Posts Tagged ‘Hens’
Finding Buried Treasure
I’ve been worried about my hens lately. Their egg production has been so sporadic that I knew something was wrong. Some days I would get 6 good sized eggs, other day’s one or two small ones and still other days I would go to the coop only to find empty nesting boxes. The water trough always had enough water, but just to be safe I added another one. The hanging feeder had plenty of mash. Every few days they would get a treat of lettuce, carrot or beet tops, old bread or even a bit of fruit past its prime.
Everything seemed fine, but still I couldn’t figure out what could be causing such erratic egg laying.
Not until this morning that is. While getting dressed a couple of black crows frolicking in the yard caught my eye. They weren’t doing anything special just pecking at the ground. As I stood there watching, they kept dipping their beaks towards the ground then raising the heads high into the air, like birds do when they drink.
Pecking around the ground for a few moments more suddenly one of the crows hopped over to the flowerbed and disappeared into the low growing branches of a sweet pea bush. When he emerged he had a brown egg clutched between his beaks.
That was it! One of the girls had found a new hiding place and made it into a nest. After I finished getting dressed I walked outside to the flowerbed where I had seen the thieving crow, climbing over the scabiosa and coreopsis I moved the branches of the sweet pea bush out of my way and there tucked in the underbrush of plants and weeds was a small nest with three more eggs. One of the banty’s must have decided she preferred the quiet of the garden to the chaos of the coop.
All told I lost 5 eggs today—2 to the crows and three to the compost pile. I couldn’t keep the eggs I found because hard telling how long they had been buried.
I guess the crows are the only one’s to enjoy the bounty of finding buried treasure this clear spring morning.
Hen Song
For years I could never figure out why I found the sound of hens singing so soothing to me. A hen’s song is hardly melodic, it’s compact, two or three notes at most. It’s nothing like the beautiful rambling warble of a blue jay or the warm throaty coo of a dove. Hens sing a plain song, one that we might hum while going humbly about our daily farm chores. It’s quiet and low compared to the excited cackle that Hen lets out to announce that she has just laid an egg or has been surprised by the dog. There’s not a hint of the sharp screech she lets out at the sight of a hawk flying overhead. A hen’s song only keeps from slipping away to something humdrum because it spills forth from what sounds like pure exhilaration at just being alive on a warm spring day or knowing that the next time she goes scratching, the soil will produce a juicy wiggly worm to munch on. You won’t hear a hen song when the weather is foul or the temperature low or a cold north wind blows. She is a fair weather songstress.
It came to me one day, why hens singing sent a wave of tranquility over me. It isn’t because they announce a fair weather day free of hen stresses, although that could have something to do with it. No – it is because as a child living in suburbia we had chickens roaming the yard. No matter where I played in the yard or worked in the garden I was never more than 100 feet from hearing the hens sing all day long.
There were days, to be sure, that mom and dad had a decidedly different opinion; when a storm blew through, or the neighbor kids ransacked the garden or dad went on a long business trip or we worried, as a family, about the recession. But mostly I lived a life filled with peace, days that seemed endlessly free from all the chaotic supervised activities like school, sports, and youth groups that kids deal with nowadays. There was no need for today’s kind of protection. Mom was always nearby, singing or playing music, and dad was no farther than the garage or the garden. They didn’t hover over us kids like parents do today, they didn’t have to.
They were close enough to keep an eye on us. I had siblings to play with. We rarely got bored. There were so many opportunities for adventure, make-believe and mischief on our suburban farm. During my whole childhood hen song was penetrating the very core of my being. That reservoir of song would carry me through the years that brought trouble and uncertainty. Her song stayed in my memory, subconsciously reminding me that there were places I could still be heard, that I could go to one of those places when I needed to.
And so it has turned out, on a fair day desperately pushing into spring, I can hear hen’s song from outside my window when I write. Sometimes though, when I hear too much of it I realize those dang hens are scratching in the garden again.
Frittatas
We all know that when life gives you lemons you make lemonade. But, what about when life give you too many eggs? I pondered that question this afternoon when I pulled a basket full of eggs out of the chicken coop. I couldn’t believe it, there were eggs in every nesting box. And, we have ten. I looked at the pile, then looked at the hens and wondered what kind of super human – I mean super chicken – effort did such a feat take. Then I wondered what the hell I was going to do with all those eggs.
After a few quizzical moments it came to me – Frittata.
Frittatas are similar to quiches on the inside, but don’t have a crust. They are firm and thick like omelets and can contain any variety of chopped meat or vegetables. They are the Italian version of an omelet.
Now I was on a mission. I took the eggs into the kitchen and set them on the counter. When I opened the fridge, staring me in the face were three dozen more eggs to go along with today’s haul. What the hell were my hens eating or doing that they produced this many eggs. Or, was it that we were not eating eggs often enough. How could that be though? I have eggs and toast almost every day for breakfast. Moving on with my mission, I rummaged through the fridge and pulled out parmesan cheese, spinach, asparagus, and onion. This would be the base for my frittata. I would use bacon instead of ham, fry up some potatoes and have toast with homemade blueberry jam. It was beginning to sound like breakfast for dinner, but didn’t care. I was going to use up at least 6 eggs, maybe even 10.
The basic recipe I used is below. Any combination of ingredients can be added with success. Even the cheese can be changed. Try Monterey Jack, White Cheddar or Swiss. Frittatas are a great way to use veggies and small amounts of meat to make a nutritious and satisfying meal. For a wonderful weekend brunch pair your Frittata with a nice green salad. Read the rest of the story »
Like Sails in the Wind
The wind this week has been like a gale blowing in off an angry east coast sea. The kind of gusts that make you think your house (or barn) will lift off and fly away like some kind of surreal scene from The Wizard of Oz. The temperatures though have been oddly warm, mid-50’s on some days, which sends contradictions through my brain. Every structure on the farm was swaying and bowing to the winds force. In the dark still of night you could hear the wind howling through our valley. Far in east, then through distant trees until it came closer and louder…sending shivers through you as the sound of branches breaking rang out like gunfire. When you’re out in it each blast of wind comes at you like an angry wave, ready to bowl you over. Your face feels chapped and your hair blows every which direction. Lips chapped from previous winter storms are chapped even more.
Over and over the wind rolled down onto the farm like this. We were in full batten down the hatches mode, making sure everyone was inside their barn abode. The dogs do not go out on nights like these. Instead we all ate our dinners indoors, listening to the wind race over a jet black sky, trees casting eerie shadows that swayed like ghosts with every gust. What a show.
Feeding the animals in wind like this is hard and time consuming. Buckets of grain seem heavier, water seems to run slower and just moving animals is complicated and labor intensive. They seem out of sorts and unsure of where to go. So instead, of feeding grain first then hay as a second course, the lambs are all feed together with grain piled high on a bed of hay. The hens will get a second trough for mash that will tide them over for several days and every water bucket will be filled to overflowing. Hopefully, the wind will be gone by then.
The hens will get another layer of straw in their nesting boxes and as litter on the coop floor. I wanted the barn as comfortable as possible, as the wind whipped at us all through the little 12×24 building. I prayed the roof wouldn’t lift off like an Apollo spacecraft or the weathervane, now spinning wildly, would fly through the air like some kind of Ninja Worrier weapon. All around me the lambs, chickens, even the rabbit seemed quite content and calm in their domesticated dwelling, while I checked for the hundredth time that the structure was solid and secure. Read the rest of the story »
Coop Quilts
We all know about bed quilts. And I’m sure you’ve read about barn quilts, those 8-foot square pieces of folk art that adorn barns from Kansas to Iowa to Pennsylvania. But, have you heard of Coop Quilts? Probably not.
After reading a magazine article on the history of barn quilts and the renewed interest in displaying barn quilts on farms of all sizes, I just had to have one of my own. But, how? I’m not a farmer living on large acreage with a barn bigger than a house to mount the wooden quilt to. I’m a suburban farmer with things done on a smaller scale, including my barn. Well folks, where there’s a will there’s a way. Right?
I spent a bit of time looking at my barn and looking over the pictures in the article and came up with the idea of a Coop Quilt, a barn quilt in miniature, just like everything else on my suburban homestead. I used a scrap piece of plywood and cut it to 24” X 24”. I found some leftover white primer and painted the board on all sides, including the edges, with two coats. While it was drying I searched the internet for a quilt block pattern I liked. Nothing to intricate or complicated, I wanted the pattern and the colors to stand out. I also gathered up all the leftover paint to see what colors I had that would go well together.
After the primer had dried and I had found a quilt block pattern I liked, I traced the pattern onto the board with pencil. Working from the center out, I taped off a section at a time with blue painter’s tape, so the lines would be nice and crisp. I tried to paint sections of the same color all at once. When each section was finished I let the quilt dry completely before starting on the next section. In just a few hours my Coop Quilt was complete and ready for hanging on my barn.
Since my barn is not very tall and there isn’t much room over the end doors, I opted to mount my quilt on the side where I could see it from anywhere in the yard.
Not bad for Yankee ingenuity, aye.
**The quilt pattern I chose was “Hens and Chicks”. Very appropriate, don’t you think?
A Life Lived in Grace
This beginning of a New Year is like a bend in a winding mountain road. It fades in my rearview as we move farther and farther from its starting point. I’ve been reflecting lately on all that can be accomplished on a small suburban homestead such as ours and feeling rather – well – contented and secure.
On just a third of an acre we are able to raise lambs and chickens to put meat in our freezer and eggs for breakfast and baking. An extra lamb we butchered is being parceled out to friends and neighbors who don’t want a whole or half lamb. And, at $9 to $15 per pound for organic lamb, I think this may turn out to be a very good thing.
The broilers we raised from day old chicks were butchered last week. Our original plan was to butcher before Christmas, but the bad weather and family obligations forced us to push back a few weeks. With the extra time on feed most of the birds were in the 7 to 8 pound range, with a few pushing over 9 pounds. At those weights the birds are too big for a family of two, so most were cut in half and a few quartered, giving us enough chicken for about 30 weeks, assuming we eat chicken once a week. Not bad, folks! Not bad at all!
The hens are laying 5 to 7 eggs a day now, not quite at full stride yet, but, that’s 3-1/2 dozen a week, enough to keep us in omelets with a few dozen left over to sell to cover feed costs.
Our berries and fruit trees are coming into their own and give us plenty of fresh seasonal fruit for eating and a little extra for freezing or canning or cooking; the garden gives us plenty of greens and root vegetables; tomatoes and cucumbers; squash and pumpkins, even with the occasional crop failure.
Thanks to some great sales in November and December our pantry is brimming with staple goods. And, the added savings from coupons meant most were “free” or nearly “free”. It’s so nice to be able to just walk over, open a cupboard and pull out what you need for an evening meal. No treks to the store after dark. No drives during inclement weather.
We picked up another load of firewood from the grandparents’ place, our second of the winter. With the colder temperatures we are burning more wood than in years past and it’s a blessing to have such a ready source. Loading split wood on a cool afternoon makes for a robust workout. I love it.
I think these reflections were brought on by a morning news story on the inflationary period coming our way. Read the rest of the story »
Eating like Kings
We woke up this morning to the sound of pounding rain. In my previous life (before my world revolved around gardens and livestock and feeding) waking up to rain was one of my favorite things—contemplative and simple. Today however, it means sloshing in a downpour to take care of damp and hungry animals. But, we have developed a blueprint for mornings such as these. First, we bundle ourselves in layers of warm clothes, then cover it all with a barn coat and mud boots, ready to face any angry morning. We greet the dogs cheerfully, taking a few minutes to rub bellies and kiss wet noses before we make the mad dash out to the barn. The dogs watch patiently from the doorway. Cowards!
The weekend was delicious. A home cooked breakfast of farm fresh eggs, laid by our feisty pack of hens; handmade Breakfast Sausage we learned to make from our friendly butcher Kent; and warm buttermilk biscuits smothered with butter and homemade blueberry jam or topped with local honey. It makes venturing out into any angry winter morning easier when there’s a hot breakfast waiting when you return.
It hits me once in a while that so many of our meals come from our backyard. We spent the weekend devouring farm eggs for breakfast, soup made from our own chickens for lunch and a hearty lamb tagine for dinner. In a few months there will be greens and peas from the garden for salads and early berries for cobbler or popovers. Savoring every bite makes all the sweat and blisters and achy muscles worth it. Really!
Black Footed Raven
Life is cold here on the farm. The grass is tipped white from a recent cold snap and the chickens do not like the frigid water in their trough. When we make the rounds doing our morning chores the roosters crow and their breathe rises skyward like fog coming off a mountain lake. The girls have started laying again; their short sabbatical had us coveting every egg we collected. We only get 1 or 2 eggs a day. Compared to the 10 to 12 a day we get in high summer it’s hardly a drop, but it’s enough to keep us in breakfasts and baking, so we are happy.
A raven has taken up residence in the backyard. Each morning he perches on top of the arbor watching what goes on below. Sometimes when I’m writing near the front window I see him standing on the finial of the birdbath, using his long black beak to play with the pebbles that line the basin or take a drink of water that has accumulated from a recent storm or the morning dew. He hops around picking up tidbits he finds on the ground, then lights out for the nearest tree branch to get a better perspective. The hens stay inside when he’s around, and if they happen to be roaming the garden when he arrives they scurry back to the safety of the barn.
We’ve laid a new layer of bedding in the nesting boxes and on the coop floor. With the recent rain storms the flock has spent more time in the coop, tramping down and scratching up the straw. Their abode is now deep and warm in straw, much to their liking, I think.
My sewing machine and I are getting reacquainted, but we’re not friends yet. It’s been months since I finished my last quilt project and the colder weather has given me an itch to start anew. This latest project has been whirling around in my head for quite some time, but I was indecisive on how to start. It’s a patchwork, crazy quilt with appliquéd hearts – all made from corduroy shirts I’ve been collecting from thrift store sales. So – the other day I just jumped in, not really sure how I was going to proceed. So far, it’s been a slow process, like learning the proper way to bow a fiddle or pluck a banjo. Some day maybe I’ll make a quilt from an actual pattern, tried and true. Nay – what’s the fun in that?
Winter Solstice
Tomorrow, December 21st marks the winter solstice, the first day of winter, that moment in time when days begin to grow longer and the nights become shorter. This is a great marker on the calendar for me because it reminds me that spring is just a few months away. Our winter is still in full swing here on the farm though. The second set of storms has been pounding the area. Six inches of rain in just 2 days with no end in sight. It makes me wonder if I should be building an Ark rather than sitting at the kitchen table laying out the plans for my spring garden.
The girls (hens) are none to happy either. Last week they were prowling around the yard in search of worms and other bugs brought to the surface by the cool damp weather, but the last few days they’ve been hold up in the barn, not brave enough to venture out into the downpour. My plans to butcher our batch of meat birds have also succumbed to the weather and will be rescheduled for early January.
It’s still a magical time, despite the weather. One year is put to bed and put behind us while another stretches out before us, pushing above the surface like early spring peas.
photo credit: brianfuller6385
Keeping Roosters – Quietly and Responsibly
Backyard poultry keeping has surged in the past year or so. Many families are taking advantage of the easy keeping and productive nature of chickens. But when you find yourself with an adolescent rooster, just learning to crow, many of us ask how do we keep him quiet.
Many cities around the country ban roosters to prevent nuisance complaints, even though there are several ways to keep roosters in populated areas quietly and responsibly. There are really only two reasons to have roosters in your backyard flock – to protect and to fertilize eggs. If your flock is well confined and safe from predators, whether they be furry or feathered, there’s really no need for a rooster’s protection. If you do not plan to breed your hens and hatch their eggs, or do not wish to have fertilized eggs, you also have no need for a rooster.
If you keep a small backyard flock without a rooster, one hen will generally take the rooster’s role. She will keep an eye out for predators, alert the flock if danger is near, maintain the pecking order and, in rare cases, may even crow.
But, if you see cute, fuzzy baby chicks in your future then you definitely need a rooster.
So – how do you keep the father of your flock with out disturbing your neighbors?
Most roosters begin to crow at daybreak. Even the slightest glimmer of light starts my guys off in a rousing cacophony. The trick is – well – to trick them. Trick them into thinking its still dark out.
Roosters can be moved into the garage at night, into their own cage where they cannot tell when the sun comes up. They can also be placed in a cage inside the coop or a spare rabbit hutch or even a plastic dog crate and covered with a tarp or thick blanket. Again, so they can’t see when the sun comes up. If they do happen to crow, the noise is muffled enough that most people won’t be able to hear it.
I like keeping roosters and think they’ve gotten a bad rap. I love the way they strut around the yard looking after their girls, their beautiful feathers spread out in a rainbow of colors. I love the way they perch themselves on top of fence posts or wheelbarrows, smug and indignant, showing everyone they’re the boss. And, most of all I love the chicks we raise to replenish our flock or give away to friends so they can know the joy of having their own backyard flock.
I understand that roosters are not for everyone and I understand that most people did not bargain for neighbors that crow so early in the morning. Roosters are beautiful and they do serve a purpose. Not having them may be a necessary compromise suburban chicken keepers have to make in order to take one step closer to self-sufficiency.
photo credit: 826 PARANORMAL
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