Central Florida summers feel like standing in front of an open oven that never shuts off. If I’m sweating through my shirt just walking to the coop, you better believe the chickens are feeling it too. Picking breeds that don’t faint at the first whiff of humidity has been a real lesson in trial and error.
Our Rhode Island Reds are the champs of heat. Those girls strut around like the sun doesn’t bother them at all. They’re sturdy, sassy, and they lay eggs so reliably it feels like they’re showing off. Then there are the Leghorns—slim, sleek, and a little skittish, but they handle the heat like pros. I once caught one of them sunbathing, wings out, like she was on vacation in Key West. Meanwhile, I was dripping sweat and wondering if I’d survive another Florida August.
Ethan’s favorites are the Easter Eggers. He loves the surprise of finding blue or green eggs in the nesting box, like every day is Easter morning. They’re decent in the heat too, though they tend to act dramatic and flop into the shade, making me think they’re half princess, half chicken. Josh says they remind him of me on the hottest afternoons, stretched out under the fan, declaring that no one can expect me to cook. Fair enough.
The truth is, no matter what breed, they all need help when the thermometer creeps past ninety. Shade is non-negotiable, and I keep waterers everywhere, like little chicken hydration stations. Sometimes I toss frozen watermelon chunks into the run, which turns into a feathered food fight. Ethan loves it—me, less so, since I end up hosing sticky red bits off the coop.
Raising chickens here isn’t just about eggs; it’s about finding the ones tough enough to handle Florida’s sweaty mood swings. Rhode Islands, Leghorns, Easter Eggers—those are our keepers. They don’t just survive, they thrive, even when the rest of us are dreaming of air conditioning. And honestly, if a chicken can handle this heat with grace, maybe there’s hope for the rest of us.
