nurturing mothering. She gave birth to four of us and lost five others to miscarriage. I don’t remember her ever putting her own needs ahead of ours for any reason. She was smart and creative - every day was a learning experience. She was fun - our childhood was field trips and picnics, cooking and baking, walks in the woods or across the desert. We moved around a lot and she made every place, no matter how temporary, feel like home. She was beautiful and never seemed to be aware of it.
My own maternal instincts lend themselves to different forms of life. I’ve always enjoyed spending time with other people’s children - we have over fifty nieces and nephews; I’ve lost count, honestly. But as I get older, I prefer spending time with my furred and feathered kids.
I love observing my many chickens and their forays into motherhood. This spring, I had two opportunities to do just that.
I mentioned my hens Goldilocks and Fleur when I wrote about the death of my white peahen Pearlie here in mid-May. Goldilocks hatched her chicks the day that Pearlie died, and Fleur had been caring for her adopted brood for about six weeks.
Goldilocks is a Golden Sebright hen, an old British breed and a true bantam – a miniature bird with no corresponding large version. They are named for Sir John Sebright, whose writing on selective breeding was admired by Charles Darwin.
Five little brown chicks hatched under her that day. The daddy is no doubt Little Dude, a young D’uccles bantam cockerel who frequents the same yard as Goldilocks. Two of the chicks have turned out to be roosters as well.
Goldilocks was a good mother for about six weeks, showing her chicks where to find water and food, pointing them to treats, leading them back into their coop every evening, sheltering and protecting them there.
And then she was done.
When training birds to return to their coops from the run or the yard at night, I leave yummy treats like millet, sunflower seed, or dried mealworms inside. I began to notice that Goldilocks’ chicks were staying outside, and she was nowhere to be found. I soon learned that she was inside, gobbling all the treats, and chasing the chicks back down the ramp when they tried to enter the coop.
For over a week, I tried to help the chicks in, to no avail. Goldilocks, aka Miss Piggy, apparently felt she had done her job, and those chicks were on their own. It became too much of a chore, and I gave her her freedom from motherhood. She moved back into the larger coop with the other assorted adult bantams.
The motherless chicks, now young poults, were on their own, but quickly learned to fend for themselves. Three tiny brown hens and two little red roosters formed a little flock.
Fleur, on the other hand, mothered the heck out of the five chicks who were not biologically hers. Our friends David and Todd were raising a flock of the Belgian D’Uccle bantams I adore, but theirs were Porcelain, a rarer breed. D’uccles have beards, muffs and heavily feathered legs and feet. Mine are Mille Fleur, speckled chickens of many colors. The Porcelains, as you might expect, are varying shades of white. I had to have some.
So early last spring, they gave me four eggs laid by their hens. I placed them under my big beautiful hen, Fleur, who happened to be broody, in other words, ensconced in a nest box, wanting to set on eggs.
Only two hatched, but I’d seen a white chick in the day old bantam chick bin at the feed store, so I brought it home with two little brown ones the same size. I slipped them under Fleur and she accepted them like the pro that she was.
Fleur was an enormous chicken. I’m not exactly sure where she came from, but she looked like a giant Mille Fleur, with brown, black and tan speckles and splashes of white feathers covering her plump body. She was gorgeous.
A complete natural, Fleur took to motherhood as if she’d been born for it. Because it was still cold outside when the eggs hatched, I made a home for her and the five chicks in our basement room for the first few weeks. She was fine with it.
Next I moved her to a cage on the screened porch; she was completely unflustered. I was running out of coops for my various flocks (true confession, we have over fifty chickens and that doesn’t count peacocks, guineas, and ducks) when my husband re-purposed one we found on the roadside. Fleur loved it. Wherever her little family was, was home to her.
For the next three months, although her “chicks” were nearly full grown bantams, she continued to shepherd them around the yard all day, and shelter them beneath her fat, fluffy body at night.
And then one day last week, she died.
Never sick that I knew of, she just died in her little coop where I found her an hour after noticing that she wasn’t following her kids down the ramp. I actually thought she might be laying an egg. But she wasn’t egg bound; I suspect her heart gave out. She was about five years old, and the very large breeds are sometimes short-lived.
I had the feeling that she decided she’d done her job, her work was done, and so was she. Fleur gave her heart and soul to those babies, and I’d like to think she enjoyed the last months of her life to the absolute maximum.
Bill buried her under the white pines. Her adopted offspring seemed lost for a few days, but have adapted and will no doubt thrive, thanks to Fleur’s guidance and the continued care of their childless dog-cat-chicken lady grandmother, me.
Until I began writing this piece, I didn’t understand why Fleur’s death hit me so hard. I grieve every loss, of course, and it’s an inevitable part of caring for birds and animals, but an overwhelming sadness hit me when I found her beautiful body that morning.
And it suddenly hit me that she reminded me of my own mom. I’m sure most mothers wouldn’t enjoy being compared to a chicken, but I feel sure mine would understand. Mom enjoyed the chickens immensely during the time she lived with us after my dad died. She delighted in the chicks and ducklings, cradling them in her arms, and helping with the older ones when I needed to treat them for an injury or illness.
We lost Mom in January 2022, age 94. We were lucky to have her in our lives for so long, and she never stopped mothering for a moment. Not only her grandchildren and great grandchildren, she fussed and worried over us, her adult children, to the end. Losing her oldest son in 2017 had to be heartbreaking, but she poured her love and care into the rest of us even more.
And then she was done.
There are many different styles of mothering. There’s “raise them and kick them to the curb” as Goldilocks did, or “nurture far past the end of childhood” as Fleur practiced. I’m so glad we were blessed with the Fleur method. Mamas and babies, hold each other tight tonight!
Absolutely brilliant writing Marsi. This piece is so poignant and timely in this political climate. I had a lump in my throat all the way through. Your life has unfolded so beautifully and allowed you to nurture all who are lucky enough to have shared any part of your amazing journey.