Over the years of raising chickens, I’ve noticed they follow a rhythm that’s oddly reliable. There’s the season of egg abundance, when my hens behave like tiny, feathered overachievers and make me feel like the world’s most competent chicken mama. Then comes “broody season,” when at least one hen decides she’s ready for motherhood (whether I agree or not). And of course, we can’t forget molting season, when feathers fly, egg production crashes, and the hens look like they’re going through their own version of a midlife identity crisis. Conveniently, this happens just before winter, when egg production nearly halts.
Do I wish the egg-abundance season lasted all year? Of course. But nature has opinions, and apparently, she insists on balance. The only way the hens can deliver those glorious baskets of eggs is if they have a season to rest, reset, and rebuild. As much as I’d love to negotiate with biology… that meeting is not getting booked.
And if chickens go through seasons, it only makes sense that humans do too. The difference is: chickens don’t fight it. I, on the other hand, have been known to resist the “rest” season like a toddler being told it’s bedtime. I prefer to push, to solve, to move forward — even when life is whispering, “Slow down, friend.” But sometimes, the bravest thing we can do is admit what season we’re actually in and honor it. Even when it feels inconvenient. Even when it’s hard. Even when it is painful.
Right now, the days are short, and if you’re here in the Pacific Northwest, the sunshine has packed up and left us with a long stretch of gray. Everything in nature is exhaling… settling… quieting. This is the season of rest.
And here’s what I know deep in my bones: my best ideas never show up when I’m running at full tilt. They arrive in the quiet moments — when I pause long enough to hear myself think, when I create space for reflection, when I simply let myself be human. Spring will come, and it will ask something of us. It will require energy, creativity, and commitment. And to show up for that season well, we have to build our reserves now.
So, as you navigate this time of year, will you give yourself permission to rest? To breathe? To reflect on what you want and where you are going? Just as my hens take this winter lull to prepare for their next season of joyous egg production, I hope you use this time to prepare for your own season of joyful, purposeful productivity.
You deserve that reset. You’ve earned it. And your spring self will thank you.
Need help crafting what that rest looks like? Want to gain more clarity for the upcoming year? Please reach out to me, and I will share the valuable tool I have used for the past few years.