Posts Tagged ‘Hens’
Stealing the Day
I feel like I have stolen this day. I took off from work, so instead of the usual morning routine I really took my time with farm chores this morning. Nothing grand, just a few extra moments to check over the animals, water the plants on the porch and brew a pot of fresh tea, which I just pulled off the stove burbling and gerking as I pour it into the teapot. Oh, it’s shear decadence for an office farmer to have a day off work.
Moments ago, when I walked outside, the grass was damp from the early morning fog. In spite of its sogginess, the sun was out; the sky was a clear blue and bounced off every tiny droplet. I breathed deep, taking it all in, savoring the taste. It’s hard to feel Zen though when sheep are baaing, hens are cackling, dogs are barking and a lone rabbit is racing around in his hutch. They all want breakfast and they all want it now. You can see how that moment wasn’t quite serene. But, it was to me.
Brianne and I started our morning chores like we always do, in the sheep pen. They are the most eager and can cause the most trouble if not fed promptly, so off she went to fill grain buckets, top off the water trough and throw a few handfuls of hay. I fed and checked on the dogs then moved towards the chicken coop to make sure we hadn’t lost anyone in the night. With the headcount complete I lifted the latch on the gate and let the hens out into the barn. From there they can make their way into the garden and around the yard.
Every day we let the hens out of their coop, and give them a chance to feel the warm sun, scratch in the dirt looking for bugs and peck at the green grass. They’re sneaky beasts though. Clever enough to fly over fences and too curious to stay out of the garden, so I keep them away from the lettuce just to give myself peace of mind.
A load of laundry I washed last night is ready to hang on the line. The sun was barely over the tree tops as I clipped each piece of clothing to the line. Laundry is an oddly calming job, almost therapeutic.
By the time we came inside I felt oddly refreshed from our slow morning of chores.
Our weekend mostly involved transporting sheep (Brianne was involved with a showmanship workshop) and June gardening.
I’ve come to the conclusion that “June gardening” is just a romantic way of saying weeding. I spent hours down on my hands and knees pulling intruders from between the rows. This year’s garden started out to be the most diverse we’ve ever attempted, and we have the weeds to show for it, but we haven’t been without our troubles. And, the only things that seem to be thriving in the garden are the rabbits and squirrels. Our verdant young peach tree that was loaded has now been stripped bare. Not one peach is left. Oh, a few pits clung to the branches, but nothing that’s edible for us. I don’t mind part of my crops going to the wildlife, but when they get greedy that’s another matter entirely.
This is a strange place to be a homesteader. I have never lived or worked with so many people that stand on both sides of the farming fence. Nearly half my neighbors grow their own, while the other half has no use for gardening at all. I’m sometimes a telephone farmer as well. Just yesterday, my neighbor Fran called to talk about the new chicks we had given her and how they were too timid to go inside the coop, so spent the night under the ramp that leads to the coop. Seems like everyone’s working for their supper these days.
As I type things are pretty quiet outside, which is a rare occurrence. Their mouths must be full. From the kitchen door I can see the roosters strut around the yard guarding his girls. I see the sheep frolicking and chasing each other in their fenced yard. I know the rabbit is content and the dogs are napping after their morning meal. And me—the Queen of all this majesty¬—am enjoying a cup of tea smooth enough to calm any savage beast.
Not a bad way to start a stolen day. Not bad at all.
The Practice of Keeping Chickens
Keeping chickens isn’t just a hobby, it’s a practice. There’s a ritual you fall into when you take care of them every day, or at least we do. Each morning, after the sheep are fed, before breakfast or getting ready for school or work, Brianne bundles up, throws on her mud boots and trudges out to the barn near the garden. Once inside she pours fresh lay mash and scratch into the hanging feeder, and makes sure the water trough is topped off. Sometimes the hens get a stroke or two and hear about the world outside and the news about the day’s activities. She checks for overall health of the birds, and leaves with an egg or two, warm in her hands.
But, night watch with the birds is my favorite time. I love to let them out of the coop and watch them run around the barn, eventually making their way out into the yard. The routine is the same; the clothes are the same – mud boots, sweatshirts and jeans, only it’s after a long day’s work, after a walk with the dogs and a healthy meal. I’m tired, but content with a warm coat and full stomach. I stay past dark and even in my semi-rural area it’s black and dark without the distraction of streetlights or porch lights. My eyes dart around looking for owls or rats in the brush. Sometimes I see one (rat) and shake a feed bucket to make a ruckus, fending them off.
Needing to bed down the coop means I get to breathe in fresh dark air, see the stars, stare at the moon and smell a mix of wet leaves and burning fireplaces from other chimney’s on the street. These are things I’m grateful to do, and those birds make sure I do it every night.
Besides being outside with a purpose, keeping chicken’s means taking care of something, knowing that they rely on you for protection and food and their general well being. It feels really nice to provide all that. It really does. And it’s not all giving either – the ability to collect fresh eggs, a source of protein that doesn’t require taking their lives, is unique and special to the hens. I don’t know many other bi-species relationships that can offer feelings of responsibility, enjoyment, and a killer morning omelet. Well maybe ducks, but we all know ducks are assholes. And, the spring chicks ain’t bad either.
So thank you chickens, thank you.
Sometimes it really does take a village.
Meet Blue, a standard blue Cochin; senior rooster and king of the coop. Blue and his girlfriend, a black Cochin hen came to us quite by accident a few years ago. Brianne and I were at a poultry show, where she had entered some of her birds. These shows often hold raffles for all kinds of fowl and poultry supplies, and this one was no different. Brianne had seen a black hen she wanted. But, I thought we had too many chickens already so I told her no. The more I thought about it though the more I started to change my mind. So, on the sly I bought $5 worth of raffle tickets and put them all in the bag in front of the little black hens coop.
Now, poultry shows are interesting events, unlike any other type of livestock show because the show barn is closed while the judges evaluate each entry. There’s no need for the exhibitor to stick around. We usually take this opportunity to tour the town or visit friends in the area. This time we drove over the hills to the ocean to check out some of our favorite garden shops in a little seaside village. On the way back to the fairgrounds we got a call from the show organizer congratulating us on winning the PAIR of Cochins. I gasped and said there was just one – a black hen – to whit she replied, “No, it was a pair. The person who cooped in the chickens made a mistake and penned them separately.” I swallowed hard; we didn’t need another rooster, especially not a standard. Back at the fairgrounds we headed straight for the raffle birds and sure enough they had fixed the mistake and penned together was the little black hen and a giant blue Cochin rooster standing almost 2-feet tall!
I took a deep breath and resigned myself to the fact that we were adding two more birds to our coop. We scoured local markets for a box big enough to transport the rooster, but small enough to fit in the back of the Suburban. Once home we settled them into their new home and let everyone get acquainted.
Want to know what feels great? Seeing productive animals bedded down and eating a meal in a house you built for them.
We were happy girls. Well – at least one of us was.
The Season In Between
And so it’s here, what I call, The Season In Between. That weird and wonderful time in a California spring where the days are warm and sunny, but the evenings are cool enough that they cry out for a roaring fire. This creates highs and lows amongst us gardeners.
Do we plant? Don’t we plant? What could we plant? It’s an anxious time of wanting desperately to be out in the dirt, but knowing the cold could wipe us out in a single night. I pace and watch to see what the readings are on the thermometer outside my kitchen window. We are still into the 40’s at night – too cold for most veggies.
So here I am, with a kitchen full of sprouted vegetables in pony packs and flats and pots, just itching to be out growing in the dirt.
I came home to a relatively warm, and sunlight evening. It was about 52 degrees, the breeze was light, but the sun was out and I was tired of being locked up in four-walls with fluorescent lights. So I fixed a pot of tea, put on a heavy sweater, grabbed a gardening book and went outside to sit in the cool night air.
I have a cushion-lined Adirondack chair set at the far edge of the garden. It gives me a panoramic view of both the vegetable beds and the barn area. The evening was peaceful. Birds twittered and the hens scratched around in their yard. I left the backdoor open so the dogs could pad in and out from the warm fireplace to me.
It’s a weird twilight time of open doors, a fire inside, a cool west breeze, a waltz of chickens, and dogs milling about – all at the same time. With the chickens strutting about and the sheep in their paddock the whole farm seems to be stretching its arms into daylight savings. That deserves a few bird songs.
I hate how far away from October we are, and how long ago fall was. But to know the seeds of summer and a lot of change are getting planted, and that feels good – really good.
Fickle weather be damned.
photo credit: Wanja Krah
The Sun Hangs Low
Daylight savings time has given this farm a special gift. The extra hours of daylight allows enough time to let the chickens out in the garden every evening. For a few brief hours they can play and run, scratch in the dirt and dig for bugs. Then before I head back into the house, I move them all back into the safety of their little coop. Most of the winter they’ve been stuck inside since heavy rains turned their outside run into a pond. But now the rains have subsided and the water has retreated into the soil. The flock can run out in the open again. And, you should see them go – running around, well, like chickens with their heads cut off – flapping their wings and squawking like mad.
So, while Brianne is working her show lambs, I walk over to the coop, grab a handful of scratch, unlatch the door and entice them out. It doesn’t take much, before they are happily pecking and scratching at dropped bits of grain and hay on the barn floor. When I first open the coop door, the smaller bantams are reluctant, but the Blue Cochin (Blue Boy) makes a beeline for freedom, followed by three Arucana hens. In the end, even the timid girls venture out. Eventually, they all make it into the wide open world. I follow behind moving them toward the garden and out of sight of the sheep. Not that the sheep will do any harm, it’s just that the chickens are a distraction while Brianne is working her lambs.
This weekend saw days in the 60’s and is slowly absorbing what’s left of the standing water in the garden. I’ve started turning garden beds, and getting my early season veggies in. Lettuces, peas, broccoli, onions… (you get the idea.) But there is so much to do outside right now; the garden is constantly in the back of my mind.
Yesterday was a hard core farm day. We spent most of the afternoon working outside. We had to clean out old bedding in the chicken coop and replace it with fresh and the sheep pen needed to be raked out too. We hauled 50lb bags of sheep feed and lay mash over our shoulders. We moved the rack of firewood, that stands near the back door for easy access during rainstorms, to it’s off season location on the south side of the house. And when we weren’t doing intense physical labor we were tending to the early blooming flowers. We also collected eggs, checked on overall bird health and trimmed a few toenails and spurs. The lambs’ hooves were also trimmed and checked for signs of foot rot (a common condition in wet weather when there is standing water). We even managed to clean out the rabbit hutch and move all that glorious, nutrient rich manure to the compost pile. Needless to say, we came in from our long day dirty, sore and tired, but happy that we were able to accomplish so much. A long hot bath, a warm home cooked meal and good book enjoyed in a quiet room set us back on tract though.
It was all worth it.
I’ve got a pot of tea on now, and listening to the chicks in their box house beside me while I type is like a sweet symphony.
In a few moments I’ll go out to feed the dogs and refill the chicks’ water and food. But, for now, I think the dogs and I are going to sit here and enjoy some music and Earl Gray tea. It’s not like they haven’t been through this before. Enjoy your evening folks.
Backyard Chickens
When I was about 8 or 9-years old my family bought their first batch of day old chicks. They were delivered by parcel post and lived in a cardboard box brooder in our family room for the first month. Before they arrived we had built the coop, fenced in an outside pen area, set the water fonts, made feeders from scrap lumber and bought enough chicken feed to last a month.
Over the years I have raised hundreds of chickens in dozens of breeds and enjoyed every one of them. I am always amazed at how much information is out there about raising this docile, versatile, homestead mainstay. When my daughter first started raising poultry in her 4-H project, we once again, combed the internet for resources that were up-to-date as well as kid friendly. And we weren’t disappointed.
Sites like BackyardChickens.com and Feathersite.com are great resources for anyone thinking about getting a few hens. It has free information, a downloadable care guide, images, a forum, questions and more. It’s for new chicken people, poultry lovers and gawkers alike.
Most towns and cities now allow backyard chickens as long as they are hens and are in a confined area. Chickens are easy to raise and as long as they are given a place to nest at night they are quite content. They don’t require fancy digs that cost a lot of money. A friend of mine houses her hens in an old outhouse and lets them out during the day. The coop at my first house was an old wooden tool shed with an outside fenced area. Today, things haven’t changed much. My coop is still simple, well-built, has enough room for a growing flock (which we need given our current hatch) and gives the girls plenty of room to roam.
Check them out, you won’t be disappointed. Click here for the link http://www.backyardchickens.com/ or http://www.feathersite.com/
As for our surprise! We have 8 chicks hatched, with more on the way. They are all snuggly warm, nestled in our brooder box in the corner of the kitchen. Man, this is fun!!
Life is not all about work…
…and neither is homesteading.
Personal Journal – November 22, 2009
It’s a point I try to make often to my more skeptical town friends. Sometimes even we homesteaders have those quiet lazy days where little is thought about and even less is accomplished. Yesterday was one of those days. We woke up late, about 7:30 (a luxury that is not afforded us when there are sheep in the barn). I could hear a young rooster trying to master his crow. The hens were scratching, and fluffing themselves in the dirt, chattering as hens always do. The dogs were on patrol. I could hear them in the bushes, sniffing and prowling about, looking for treasures. These are the kinds of mornings that beg you to stay in bed and quietly listen to the sounds of the farm. You can learn so much by just listening.
By the time I stumbled through the house, Brianne was already laid out on the sofa, buried under a mound of quilts making friendship bracelets and watching a movie I found at a local book sale a few weeks ago. Dakota was at her feet begging for more room to stretch out. Last nights fire was gone, but you could still hear crackles and pops as the embers cooled and died. It was dark and lonely, but could easily be revived with a little encouragement and a few pieces of kindling.
Breakfast was a steaming bowl of porridge, topped with nuts and brown sugar, bananas and milk. By the time it’s ready I’m on my second cup of tea (i’m not a coffee person…so not a coffee person), Earl Gray with a splash of milk and a bit of sugar. From the kitchen I can hear the twitter of birds. I don’t know what type; we have become a kind of way station for passersby’s. Some have a sharp trill in their voice, while others chirp on and on for quite awhile. The crows are back, I can hear their caw, caw, caw, but no sight of the red tailed hawk that perches himself on the arbor.
No – life is not always about work. Sometimes it’s about quiet, easy mornings, warm and safe in a simple home. Oh, don’t get me wrong, there will be work done this weekend, but it will be slower, less rushed, with less urgency for completion than other days. I have a few errands to run in town, the truck needs gas for the coming week, Brianne’s birthday is next week and I need a card, the nesting boxes in the coop need to be refilled and the floor raked out. There’s mulch to lie out in the garden and I want to finish the quilt I’ve been working on. Yes, there will be lots of work this weekend. But there will also be time for sitting back and listening to the sounds of this farm. Time for a second (or third) cup of tea, time for snuggling with a mangy dog trying to hog the sofa and time to just relish what we’ve built with our own two hands. No – life isn’t all about work. A lot of life is about paying attention and enjoying what comes our way, the fruits of our labor. And, if we get a few bumps and bruises or have to tend animals in the rain so be it.
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