Bonni's got chickens

2011-12-18T14:29:00.000-08:00

Dark Cornish chickens. Preferred for old fashioned meat production.

Next spring my chicken orders are probably going to include at least 100 Dark Cornish or Delawares for meat (although I confess to a curiosity about the Freedom Rangers), another 50 Dorkings for meat and eggs, and possibly some Welsummers, Orpingtons and Cuckoo Marans for eggs.

I'm also thinking about getting some ducks: Saxonys and Silver Appleyards. And depending on which breed I like better, I'm hoping to save some ducks for breeding.
I talked to a poultry raiser yesterday who expects to have 500 ducks for sale with breeding stock from three hens and a drake. Mighty impressive. I haven't quite figured out the logistics there, but I guess it's possible. Ducks can be quite prolific, and if you got even a thirty percent return on the eggs, once the generations started to go exponential, you could have a lot of ducks. Something to think about.

2011-12-18T13:10:00.000-08:00

In researching various chicken breeds, I happened across a blog from "A farmer and a chef." Normally, this would be a site that I'd at least feel akin to, so I stopped and read for awhile. Not surprisingly, the author is all about purchasing food grown in a sustainable way. What did surprise me, though, was the radically rogue path of logic that this led down. I'm not going to detail or pick apart his arguments. I appreciate his sentiment, if not his anger. But it's been gnawing at me, ever since I discovered it. Is this some new wave of food extremism?

As an animal raiser, I worry about these things.

Those of us who raise animals maintain a certain level of fear about the Humane Society, PETA, and other animal rescue organizations. It's just so easy for people to get all worked up about protecting animals without having any understanding of the realities of animal raising. Reality number one being that there probably isn't anyone on this planet who cares about my animals more than I do, even if I do intend to eat them or otherwise exploit them for my own gain. I'm the one out there in the middle of the night to make sure they're okay. I'm the one out there in the dark and freezing cold, collecting all their water receptacles to thaw and refill them, sometimes several times a day. I'm the one sweating the feed bills. I'm the one lugging new straw bales and then wheelbarrows of shit mixed with half rotted straw, to make sure that they're clean, warm and comfortable. I'm the one spending endless hours studying animal raising methods, researching animal health issues, getting the crap scratched out of me while I catch and administer medications to them, and then to myself.

So, why does this guy bother me so much? Partly I suppose that I harbor doubts about the well-being of my animals. But that's a good thing. I know my animals are safe and well-fed. But am I really doing everything I can? Self-doubt keeps me on my toes.

Partly, too, it's just a little bit of professional disappointment. I want everyone to be on page, spreading a solid and joyful message about the merits of local food. His message is resoundingly negative. "Can you believe how horrible this (standard ag practice) is?" "You MUST" do whatever it is he's on about.

I'm not immune from negativity, but I save it for my friends. I save it for here. :-) In public, I'm positive. Positive that local food tastes better, is healthier, better for the economy and the environment... It's just better marketing. It's always smarter to not bludgeon folks with the reasons why eating better is a good idea.

So I wish he wasn't such a scold. He scolds other chefs. He scolds the customer. He scolds farmers. It must be difficult for him, being so perfect and right and all that. Maybe he's read too much Anthony Bourdain. Or not enough...

Oh well. I've vented. And I feel better. Thanks for listening (does anyone really read this, anyway?). And just for the record, regardless of what this guy thinks, chicks ship remarkably well when it's done properly. It's true that there are unscrupulous breeders taking advantage of the recent interest in backyard chicken raising. It's true that there are people getting into chicken raising who haven't done the proper preparatory work. But it doesn't mean that shipping chicks is wrong.

And there's nothing wrong, inherently, with large chicken breeders developing a particular breed and then marketing it. As long as they can't force me to buy it, I could care less. And people who raise those birds can certainly raise them in sustainable ways. And I know people who do. I also know people who can raise even the dreaded Cornish X chicks in a perfectly lovely and pastoral way.And the birds are tastier and healthier than anything available from Tyson or Perdue.

It had to be said.

2011-11-20T11:32:00.001-08:00

Mmmmm. Uber fresh eggs for breakfast today. Soooo delicious.
The hens have been in molt, and laying only a few eggs a day. But I added some light, and now we're starting to get enough eggs that I can sell a dozen here and there, and still have enough for breakfast.
Initially I added the light to the end of the day, thinking that it would help me out when I got home after dark, conveniently adding light when I needed it. But the hens just went to perch when the sun went down anyway. No increase in eggs at all. So I scheduled the light to turn on at 4:30 in the morning, adding a few hours early in the day, and egg production went up almost immediately. In just one or two days we went from three eggs a day to six. Six eggs a day from 30 hens is still not a profitable ratio, but they deserved a little rest. They were super productive all summer. I really can't complain.
The hens are looking pretty good now; quite full and fluffy. Ready for a cold winter, I think.

The big news here in the Village is that Lilly is more pregnant than we realized. Apparently when Sam escaped last summer, Lilly did not escape his notice, and she's probably due in December. That sound you hear is my learning curve screaming into the outer atmosphere.

And, the big blue doe that I was hoping to breed this fall is plagued with weak health. Her sore hocks returned, and her coat is bad. I'm not about to stress her further with pregnancy. I've put a sweatshirt in the cage with her to give her an extra soft floor to rest on, and more neosporin on the paws, and I think I'll pick up an antibiotic at the Fleet Farm tomorrow to give her a boost before the weather gets much tougher. It will be the first time I've resorted to antibiotics, and I hope it works.

Speaking of the weather, we've got a mild week ahead of us. Warming and sunny. Good thing, too, because Monday Brian N. is coming over to finish fencing the yard for me. And Thursday is Thanksgiving and we'll be driving an hour to Mom's farm for dinner and to hunt.

The week after that, Doug A. starts deliving straw to me: I'm getting 100 bales to insulate the shed with, to build the rabbits' straw bale barn with, and to form a compost and manure pit outside the shed for the winter. I need to talk with him about cutting hay next year, too. And the week after that Lily and Tansy come home. Big times.

2011-11-07T18:48:00.000-08:00

Every Sunday morning, the tradition at our house is to listen to a couple of lectures from leading thinkers in the world, while we drink our coffee and lounge about with crossword puzzles and the dog.

Many of these intellectuals specialize in what can best be categorized as, "how we got into this horrible mess that we're in." Whether it's about the corporate domination of our lives, or global warming, or peak oil, or ... pick your own personal end of world scenario. The obvious message is that we're in big trouble and something needs to be done yesterday. Or worse, it's too late and we're doomed.

I see the logic in their arguments. I tend to agree with their observations. But I am exhausted by the harangue. What exactly would they have us do about it? I know the problems and I get the urgency. But ... What. Do. We. Do? Honestly, it usually leaves me grateful that we've never had kids.Worrying for our friends who have. And wondering if it's not too early in the day to start drinking.

I've recently realized that the only lecturers who leave me feeling inspired and up for the challenges of our times, are the ones who talk about the importance of us raising our own food. Want to gain independence from a shrinking economy? Want to have better control over your health? Want to do something sensible for the environment? Then raise your own food.

Plus, corporations have a harder time controlling people who can feed themselves. There's a well-documented and strong vein of individualism that flourishes in spending serious effort on something as basic as taking direct care of yourself. Cutting firewood, caring for animals that will feed you, preserving vegetables for winter... these are all things that make us stronger. They embody hope for the future. They're simple exercises in working for the future.

Thinking hard, speaking well, marching long, and occupying, these are all important things to be done. But the revolution for me, after many years of doing all of those other things, is now best realized in my flock of chickens or my garden or my canning jars. There's my old-age plan for direct action.

Folks can argue ideologies all day long. And I encourage it. I hope we come to some acceptable compromise someday. And I hope that some of us survive it.
Or maybe I don't.

But I don't see much point in worrying about it. I don't see how we can stop the world from spinning fast enough. Despite herculean efforts, people simply are not up to speed and I think we're much more likely to realize peak oil and the climate change tipping point and that this train will grind to a bucking screaming halt, long before we'll do by choice what needs to be done to forestall the challenges ahead of us. I think we may already be there.

Either way, in the meantime, it seems a lot more sane to me to work for our own food security than it is to endlessly rehash the injustices of Monsanto and the Koch Brothers. They've got so much power... balancing that is going to take some real pain. And let's be honest, it's going to be our pain, mostly. It already is. We need to just step over that and get on with the business of living.

Feeding ourselves gives us strength, confidence and hope. Strength. Confidence. Hope. These are things in short supply in a nation with too much unemployment, too many foreclosures and too much debt, too much inequity and uncertainty.

A few tomato plants on a patio are a miracle for someone who needs a little connection to something real.

People who know me might still be surprised to hear that the first time that I harvested overwintered greens in my back yard, I was so moved with gratitude that I actually wept.

My land fed me. The earth loves me.

I imagined then what sense of priviledge the early hunters and foragers must have felt. I imagined that this was where the idea of God came from. It wasn't from fear of the unknown. It wasn't from uncertainty for the future. It was from a deep sense of gratitude. When, like me, after a long harsh winter and on the first day with melting snow and a southern breeze, cavemen wandered far from the fire and found fresh greens poking through the snow -- they must have felt cared for. I know I did.

No one who knows me will be surprised to hear that I think it was the greedy, prehistoric progenitors of the Koch Brothers who turned religion into a fear-based institution. Somebody obviously saw the power potential.

Anyway, I digress.... and I have other work to do. See you downtown.

2011-10-16T18:54:00.000-07:00

Rabbits love leaves. Especially maple leaves, but also elm and basswood and locust...

And, big things are afoot.
We're trying to work out a deal where we'd rent seven or eight acres of pasture land. The owners have been cutting hay from the land for years without putting anything back, and they'd like to see the soil brought back up to a more fertile tilth, organically. My plan is to utilize green manures and rotational grazing, and -- at the same time -- raise a bunch of meat birds for the freezer. We're hashing out the details, but the owners are likeminded and the land is lovely... I think this could work! Stay tuned.

Next phase

2011-07-18T09:43:00.000-07:00

We finally got the garden tilled up. This spring was so rainy and cold, everyone is three weeks behind. And I'm naturally a procrastinator anyway, so ... you know... I'm really behind. But the garden is huge. And the plants are looking good! Pictures later, after I weed. :-)
The rabbits are all outside now. It's not ideal, but it's better than having them all in the shed with the chickens. We've got thirteen, including the babies. And I'll be breeding two of the young does (who are eight months old, now), when the current heat spell passes. It's going to be near 100F. all this week, so I've got water bottles and rocks in the freezer to put in with the buns in the hottest part of the day. I need to get some ceramic tiles for them to lay on, too. I've also acknowledged that I don't have the guts to butcher the rabbits. At least not yet. I'm going to take them to a place I know that will do it. Rabbits scream. It can be really horrible if you do it wrong. I don't want to do it wrong.
I'm probably not going to get any meat chickens this year, either. Maybe a few Dorking roosters will bite the dust in the fall, but we'll see. I expect I'll be busy enough with other things and won't have time to deal with butchering batches of chickens.


Meet Lily (top), and Tulip...

Holy crap!

2011-05-09T16:08:00.000-07:00

Ow. I did the spring cleaning of the chicken coop today. I lost track of how many wheelbarrow loads of rotted straw and manure I trekked out to the compost pile. I now have a massive compost pile, and a very sore body.
I've actually been working on the coop every weekend for the last several weeks. Today I finally got all the way down to the floor, all through the coop.
Most folks say that they would then give the floor a good scrub with a bucket of bleach water. However, I didn't really think that mixing bleach with all that ammonia would be a very good idea. And I was already feeling gassed from having spent several hours in the ammonia cloud. So, I used hot water with a generous amount of vinegar in it. Gave it good all-over with a stiff broom, and then dumped a lot of barn lime on top. Followed it up with a large bale of clean chopped straw. Lovely, sweet and golden.
I took all the rabbits outside before I started, so they wouldn't get gassed in the funk of ammonia that rises when the cap gets lifted off that toxic pit. Having spent the day outside, the bunnies finally discovered their hormones. I've got the bucks and does separated (I hope!), but it doesn't seem to matter. (Ahem). Time to order more cages, I guess.

Wascally wabbits...

2011-04-28T18:53:00.000-07:00

Above, Killer, the fierce and relentless barn cat, makes friends with Bunnista. The American doe that I lost this winter.

Tonight I and a young associate went to a 4-H meeting with a nationally recognized rabbit judge, to pick up pointers for showing the Americans.
I got the rabbits because they're a small and highly efficient meat animal that I can easily raise in town. I've heard rabbits described (by Novella Carpenter, doyen of the urban farm set), as "the new chicken." And I picked Americans because they're a heritage breed that needs saving and it's a great meat breed.
On the advice of Bob Bennett, author of Storey's Guide to Raising Rabbits, I bought stock that I could also sell the offspring of to 4-H kids for showing. And lo, one of my friend's daughters, a 4-H kid, has asked if she could show my rabbits at the country fair. This is a serious win win for us. She gets her 4-H credit and all that that entails. I get the chance to get other kids interested in Americans, hopefully increasing the breeding stock in this area, and developing a built-in local market for my breeding stock. It means that when I get a seriously handsome kit, I can either sell it for top dollar, or keep it and sell out some of my other breeding stock and therefore improve my herd. Culls are for eating. Top notch rabbits are for breeding.
I learned a lot. I got an incentive to handle my kits more (I've been holding back on that because I didn't want to get all attached to them). Now I have an excuse, as long as I know it will be a breeder or a shower.
I also got to spend some quality time on a real farm, and probably stepped in more different kinds of shit in the space of two hours that I've had the opportunity to step in for quite some time. And I loved every minute of it.
Tomorrow I'm going to breed Raven to Tut so that my young associate will have the chance to show juniors along with the seniors that we've already got.
Rabbits are wonderful. Kids are wonderful. 4-H is really wonderful.

The naked and humiliating truth about hygiene in the barn, and about the "how-to" books...

2011-04-25T20:20:00.000-07:00

This winter I lost three rabbits. And by "lost," I don't mean that they disappeared, or that I misplaced them. I mean that they died.
Every livestock raiser will tell you that these things happen, that you shouldn't beat yourself up, that it's just a part of the reality. And that's all true. However, I quite seriously think that my rabbits died from pneumonia from an ammonia buildup in the barn over the winter. And that it was my fault. Why do I think this?
I use the deep-bedding method over the winter. It's recommended in every organic, natural livestock raising manual I've ever read. It's required of organic growers in Sweden. And I admit, it does work well. It minimizes pests, it ferments the waste, and it generates warmth. But the books that I've read don't seem to cover it adequately. And I've read and re-read all the Storey books, the Rodale books, etc. I mean, I study the bibles of animal management on a daily basis. Ask my partner. He'll tell you that I'm obsessed with reading and re-reading these books.
At any rate... each one of the rabbits died within two days of me cleaning the barn. I did as they said; every month I scraped a bit from the top and loaded the pens with more straw... and then a previously healthy rabbit would die. It was horrific for me. My favorite doe... Bunnista... the one that would nuzzle my hairline and climb onto my shoulder... died. My favorite buck, Handsome Hairy, died. It was a tough winter for me. Tougher, much tougher, for them. I feel a great deal of guilt.
But the best that I can do is learn from this. And so, this year I'll start with an obscenely thick layer of lime and wood shaving bedding. Topped with regular infusions of chopped straw, and either regular, weekly, scraping of the coop and barn, or no upsetting of the layers. I think this last bit is extremely important. I think it was the upsetting of the layers that released the ammonia and gave the rabbits pneumonia. The problem was that the ammonia was building up to levels where I felt I had to do something about it. I was damned if I did and damned if I didn't.
Because of my small space, and the subsequent intensive management of animals here, I, apparently, have to be super-conscientious of the atmosphere in the barn. I really don't have any wiggle room.
Just today I moved the rabbits outside and started my spring muck of the chicken coop (the chickens and rabbits all lived together in the shed this winter). The reason that I moved the rabbits outside for this event, is because I didn't want the ammonia to damage them. And I'm glad I did, because as I dug into the deep layers of the coop, the ammonia was so strong that my eyes were watering. my nose was running, and my lungs were burning. Imagine what my rabbits would have been dealing with.
My coop is well within the size limits for raising as many chickens as I have, according to everything I've read. In fact, it's generously sized. And especially because they have ample space to run in outside of the coop. But still, the ammonia buildup was lethally strong. This makes me angry, frankly. Those rabbits didn't have to die. I did what I was told, and it failed me.
This summer we're adding goats to the barn. They're just as susceptible to pneumonia as rabbits are, and they cost quite a bit more. So I'm taking the bull by the horns.
I'll continue with the deep bedding system. But as I said above, my preparation will be ten-fold what the textbooks tell us. Mountains of lime, mountains of super-absorbent bedding. And we're diminishing the number of chickens that we hold over the winter. A hard cull will come in the fall. I want no more than 20 chickens in the coop this winter. We were fine with 16, and I think we can easily stretch that to 20... but 40 is just too much. I don't care what they say.
I've got great ventilation in the barn, with a big window (with half the panes knocked out) to the south, and the door to the west... Since the building is concrete block, my first thought was that the best that I could do there was to knock out the rest of the panes in the window.But on further reflection, we're also going to Dutch the door to the west to that we can leave the top part open in cold weather for ventilation, and still block drafts with the bottom half.
Additionally, we're going to cut down on the condensation in the barn by installing blue-board insulation, and putting wood framing and board walls over it. (The wood is mostly to keep the goats and chickens from eating the blue-board. But it will also allow me to hang shelves, and will provide a more usefully aesthetic space.
My main reason for the insulation is to eliminate the condensation, which spoils the hay and makes the animals damp, and therefore more susceptible to colds. And it will help keep them warm. But it will also help to muffle any noise that they make -- a necessary consideration when you live in town.
The goats? I'm getting two Kinder does, a small to medium-sized goat no larger than my dog, and at least one of them will come already bred. So we'll have kids -- and milk!-- in the late fall, early winter. Yaaay!
Kinders are a cross between a pygmy and Nubian goat, yielding very high meat to carcass ratios and generous amounts of rich milk. I may get as much as six pounds of milk a day from a newly freshened doe. I may get quite a bit less, or I could even get more. We'll see. Six pounds is roughly 3/4s of a gallon of milk. Considering that neither of us drinks milk, that seems like quite a bit to me. But we do eat a lot of cheese. And I'm working on my cheese making skills with cow milk from a local farm.

It's been so long since I've posted that (I know!!), I have a ton else to catch up on. For now, in addition, let me say that in mucking the coop today, I couldn't help but have a growing appreciation for my fabulous compost pile. It's hands down the best compost pile I've ever had. I've already spread last year's well rotted compost on the south east shady bed where I intend to plant chard and spinach, and today I layered more on the new bean bed on the south west side of the garden.
Additionally, I turned the pile that we've been building all winter, and after tomorrow's rain and the subsequent week of wet and then warm weather, that should be cooking like an oven. The new muck, from the top layers of the coop and the rabbit cages, will form the basis of the new pile that will cook over the next year for 2012's garden.
Next post, my plan for a winter cold-frame, and an easier way to build compost this coming winter.

Annnggg-zeye-ett-ee....

2010-12-22T11:04:00.000-08:00

You know how most people, when they have anxiety dreams, dream that they got on the bus in their pajamas, or that they never finished a paper in college and didn't really graduate...?
I dream that the chickens got mishandled and killed, or that the dog is deathly sick.(Both are dreams that I had last night, and I've had similar ones before.) Sheesh.

Riches

2010-12-15T15:56:00.000-08:00

At the risk of sounding maudlin, I've come to realize that my animals make me a better person. When I get up in the morning, and when I come home at night, the first thing I do is go tend to the animals. Lately that's meant nearly an hour each time, twice daily. With the cold snap that we're lumbering under, their waterers freeze and need to be thawed and refilled. Twice. Daily. And they're eating ravenously, generating the heat they need to survive. Granted, while it might be ten below zero outside, it's hovering around 20 above in the coop. So they're not in complete misery. But it's not the kind of weather that makes them want to go romp in the yard, either.
How does this make me better? Not because I feed them and water them, but because I don't mind doing it. I inch patiently through the chicken coop, careful not to step on their little dinosaur feet, and I don't get impatient. I freeze my fingers refilling waterers, and I don't really even notice until I go back inside. I shuffle along so that I don't step on the cat, who is almost always between my feet. And I don't mind. Normally, this stuff would make me nuts.
Go figure.
Five weeks ago, I got two beautiful rabbits from a farm in Minnesota -- and they graciously bred the doe for me before they sent her. Last week she gave birth to eight healthy babies... three black and five blue, I think. I'm not fussing with them much in this cold. I don't want them to get chilled.
Here's what I see when I pull back the fur that covers them...
(picture to arrive shortly)
Right now we're not getting many eggs because the old hens are in molt, and the new hens aren't quite old enough yet. Although, they're at 16 weeks, so it won't be long now before they're old enough to get started. The old hens are giving us one, sometimes two eggs a day. Better than nothing, but not really worth the cost of feeding them. We'll see how it goes. I'd forgotten how neurotic young hens are. It makes me appreciate the comfortable calm of the old hens. And the roosters, which I've been dispatching at the rate of about two a week, are actually quite well behaved. They're starting to crow a bit, and thank goodness it's winter and no-one's outside to hear them.
I gave two particularly lovely roos to the neighbor girls for their flock. They were just too handsome to eat. Butchering is not easy. But I'm doing it.
Obviously the photos above are from this summer... when things were green. We got over a foot of snow last week, and it's lovely sparkling wintertime. And so so cold. I hope the whole winter isn't like this.

Perchin' in rustic style...

2010-10-07T09:10:00.000-07:00

I harvested a fallen branch from the woods behind the house and lashed it to the inside of the coop for the chicks to roost on. These chicks are much more into roosting than the previous batch was. I think I'll build them a second perch this weekend.
They're noticably more calm since I put in the perch. It definitely was needed.
Also this weekend, I'm staking out a temporary pasture area for them. I don't want to comingle them with the old hens, since the old hens are just going away in a few months anyway. There's no point in upsetting the pecking order that many times. And I really want them to get outside. They can start tearing up the garden as I harvest the last straggling bits of produce.
I thought I might have heard one of the boys try to crow this morning. But it ended up to be one of the old hens growling at another hen that was trying to force her out of the nesting box.
Here's the view from the inside of the coop/shed/barn. That's The Killer, surveying his domain. He's doing a bang-up job of keeping chipmunks and mice out of the feed. Well done, friend kitty.

Small surprises

2010-09-22T08:50:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure when I started with the chickens, I said "I don't like routine. I hate doing the same thing the same way twice." That's still true.
However, I also contrarily love the small routines of my life with the animals. I love taking the dog out, with the cat bouncing between us, under the dog, between my feet, purring. I love giving the chickens the scraps from the kitchen, love that they run up to the fence because they know that I'm going to give them treats.
Love that early morning sun slanting into the back yard, and the dew on the neighbor's gigantic lawn of mowed grass.
Love the way the black doe rabbit climbs partway out of her cage to rest her paws on my shoulder and sniff my hair when I open it up to feed her. Love the way the cat jumps into the chicken coop and keeps the chickens from going out the door when I'm taking care of them. Love it, love it, love it.
I'm not so crazy about the way the chicks are smelling today, though. I don't remember the hens smelling this bad. I do remember the meat birds my mom raised smelling like this. Maybe it's a boy thing. Boys are smelly.

Fifty seven chicks -- more or less

2010-09-06T14:38:00.000-07:00

Honestly, I've lost track. I think that there are fifty six chicks now. Maybe fifty seven. But they're two weeks old, and starting to fly and feather out and I need to build them a new pen ASAP because they're growing like weeds. And they're adorable, of course. But half of them, theoretically, are roosters and they're going to have to go as soon as they start to exhibit any interest in the girls.

Did I mention that we've got rabbits, now, too? Four of them. They came the same day that the chicks were hatched. We've got one random mini-rex (I call him the "starter" rabbit and his name is Elvis. He's quite lovely. And he's the odd man out, poor fellow.
The rest are Americans: one white buck ("king tut"), one black doe ("mama bear"), and one blue juvenile doe ("miss priss, the most beautiful rabbit in the world"). And I've got three more rabbits reserved: two blue does and a blue buck. Elvis is the rabbit that I'm going to butcher first. Terrible, isn't it?
The other three are breeding stock and I expect to get at least another year out of Tut, and two or three out of the does.
Americans are an endangered breed. It seems odd, doesn't it? To be raising an endangered breed for meat? But with farm animals, that's the way it is. They're endangered because people stopped eating them. And we've lost a lot of genetic diversity, both in animal and plant life, because of the industrialized, centralized food system that we've fallen prey to.
So it's vital for those of us who raise food to be doing what we can to preserve these older breeds. The chickens that I have, all of them heritage breeds and several of them on the endangered lists, are exceptional layers with well-developed foraging and mothering instincts. They're beautiful and resourceful. And they're quite a bit smarter than the hybrid types that supply the larger food industry.

The photo above is of a Chantecler -- a breed that originated in Canada, is renowned for its cold weather hardiness, it's laying abilities, and its friendly demeanor, and is one of the rarest chickens in the world right now. I've got seven, or maybe eight of them.

Fifty nine chicks, all in a box

2010-08-26T08:31:00.000-07:00

The chicks came today. Sixty one of them, but two didn't make the trip. So, fifty nine. I ended up with the "Heavy Chick Mix" and got a grab bag of Frizzles, Jersey Giants, Black Australorps, Buff Cochin, Buff and Red Chanteclers, Blue and Black Langshans, Golden Laced Wyandottes, Mottled Javas, and Salmon Faverolles. (!!)
And I didn't know until late last night that they were coming today. I'm pooped.
I want to be a little chick and have someone fuss over me and make sure that I'm fed and watered and dry and warm. Mostly I want a good drink and a nap. But I have to go to work.
More later. With pictures!

The end times

2010-08-16T08:59:00.000-07:00

And so it's come to this.
The chickens are laying nine or ten eggs a day, they're extraordinarily loud in the morning, and the date has been set for their demise. October 10th. I'm having a knife sharpened.
I've watched Polyface farm instructional videos until I see them replay in my head (gruesome, eh?). I have read, read and reread the instructions in my chicken raising books.
And I've ordered the new chicks. The die is cast.

The new chicks: I've ordered 50 chicks from the Sandhill Preservation Center. I'll get one of three choices, hopefully. They do very limited, but high quality, hatches. So I might end up with nothing if something goes wrong. At any rate, I'll be getting an assortment of dual purpose straight run birds. Straight run just means that they don't sex the chickens and I'll be getting hens and roosters. So, we'll be culling the roosters (cull=kill), when they get big enough, or too noisy, whichever happens first.

I've been reading the excellent book, "Chicken Tractor," by Andy Lee. We're going to build two of the deep mulch method chicken tractors (4 x 10), and raise some meat birds. I know I swore I'd never raise the dreaded Cornish Cross, but I'm going to give it a try. I figure if I keep their food raised up to chest level, they'll at least have to stand up to eat. And in two months we could have forty broilers in the freezer, along with the old hens, and the twenty five roosters from the chick order.

Carnivorous Chicken

2010-07-18T11:25:00.000-07:00

So, again, no photo, but one of the chickens caught a mole the other day. I heard a ruckus in the coop and it sounded unusual. So I peeked out the window and saw them all racing around chasing one chicken like they do when one of them has a tasty morsel that they all want. Normally this only lasts for as long as it takes the chicken to swallow said morsel -- i.e., not very long.
But this episode went on for a couple of minutes and wasn't showing any sign of stopping. So I went to investigate. Sure enough, one of them had nailed a mole and was trying to figure out what to do with it.
Finally she set it down and they all circled around, giving it tentative pecks. Eventually, they abandoned it and I expect it got buried as a result of their usual scratching about. None of our dead cats* nor the dog ever eat the moles that they catch. I guess they taste bad.

I'm reading "Chicken Tractor" by Andy Lee. Great book, and I'm excited about the possibilities it outlines. I'm also just about ready to order new chickens. D-day for the current girls has been set. Their production is down to about 65 percent, some days better, some days worse. But we haven't lost a single one to predators, despite two dog attacks now. I'm on my way out to the yard to work on the fencing, but it looks like more rain so I'm dallying.

The rain this year has been disturbing. I. Don't. Like. Global. Climate. Change.

The plan to get rabbits is backed up due to the horrific auto accident death of the breeder that I was working with. It's a sad and tragic thing, and I'm sad that I'll never get to meet her face to face, because she was quite vivacious and enthusiastic via email.

Back to work!

*We've had cats, three of them, since we moved into this house. But they're all dead now. I'm considering getting another one, because the chipmunks are terrible this year. But it has to be a wild barn kitty that I can't get all attached to. It's too hard on me when they die.

The power of beauty

2010-05-17T11:09:00.000-07:00

I confess that I have broken the cardinal rule of blogging. I harvested an absolutely beautiful bunch of greens from the garden yesterday and forgot to photograph them.
It was just the thinnings from the turnips, bull's blood beets, and mangels, with a few miniscule carrots and some lamb's quarters thrown in, but it was so extraordinarily beautiful, and I was so taken with it, that I completely forgot to photograph it.
I get all involved in something and chronicling it is the furthest thing from my mind.
This is why there are so few photographs in my photo albums.

This morning, as I was making the rounds in the yard with Dogg, and harvesting a bowl full of dandelions and plantains for the chickens, one of the hens just flew right out of the fenced in pasture. And then ran straight into the garden. (!!)
Picture much comedic chasing back and forth and hopping over rows of mini-vegetables. Capture appeared hopeless. Finally it occured to me that I might be able to entice her. She had already run back to the fence line, with the inside chickens chasing back and forth following me, thinking I might have treats for them. She, of course, was following them. I stopped moving, bent low, and waited, without making any eye contact. Sure enough, the inside chickens followed me, and she came straight over. After a couple more failed attempts, I had her and she was back inside the fence. I hope she doesn't get any more bright ideas when I'm not here to catch her.

My backyard will feed me

2010-05-05T08:37:00.000-07:00

I've been busy working in the garden. I added three new beds, and have worked up (or mostly worked up) all of the old ones. I've planted peas, lettuce, carrots, beets, turnips, chard, spinach, onions, potatoes, cilantro, sage and summer savory -- most of which are up and growing. I've also got tomato, pepper, eggplant, basil and parsley seedlings started and growing in the house, under grow-lights, and ready to transplant to larger pots. I found a source for free horse and rabbit manure, have distributed one load of that, and intend to take advantage of the invitation to get more, and I've got a steaming compost pile cooking in the corner of the garden.
My back hurts. And my fingernails are broken, cracked and stained. But I can't stop looking out at the garden and imagining all the possibilities. I have menus popping up everywhere in the backyard.

Chicken with peas and lettuce. Carrot soup with chive oil. Beet salad with fresh thyme vinaigrette. Turnip omelets. Grilled eggplants with pesto and poached eggs. And soon, braised rabbit with shallots and rutabagas. Creamed potatoes and mustard grilled rabbit. Rabbits are coming in July. Wascally wabbits.

A rainy day...

2010-04-25T10:53:00.000-07:00

It's rainy, blustery and cold today. The rain, a welcome occurance, will hopefully encourage worms to come closer to the surface where the chickens can get at them. They're in hot pursuit.
Egg prduction is down to eleven a day. I don't know why.
Next week I'm going to order the next batch of hens. (I draw a deep breath.) It ensures that these girls' days are numbered, and that makes me apprehensive. No less than it would do for them, if they knew.
I. am. a. carnivore.

Strident chickens

2010-04-19T08:27:00.000-07:00

Clucky enjoying the priviledge of her status -- a rare jaunt outside the coop.

I'm beginning to understand where phrases like, "She scolded like an old hen," or "They bickered like a bunch of old hens," come from.
The hens have reached a stage in their development where they're very vocal. Their voices are likely to be harsh and accusatory. And one in particular is downright unattractively obnoxious.
I've actually considered doing her in. But it occured to me that there's probably some function for her noise in the social structure of the group, and that one of the other hens would fill her shoes in her absence. So, rather than play Ten Little Indians with the henhouse, I'll just plug my ears and hope for the understanding of my neighbors.
It's still nowhere near as obnoxious as the sound of a leaf blower or those horrible bass boosters that rattle my windows when they drive by.

Speaking of social structure: At night I sometimes leave the window open for the hens, risking their death and dismemberment, because two of the hens seems to enjoy sitting in the open window looking out. Like sentinels. And I wonder if that indeed is their function?

The garden

2010-04-12T14:20:00.000-07:00

Doesn't look like much now, but give it a few weeks!

I've been merrily, merrily, planting away.
The old straw from the coop worked magic on the soil and it's like chocolate cake. With practically no weeds.
I raked in a little kelp meal, but that's all.
Yesterday and today I planted a second crop of peas, some carrots, beets (including a giant white beet that's meant for farm fodder, although we'll eat it too when it's small), two kinds of turnips (one Japanese, one French), onions, mixed salad greens, cilantro, spinach, swiss chard, sage and summer savory.

Anticipating a hot dry summer, I'm holding off on planting broccoli and brussel sprouts until later, for a fall crop. Eventually I'll be planting endive, kale, rutabagas, more chard, corn, more carrots, more beets, tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, zucchini, winter squash, basil, parsley, and some flowers.

The pea bed with twine trellis. You can't see them very well, but tiny pea plants have sprouted here.

And I sent an email to a rabbit grower in Beaver Dam, to arrange picking up some breeding stock in a few months.

Underneath all that straw, on the right, is some pretty marvellous dirt. This is where we'll plant the winter squash.

Rain

2010-04-06T19:23:00.000-07:00

My little darling chickens have been greatly enjoying their new pasture, and tonight, when I went out to close up the window to the pasture because it's pouring rain and cooling off outside, I found three of the chickens sitting in the window, calmly looking outside into the dark night.

I left the window open.

Feeding the girls

2010-03-24T07:25:00.000-07:00

I belong to a listserv that discusses pasture raising poultry. It's mostly folks with small flocks, 25 or less, and they share their experiences with raising farm birds.
Occasionally a group of them will start going on about how chickens will eat anything. They just throw in their kitchen compost, and let the chickens sort through what they want and the rest becomes part of the coop floor.

In theory, I like this idea. It seems so holistic and natural, and easy. In practice however, I won't do it. First of all, I can't believe that the chickens are so smart that they won't make themselves crazy on the bounty of coffee grounds that I put in the compost from the Chez. Second of all, we throw lots of potato peels in the compost, and potato peels can be toxic. Third, I don't like the idea of feeding my birds slop. Trimmings, choice bits from the kitchen that we're too fussy to eat; carrot peels, celery ends, tomato cores, etc., that's what I give my chickens. The slimy salad greens, the moldy zucchini, the decomposing cucumber, they go into the compost.

It's like making stock. You shouldn't put anything into the stock that you don't want to eat. Cooking it won't make it better. Neither will putting it through a chicken.

Then, on a related note, there's the matter of what to plant for diversity in their pasture. We've got a normal lawn with grass, Creeping Charlie, plantain, lamb's quarters, and the occasional bit of purslane. But it's mostly grass. And creeping charlie. Their pasture area has a bit of catnip (that should be interesting), and grass. And Creeping Charlie.Which tastes pretty awful, to my palate. And I want to plant some pasture crops for them. So I've read, and read, and read, and some books say that rye is the best, but rye will take over the lawn. Little Bluestem would be so lovely and historic, but it's $20 a pound for the seed, and it needs two years to establish. I don't have two years for this.
Different sources swear by one, and disparage the others. "Pick your favorite and make the argument to support your choice," my chicken muse says. "That's what everyone else seems to be doing." So I pick red clover. I love red clover. I used to wild gather it and dry it for tea. It makes wonderful tea. And I think it might make wonderful chickens and eggs, too. It might even crowd out the Creeping Charlie.

Snow

2010-02-09T07:54:00.000-08:00

It's snowing, and 27 degrees F. We're supposed to get four to seven inches, with drifting. And I've got the door to the coop open so that the birds can roam, but they have zero interest. They'll peck a bit outside the door, then retreat to the warmth of the coop.
Chickens.
Twelve eggs so far today. There'll probably be a couple more later.
The hens are in good health. The coop is a bit stinky, though. It's time for fresh straw. And I'm looking forward to giving it a good scrub in the spring.
And I love the hens, but I'm also looking forward to eating them. I'm craving a really good, well-flavored, firmly textured hen. With biscuits, and fresh carrots and peas. In gravy.
I wonder if they can sense it?

Free ranging

2010-02-01T09:56:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was cold, but quite sunny. So I gave the hens a field trip. Aren't they lovely?

Mulefoot hogs

2010-01-24T13:37:00.000-08:00

I'm looking for a farmer to pasture raise a couple of hogs for us this summer. Mulefoot hogs, to be exact. Mulefoot hogs are a critically endangered species, with only 200 purebred hogs in known existence today.
Obviously, if I can get a couple, they'll be slightly mixed. But even mixed breed Mulefoots consistently win in taste trials as the best tasting pork, and by providing a market for the hogs, we help to save the breed from extinction. This is also an excellent way for us to use up scraps at the restaurant. We can scrape plates into buckets of slop and perhaps I can get scraps from other local restaurants as well. Pigs thrive on that stuff.

There are several breeders of mulefoots in Wisconsin, and as soon as I find a farmer, I hope to still be able to reserve a couple of hogs.
While they could get as large as 600 pounds, they'll be ready to go to the butcher at about 275 pounds. With luck, I'll be prepared to smoke a couple of hams myself. Yum.

We had another soft shelled egg yesterday. But it's the first one in weeks, so I'm not at all concerned about it. I was concerned earlier this week that I might have had a prolapsed chicken. But by the time I got back home with a tube of Preparation H and the determination to treat her, the hen seemed fine. All the hens were fine. So, I guess whatever the situation was, it fixed itself. Thank goodness! While I had steeled myself to the chore, I wasn't looking forward to it.
Clucky and her friendliness notwithstanding, the rest of the hens aren't at all easy to catch. I try to pet them as often as I can, and some are easier to pick up than others. But for the most part, they don't want any of it.
Fine with me, but it's going to make butchering day quite an adventure.

The great escape

2010-01-18T16:50:00.000-08:00

It was the coldest night of the season. One of the window panes in the big four-pane-window on the south end of the coop blew out. And at least one of the hens flew out, too.
I never let them out when it's as cold as it was that day. The wind chill would kill them within an hour. But they don't know that, because they're just silly lovable raucous chickens.
I was at the Chez, but apparently Dogg started barking, and Brian investigated and found one hen sitting in the last bit of sunshine in the yard at the end of a very short and very cold day.
She must have been nearly frozen because she let him scoop her up and put her back in the coop. When I got home I fixed the window, counted the hens (all there thank goodness!), and gave them some extra scratch for heat.
Terrifying.
That was a few weeks ago, and so far everyone seems to be fine. Except that Clucky's looking a little rough. But there's no way of knowing which hen it was that flew out. Could have been her, might not have been.

Winter gets long, I suppose, when you're living in a cold shed. They're tough, but it can't be entirely pleasant. Thank goodness the days are getting a bit longer -- a whole hour longer already -- and it's been a little more moderate lately.
But this just underscores the need to have that fenced poultry pasture set up this spring, with the means for them to easily get back into the pen. And I've got to get that window secure.
In the meantime, I'm giving them the run of the whole shed on occasion, just to give them a little sense of adventure.

I'm looking into the possibility of adding a dozen ducks this spring. I really like duck meat. And I think I could start an actual flock of ducks, since drakes don't make much noise and keeping them won't annoy my neighbors. I love the idea of having little ducks hatch with the hen. And I like renewing the resource, as opposed to having to buy chicks every year.
I can't decide between Rouens and Silver Appleyards. They're both lovely, and fairly large, but the Rouens have superior meat. However, the Rouens also have been bred to an exhibition standard and can have trouble breeding because of the extreme size of their breasts. Not unlike turkeys.
Eggs aren't really a factor here. I don't care for duck eggs. At least the last time I had duck eggs I didn't like them. Maybe I overcooked them.
But if I want chicks, these birds are going to have to get down with it. So we'll see. I think I'll start with the Rouens. If they don't work out, I'll just eat their wonderful selves, and get the Appleyards.

I'm also deep into research on the possibility of raising a few small dairy goats. Nigerian dwarf goats get no taller than 19 inches at their shoulder, but they can give between one and eight pounds of milk a day. That's between two cups and four quarts a day, depending on the point in their lactation cycle. They average a quart and a half of high butterfat milk per day. Again, they average 5 % butterfat, but can go as high as 10%.

I want a ready source of raw milk for the health of it. Raw milk is full of health. Most important to me, though, is that it can work wonders with allergies and we're spending over $260 a year on allergy medicine that barely keeps us functioning. And might be damaging our kidneys, besides. I'd like to feel normal again.

And I'd love to start making cheese. Goaty delicious fresh raw milk cheese.
Plus, goat manure is fabulous for the garden, and they are lovely, intelligent creatures. It can't be overlooked that so many of the people who have written books about the care of goats can't help themselves from writing about the spiritual aspect of living with the goats. They are inspirational to so many people who work with them. I'm extremely intrigued.Cynical, but intrigued.

They'd be no larger than my dog. No larger than my dog.
It's amazing how much food we could be raising for ourselves in a small space. You can get small cattle that don't get much taller than your hip. You can get pigs that never get larger than 250 pounds. I don't intend to go that far, at least not here in town. But I can sure keep a couple of goats in the garden shed with the chickens (and possibly ducks), and I can keep a few rabbits in the back yard, and I can do it without offending my neighbors or creating a public nuisance.
So if there's no harm, and I'm willing to take on the responsibility of it, then why not?

Soft shelled eggs

2009-12-21T11:52:00.000-08:00

Stating the obvious: Soft shelled egg on the right, normal shelled egg on the left.

Odd. Or perhaps, not so odd.
We've had a couple of soft shelled eggs.
The Book tells me it might be Bronchitis (doubtful), or not enough laying boxes (possible), or a vitamin deficiency.
So I've added a bit of vitamin solution to their water, and I haven't seen one for four or five days now.
I posted a query about it on a listserv where experienced chicken growers hang out, without much in response.

I think that it might be because I left the heat lamp on overnight for a couple of nights when it dipped below zero. And the light may have messed up some egg-laying rhythms.
But I'm new. So I don't really know.
I also found reference on the internet from someone who has just five hens, and gets one of these soft shelled eggs every week. That sounds like a problem to me, but he seemed unconcerned. Perhaps I just fret too much.

According to a university website that I was sent to, the egg production of my birds ought to peak in the next few weeks, and then begin a gradual decline. Gradual decline. So, in human terms, my birds are flying high in their early twenties and all too soon begins the inevitable descent to the grave.

Life of pain.

My God, I'm morose today. Perhaps a little holiday cheer is in order. Listen now.

My complicated relationship with Slow Food

2009-12-13T10:46:00.000-08:00

Top: The front of my old Slow Food membership card.
Bottom: Slow Food USA's logo

My hens are certifiably cool.
They're in the Slow Food Ark of Taste

Slow Food and I have a complicated, love hate, bitter break-up but now we're old friends kind of past.
In the waning (and superbly paranoid) years of the last century, I started the Central Wisconsin Slow Food chapter. A "convivium" as they were known in Slow-speak. It was one of the first conviviums in the country, and the first one in Wisconsin.
I later dissolved the chapter (of which I was -- after three years -- still the only member), a sad and broken woman.
And that's the short version of that story.

I left because what I thought was the biggest thing to happen to the food world since "The Jungle," i.e. the Battle in Seattle, the WTO conference, was about to happen, and I wanted Slow to be there. In fact, I thought it was incredibly important for us to be presence there. And I still do.
I took a lot of heat for that position. It's hard to believe now, but back then Slow was a much more intimate group, with an internet listserv that was lively and fascinating. International food figures mingled with central Wisconsin nobodies without discrimination. In fact, a well known food critic and writer from the West Coast took great delight in belittling me for my opinion, which admittedly stung. But the real death of my love affair with Slow was my acknowledgement of the vast number of members who didn't want to stray beyond having exquisite dinner parties. They didn't want to "mix food with politics."

My argument is, and always has been, that food is absolutely political. I thought there was room in Slow for a diversity of opinion. And, although in the minority, I wasn't alone in my stance. But too few in Slow wanted to make room at the table for us, so to speak.

I've never been really good in groups, anyway.

Astutely sensing that I was no longer welcome, I left what had recently become Slow Food USA and focused instead on the first Chez. I resolved to work locally, without the network of Slow and the influence in food circles that it was to develop. As it ended up, Carlo Petrini, founder of Slow, and his protege Patrick Martins flew to Seattle at the last minute and Slow's street cred' was maintained. But it was never the same for me.

And while I've since seen a few things that make me feel a twinge of remorse, I haven't seen enough to make me want to go back to paying high dues to be part of something that I don't really need a membership card to be a part of.

I believed back then that Slow Food was a vitally important thing to be a part of, just like I believed that being at the WTO conference was vitally important. And in hindsight it's even more obvious to me that the movement needs groups like Slow Food just as much as it needs the people that organized the opposition to the WTO.

Last I checked, the membership in Slow Food USA cost $60. Members get hooked up with the local convivia, now more comfortably called "chapters," and a subscription to the beautiful and weighty members'-only publication, The Snail. Slow Food USA champions many worthy causes and provides grants to farmers dedicated to the preservation of worthy foodways. So, for those who can afford it, I think Slow is a better organization than it was ten years ago.

But I'm also grateful that there are plenty of great ways to get involved without joining Slow. Like joining Farmshed for instance (membership is free and the 'shed appreciates your active participation). Or planting a garden. Or maybe even raising a few chickens in your backyard.

Bonni's got eggs and mighty chickens

2009-12-07T12:46:00.000-08:00

The daily egg tally, starting at the beginning. Today's total was 13 eggs, as was yesterday's. The two days before that we got 12 eggs a day.

So, when I researched the Wyandottes, I read that they'd average about 4 eggs each per week. With sixteen birds that's 64 eggs a week or nine a day.
And I thought, "We'll probably lose a couple of birds, and with the balance, that'll be plenty for us and plenty to share with my neighbors for putting up with me, and maybe a few to sell."
And we didn't lose any (except for the extra chick that they sent, and I don't count her, poor thing). In fact, they're all ridiculously healthy. Even Clucky finally caught up and I can't pick her out of the crowd by the way that she looks anymore. I have to watch for her unique behaviour. (She makes a curious little peep, and she's still the only one that will consistently want to fly up into my arms.)
So, right now, and I don't think that they're all laying yet, we're getting thirteen eggs a day.

The girls are almost 25 weeks old. They hit their peak laying ability at weeks 30-34, and then they start to slowly decline. At least, that's what my sources said. And they've been so gosh darn accurate already.

Maybe the most important thing that I've learned so far is that there are always going to be variables that the books aren't going to cover. For instance, the flock that the chicks come from matters a great deal. Is the supplier breeding for production? Or for show? For pets? For eggs? Or for meat? I haven't seen this issue covered adequately in poultry publications anywhere.

I listen in on a listserve group for folks that are raising chickens on pasture. And when one woman, just thinking about getting chickens, asked about the characteristics of Wyandottes, a participant said that his Wyandottes hardly produced any eggs at all, and that they were broody and mean. (!!)
That's clearly the exact opposite of my experience with them. But he's been at this a long time, and I'm new, and my birds were just starting to lay at the time, and I didn't feel at all comfortable challenging him. Actually, because of his experience, I worried that we weren't going to get the production that I'd hoped for. It seems I needn't have worried but, even now, my experience is only anecdotal compared to someone with years of chicken raising to draw on.

I'm a research oriented person. I've read a lot, and I continue to read a lot, about the art and science of raising chickens. And I can tell you that even among the very good books there is plenty of contradictory information. I don't think that it's because people are disorganized or ignorant. It seems overly simplistic, but I think it's because we want to be able to say that they'll consistently do a certain thing, and I just don't see the hens fitting comfortably into those boxes.

My go-to book, "Storey's Guide to Raising Chickens," tells me that purebred heritage breeds won't start laying until 24 - 26 weeks. Mine started at 21 and a half. It also tells me that purebreds won't lay as well as a hybrid bird. Mine are laying at least as well as they tell me the hybrids will lay. I'm glad they're wrong about this, but it makes me worry about the credibility of the book.

Amongst chicken growers, in personal conversations, there is lots of conflicting information.
One chicken grower that I know kindly gave me a bag of oats that he grew, but he gave it to me with the caveat that chickens don't really like oats. Happily, my chickens love oats.
One told me that my chickens were in molt and wouldn't lay until spring.
One told me that my chickens weren't in molt because they weren't completely featherless.
And my chickens, which I once considered to be so timid, are becoming brave and curious.
I have mighty chickens.

So, if you're thinking about getting chickens, and you're really wanting to get a particular breed, but you've heard or read that they aren't going to match your goals, first examine the source. And then, if you still want to get that breed, I say go for it.* Figure out for yourself how to make it work. Don't let anyone tell you that you can't get what you want. Love your birds, and forget everyone else.

Call me at the Chez (715.256.2672), if you think you might like to buy some eggs, and we'll work out an exchange plan. Obviously I can't sell them at the Chez because we're not an inspected farm, but I can sell them personally, direct to consumers. They're $3 a dozen for large eggs. And we're completely open to bartering. Three dollars is a bargain compared to the $4.75 for Organic Valley eggs at the grocery store or the co-op. And these eggs won't be more than a day or two old, unlike eggs that have been shipped once or twice across the country.

*Within reason, of course: if you live in a really cold place and you can't heat the coop, you wouldn't get birds that can't take the cold -- but that would all fall under the directive of loving your birds. If you really care for them, don't subject them to ridiculous conditions, just because you love the way they look. Caring for animals, whether they're pets or livestock, is a very serious responsibility and that just can't be stressed enough.

Subversive literature and a new wrinkle in organic feed

2009-11-23T07:36:00.000-08:00

This book is a dangerous book.
Not that it leads me down a path that I wasn't already well established on, but it makes it all seem so ... comfortably inevitable, as opposed to being a harebrained scheme out on the distant horizon of my timeline.

It makes me think that we could feed ourselves off of our city lot. It makes me think that we should feed ourselves off of our city lot. It makes me think that we could make our city lot whole and useful and right with the world.
It also makes me worry for my neighbors.
I think I'll go tidy up around the yard for awhile this afternoon...

Organic feed vs. non-organic.
A couple of weeks ago I was feeling poor.
Telling myself that I don't eat organic food one hundred percent of the time, that nearly no-one I know does, I went to Fleet Farm and bought two bags of layer feed at half the cost of the organic feed.
The chickens liked the feed just fine. And I felt like I was doing the right thing at the right time. They still get plenty of great scraps, and greens from the yard, and the eggs are still delicious.

So, feeling a little less poor, and a little more thrifty, I was nearly settled on buying the non-organic feed in perpetuity, at least through the winter.

Then I realized that the hens were inhaling the feed. Consumption had doubled! So, reckoning that since non-organic feed at half the price, eaten at twice the rate of organic, was no bargain, I have gone back to the organic feed. And their consumption has slowed back down.
I realize that there may be other factors at work here. If they go back to eating at the rate they were with the non-organic, roughly 50 pounds of feed a week, then I'll have to switch back to the Fleet Farm food. At $20 a bag for the organic, I can't afford to feed the girls a bag a week. Even if they were all at peak egg production that would put the feed to egg cost at about $3.75 a dozen. Factor in the cost of the hens, the straw, the time and work, even if you subtract the benefit of the manure for the garden and the health benefits of fresh eggs and meat -- it makes for a tough decision. For that I could just buy Organic Valley eggs and have more time for other pursuits.
But the normal rate of consumption, 25 lbs a week, cuts that cost in half, to nearly the cost of a dozen factory farm raised eggs. And then it's a no-brainer.

I'm hoping that there'll be enough eggs to sell, and to recoup some of my feed costs there. Or maybe there'll just be enough for us and to share with my lovely neighbors and it will pay off in community harmony.

As I sit here, I look over my neighbor's perfect golf course of a lawn and absentmindedly wonder how much grain and hay I could grow there, given the chance. What a dreamer I am.

Big big news in the coop!!!

2009-11-15T12:01:00.000-08:00

Finally! An egg!!! Two, actually, as of today.
My girls are becoming womens!
One of the hens laid an egg yesterday morning, and another today (right after we'd had breakfast and I'd (photographed and) eaten yesterday's egg). They're 21.5 weeks old.
I'd read so many different estimates of laying starts that I'd given up hoping for anything soon -- one resource even had a start date out at 26 weeks.
And then yesterday morning one climbed into the nesting box while I was feeding them, and started to look an awful lot like a chicken trying to lay an egg.
She was standing in a half crouch, and making a new noise.
Later, when I tried to look under her, she pecked me. So I stroked her back and talked to her for a minute and then she moved just enough to one side for me to peek at the egg.
I left her with it, washed up and hurried to the Chez, since it was nearly opening time and I still had to bake a batch of Danish for the Saturday morning crowd.

I could barely wait to get home and check for more eggs. Alas, there was still just the one, but today another hen (or maybe the same one, I can't tell), laid another.
They're small, as I expected. But perfect in every way.
And delicious. Especially with some of Chris Malek's yukon golds, crispy apple-smoked bacon, and some homemade raisin walnut sourdough.

Nothin' but golfballs

2009-11-02T09:44:00.000-08:00

As promised, here are photos of the new nesting box. They love to perch on it, but so far there's nothing but golfballs in those nests. (We put golfballs in the nests to give them eggish ideas. Chickens do not like to be the first ones out on the dance floor, so it helps if they feel like someone else has been there before them.)

The metal plate with the blue and red shield on the end is from the monstrous, vintage hot water heater that we extricated (somewhat painfully), from the coop to make more room for chickens.

Beneath the boxes is the old oak dresser with the middle and top drawers removed. The bottom drawer is loaded with straw and more golfballs. I don't see any sign at all of them going in there, though. If they don't use it, I think I'll build another set of three boxes (you want one nest for every four hens, at least), and hang them both on the wall. I'll add perches to them, and take the dresser completely out. That will give them a little more floor space (and we'll need it next year when I get more hens*).

The girls are 20 weeks old today. They could start laying any day now, but I expect that they're still a week or two away from eggs. Better late than early: you don't want them to start laying before their bodies are mature enough to handle it.

Still, we're as anxious as kids at Christmas to get eggs. I check every day (at least once, even though I know they're most likely to lay in the morning and that an evening check is pretty silly).

The timing is a little bit tricky right now; they're coming out of molt, the days are shortening, and the temperatures are dropping, all at the same time.
It's a confluence of factors that work against egg production.
We've got a light on a timer to augment the day length and give them the needed 14 hours of light in a day before they'll lay eggs. And the coop temperature is staying between 40 and 50 degrees, which is pretty good. Later, when it gets colder, I'll put a heat lamp in and hope that keeps them as warm as they need to be.

After I took pictures in the coop I scooped up Clucky and gave her some quality time outside.
I wish I'd got the pasture area done this summer, but I just couldn't swing it. They've got plenty of room in the coop, and they seem fine. Still, when it's sunny and warm outside, like it is today, I wish they could all roam the yard. If we lived in the country, it wouldn't be a problem. But I doubt that my neighbors would like to see them in their yards, and there are too many dogs around and eagles flying overhead for me to feel comfortable about it.
Plus, I have a better idea in my head of how I want the coop pasture to be. So it's a good thing that I had to put it off.
Next year!

This is how I built the nexting box:
I got two untreated 8-foot 2" x 12"s and 12 feet of 3/4" x 3/4" baluster.
I cut one 2"x12" in half, giving me two 4' sections.
The other I cut into 14" sections, and there was some left over.
I cut the baluster into 12" sections

I marked one of the 4' 2"x12"s into thirds, to mark out three nest boxes, and held a 14" piece of 2"x12" roughly centered on end over the line marking a third, where it was going to be a wall inside the box, and drew a line on either side of the 14" piece. I nailed a piece of baluster on either side, making it snug against the 14" piece. These support the 14" piece perfectly, holding it right in place.
Then I did the same at the other third mark, and on the ends (using only one piece of baluster on the ends, obviously). In this way I had partitioned off the 4' piece into three nest boxes. Then I balanced the other 4' piece on top, and drew lines marking where to nail the baluster pieces. This was a little tricky because the uprights swayed a bit. I had to be careful, but it wasn't hard.
Then I nailed those baluster pieces in and it all snapped together like a lego toy. I didn't worry about making perfect angles or measuring everything to the nth degree. It's just a nest box, after all, and I just eyeballed everything for level and square. I did make double sure that the balusters were going to leave enough space for the 2"x 12" x 14" partition pieces before I nailed anything in, however.

Then I nailed the uprights to the top and bottom of the boxes. I could have screwed them together, but I didn't. I figure that the natural humidity of the coop is going to break the boxes down sooner than later, and that using screws would have been like putting lipstick on a pig.

I took a scavenged 1"x4" board from the shed, cut it to fit, and nailed it on the front, and a scavenged 1"x10" to the back, to hold in the nesting material. Voila! Nesting boxes.
Then I decorated it with a piece of door trim, also scavenged, on the top front to hide the seams, and attached the plate from the aforementioned hot water heater.

In hindsight, I wish I'd covered the entire back, because when they perch on top, they poop, and it's falling in the back of the nests. But I wanted to leave it partially open for ventilation. So maybe I'll just attach some window screen there. That will keep it clean and airy. I'll want to trim in the screen, though, because I don't want rough edges to scratch at them. I also could put an angled roof on top to keep them off the boxes completely, but they really like sitting on top of the boxes. It's not a big deal right now to scrape the tops every once in a while. And I might paint the box in the spring. We'll see how it looks.

Materials, inluding the nails, even if I hadn't had boards around to scavenge, probably would have run me $20, tops. It took only an hour to build, and that was at puttering speed.

And there you have it. Nest boxes. Simple and solid. Just like chickens.

*Next year's flock: Early next spring I plan on getting a mixed run (male and female chicks) of 75 birds -- Wyandottes and Dorkings. Then, when the roosters begin to mature, I'll butcher the males. Later still, when the new hens start to lay, I'll butcher the old hens. They'll be about a year and a half old. I'm going to add on to the coop in the shed, partitioning off another large section, and keep the existing fence wall intact, so that they're separate but side-by-side. When the new hens are big enough that they can defend themselves against the old hens, I'll open the door between them and let them work out the new pecking order.

Nesting

2009-10-22T18:54:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I built a lovely nest box, and converted the old oak dresser into more nests. We loaded them with golf balls, to give them the idea, and are now anxiously awaiting eggs. I'll post a photo of the nest box this weekend when I've got a minute.
The girls are gigantic!

Black dog

2009-09-29T07:09:00.000-07:00

I've taken quite a lot of ribbing for being unable to name my dog anything better than Dog (aka Dogg). And I've been, honestly, a little embarrassed about my lack of creativity.

But it's not really that I'm uncreative. I'm just not the kind of person who thinks I have any business in naming a pet. "Here's my dog and I like Billie Holiday so I'm going to call my dog Billie. "

I'm not an animal rights extremist. In our world, Dog's "my" dog and I take responsibility for her. But do I think that I really own her? No, obviously not. She lives with us, and she lives with us because I let her, but I don't feel like I own her.

So ... I just wait for the right name to reveal itself, and we go with that.

When we got her, the shelter was calling her "Mariah." We thought that was wildly inappropriate and never ever called her that. We ended up referring to it as her slave name.

I tried calling her various things, "Sister" was one, a name that I loved, but it didn't feel right. Neither did Genius, or Fluffy (although she still gets called that sometimes). And there were other names that I don't remember anymore, but none of them felt as comfortable as "Dog." So Dog it was and is.

Ernest Hemingway, I was recently reminded, famously had a dog that he called "Black Dog."

I'm just a little more concise.

Cooties

2009-09-23T21:21:00.000-07:00

So, there's buzz about germs. Antibiotic resistent infections, swine flu, so on and so on and so on...

One of my chicken books quotes a sign found on an old farmer's wall outside the coop: "Cleanliness is next to Godliness, Filth is next to death."

So I keep a tub of fresh, mild bleach solution outside the coop and dip my hands in it both on my way into and out of the coop. I keep a pair of clogs outside the coop door to slip into on my way in, so that I don't track in any odd pathogens.
I sanitize all the feeders and waterers on a regular basis, and I shred a new bale of hay for their bedding as often as I think it's needed. (Pretty much anytime that I wouldn't feel comfortable walking into the coop with bare feet.)

Plus, we've never given the chicks antibiotics or anything stronger than vitamins (which we dispense only rarely). We did have them immunized by the breeder for Marek's disease when hatched, but I won't be doing that again. It's too stressful for the chicks. And I don't think it's necessary in our region.

Our chickens are absolutely healthy and clean and happy, without any extraordinary effort on our part, and I can't imagine what kind of filthy horrible existence that they'd have to be in to need regular doses of antibiotics in order to thrive.

Poor, poor factory farmed chickens.

Seriously

2009-09-21T12:37:00.001-07:00

Chickens like bread.
They also like new straw.
And muskmelons.

Sun Worshipper

2009-09-18T08:35:00.000-07:00

BFF

2009-09-07T07:41:00.000-07:00

The Runty Chicken (currently known as Clucky*) has taken to flying up into my arms and then climbing onto my shoulder, where she perches quite happily and pecks at mosquitoes when they foolishly come too near.

*Clucky: If you've watched Saturday Night Live at all, you might remember a skit featuring a little cartoon chicken named Clucky.

Runty Chicken update

2009-09-01T06:36:00.000-07:00

I doubt you'll be surprised to hear that The Runty Chicken has captured my heart.

It started last week when she began pecking my toes when I went into the coop for chores.
I've been pecked several times since, and it doesn't hurt. Maybe it would if they were trying to hurt me. But these seem more like curiousity pecks. "Hmmm, looks like fat stubby worms at the end of her feet. Are they good to eat? Let's find out..."
But back to my story about The Runty Chicken -- who, for a while, was being called (forgive me), "Peckerhead."
I think I've mentioned before that I've been scooping The Runty Chicken up and taking her outside with me on occasion. This weekend was so lovely, and I thought I'd just plop her into the south garden bed -- which is fenced with a three foot chicken wire -- and let her have her way with whatever has been eating holes in my kale. I figured that she wouldn't fly out because it would be such a great place to be that she wouldn't want to leave.

I didn't have any trouble catching her, she seemed happy to get out of the coop for a while (she was making happy chicken noises for whatever reason), and we spent a little quality time together walking around the yard, with me holding her. Then, thinking that this was going to be a big big treat for her, I put her in the garden and walked back to the shed to get my lawn chair and book. I figured I'd read and she could chase bugs. Back yard bliss.
Nope.
My first clue was that Dogg started barking her "You'd better check on the chickens!" bark. (More about this later.) By this time I'm in the house, having decided that a cold beer would definitely enhance the afternoon. I look out the window and see The Runty Chicken racing around in the bed. So I hurried out there expecting that perhaps a chipmunk or who-knows-what was in there with her. But no, it was just her, and she was scared. Because she is... you know... chicken.

As I got to the bed, The Runty Chicken came running over to me, trying to break through the fence. Seriously. So I scooped her up and calmed her down. And then I put her back in with all the delectable bugs and went back to get the lawn chair, again. This time I stayed outside and kept talking the whole time, figuring that if she could hear me, she'd be okay.
But no. Same thing. She raced around making the noises that a frightened chicken makes. (Doesn't seem like a good move, evolution-wise, right? My guess is that predators know what that sound means. And that's why chickens need humans to take care of them.)

I set my lawn chair up right next to the bed, and even stuck my fingers through the fence for her to peck at and just generally feel comforted by, but she bobbed around for a bit at the edge of the bed, and then flew up and out of the garden and landed on my shoulder. (!!!!!).
I wish you could have seen it.

So the upshot is that instead of acting like a chicken should and contentedly making her way through rows of fresh garden produce loaded with tasty flea and cucumber beetles, she lounged on my lap for a while, maybe an hour or more, craning a bit at bees when they flew by -- my own personal bug zapper. And then it was back to the coop.
Crazy (lovable) chicken.

Week 10

2009-08-25T07:11:00.000-07:00

Ten weeks. They grow so fast!

The hens are on their pullet grower feed now, and have been for a few weeks. It's a mash, organic, and I get it from the Larsen co-op here in town. I've been giving them the monstrous zucchinis that people, with that pleading look in their eyes, give me: "Can you make bread with this, or something?"
Or something.
The chickens love them.
The yellow squash need to be split open, but the green zukes go in whole and they just have at them.
I'm also tossing them the left over bread from the Chez, with the occasional dab of yogurt and cottage cheese. And all the kitchen trimmings that they can handle.
Even still, they're going thru the mash at an alarming rate. I have to try and get over to the Arnott mill for some organic oats to mix with their feed, to slow them down a bit.

Update on the runty bird: I scoop her up every once in a while and make her sit with me, just to get her out of the pen. The other birds are after her on a regular basis now. She's spunky, though, and manages to duck under the big birds and sneak her way to the food dish. When she gets caught then there's hell to pay, but in the meantime she eats as fast as she can.
I might be a little soft on her. What can I say? I'm an American. We love the underdog. Errr... underchick.

Pretty as a picture

2009-08-10T12:26:00.000-07:00

What a show-off, eh?

What my chickens had for breakfast today

2009-08-07T21:34:00.000-07:00

I don't want to sound ridiculous, but this is really what my chickens had for breakfast today:

Shredded organic raw kale
Thinly sliced Granny Smith apple
Chopped organic tomato scraps
Organic yogurt a bit past its "best by" date
a brown, fair trade and organic banana
chopped organic green beans

Plus their regular organic starter crumbles.

Happy lucky chickens...

Runty chicken

2009-08-03T09:28:00.000-07:00

Little chicken is, obviously, on the front right. If you look closely, you can see that she's not feathering in at the same rate, either. The larger birds have more white in their head and wing feathers. Little chicken looks like how they all looked a couple of weeks ago.

There's one hen that's just not growing at the same rate as the other birds. I've only noticed in the last two weeks and just three things have changed in that time frame:

they moved into their big coop,
I switched to large waterers and feeders,
and we switched to the organic feed.

I seriously doubt that it's the coop. And I doubt that it's the feed. The rest of them are thriving on it.
It might be that since the water doesn't get changed every day now (which is supposed to be okay), the dirty water is getting to her. So I added vitamins to the water again, and I'm going to change it at least every other day or daily if it looks like it needs it.

It might just be a runty bird. It's the one that's always had a couple of wing feathers hanging down at an odd angle. So she's somewhat damaged. And if she had any kind of existing stress, -- like from the wing injury -- it may have made her susceptible. There was one bird that got caught between a waterer and the wall of the brooder. When I found her she was still trapped and soaking wet. Maybe this is that bird.

Being small is no big deal unless the other birds start to pick on her. The questions are is she ill (doesn't seem like it -- her activity is normal), and will she lay eggs? Time will tell. If she's not producing, then there'll be a decision to make.

I loves my precious, yesssssh...

2009-07-29T08:06:00.000-07:00

Dogg, lower right, watching her favorite TV show.

At the risk of getting creepy, I have to tell this story.

Last week I had a horrible nightmare that someone had -- through shocking negligence -- killed several of my chickens.
I chalk this up to my hyper sense of responsibility for these birds. They depend solely on me for their well being. The most basic elements of their health -- food and water -- not to mention other niceties like cleanliness and fresh air... all dependent on me. Big responsibilities.

I've always maintained that I would have been the mom who left the baby on the top of the car and drove away.
I only just last year decided I was responsible enough to get a dog. (That's when I started referring to the cats as "training wheel pets.")

The nightmare left me shaken and angry. I actually had to get up, in the middle of the night, and go check on the girls to make sure that they were okay.
Since then, I've been even more concerned about my ability to butcher these chickens when the day comes. Last night, I seriously considered taking them to a butchering house. And -- to my surprise -- I immediately rejected the idea.

I've been to butchering parlors. They're not all a house of horrors. The small local butchers in our area are clean and efficient, their outfits are well run, and I'm sure that they're not at all cruel or malicious.
However, there's no way that I could drive up to the loading dock, hand over my chickens, and let anyone else do the dirty work for me.

No, when the day comes, it will be me that has to look them in the eye and then kill them.
God, that sounds creepy even to me.

Coop heaven

2009-07-21T08:47:00.000-07:00

New pictures.

This first one, on top, with the flash on, gives you a pretty clear picture. The shed, of course, is completely made of concrete block and poured concrete.
The floor is covered with a thick fluffy layer of wood shavings, and I've started bringing in bales of chopped straw for them to roost on, and eventually to shred apart for the floor.
In the top picture, in the far right, you can just see the corner of the old oak dresser that will eventually be their nesting box.
The lower left panel of the window that they're sitting in front of will eventually be replaced with a removable plexiglass window that will serve as their gateway to the yard.
I piled the straw bales in front of the window so that more of them could get up there and enjoy the view. I'd noticed that several of them had taken to sitting in the sill of the window and wanted to make it a little more accessible. Sure enough, this morning the top of the bale was covered with chickens.
The rest were happily sleeping in the thick bedding of wood chips and straw on the floor in front of the bales.
Like so...

They're so happy in their new coop. They make pleasant trilling noises, like tree frogs. And they love the new organic feed (which actually smells quite appetizing to me), which I augment with treats from the garden and kitchen. Broccoli leaves, pigs weed, borage leaves and flowers, fennel fronds, daylilies, monarda blossoms, a cut up peach, small dandelion spears, arugula blooms, tomato ends -- they love it all, and come to the door to greet me now when I come in, expecting snacks.

The book tells me that I should start augmenting the feed with oats at about 8 weeks, gradually replacing fifty percent of the feed with the oats, until they're about to start laying. Hopefully I'll be able to get my hands on some organic oats, too.

I love the smell of oats. When I was just a little kid, I remember that my Grandpa Miller had a horse, and so there was an oat bin. I was fascinated with the oat bin. I'd scoop handful after handful of oats out and then pour them back in, just to see the changing designs that they'd make. And the smell of oats takes me right back to that barn and the horse stall. Later, and not much later at that, the horse was gone. I'm not even sure why he had a horse. He might have been boarding it for someone else, because he didn't use it to plow or haul things, and he didn't ride that I know of. His brother Vern was the horse man, and maybe the horse was his.

I wonder if that barn is still standing.

Sigh.

Chick flick

2009-07-16T08:15:00.000-07:00

Hmm. Apparently my camera makes the wrong kind of movies. I'll have to figure that out later.
For now, here's a still of the girls in the coop.
The screen is kind of annoying to look through, isn't it? I'll take a better shot when I get back down there.

That was then, and this is now...

2009-07-16T07:34:00.000-07:00

The coop is functional. Finally. And the chicks are on their new organic feed, augmented with garden scraps and forages. My forages, not theirs, for now. Next I'll work on the pen outside the coop, but the main thing was to get them out of the brooder.
It was getting much too crowded there, and I was concerned that they were starting to get irritated and hostile with each other.
They're much more docile and playful in the new coop. And they come running up to the door when I come in. It's adorable.

These two pictures above show pretty well how quickly they're growing. The first photo was taken June 30th. The second photo was taken July 9th. Just nine days later. I couldn't take the lid off the tank because I was afraid they'd fly out, but I think you can see well enough to get the idea.

I'll go out now and take a picture of the girls in their coop. Hang on, I'll be right back.

Okay, I'm back. And I shot a little video of them in the coop. I haven't loaded video before, so I'm not sure if this will work. Keep your fingers crossed.

Doggie loves chickens

2009-07-07T07:17:00.000-07:00

Dogg is my chicken helper.
She's leaning, I think, toward the hovering protective role, as opposed to the "can I jump on them and eat them?" role. Even though she does seem to be drooling a tiny bit in this shot above.
Yesterday we glued the top and bottom sills of the coop to the concrete floor and ceiling. The fumes were so strong that I'd moved the chicks out of the coop and into the basement. Much complaining about this on the part of the chickens, but they settled in quickly.
This was a heavenly situation for Dogg, who suddenly had all the access to the chicks (well, most of the access anyway), that she'd been dreaming of.
She eventually just laid down next to the brooder/horse waterer and went to sleep. That's where she's spent most of her time since then. Hanging out by the chickens.
Not pushing the screen away, not barking, not even whining. Just hanging out by the chickens.
What a good dogg, eh?

2009-07-06T07:07:00.001-07:00

They're getting so big! And feathery! And they fly all over!
And they eat a lot! They eat as much in a day as they used to in a week. It's very impressive.

There was a (weird) item in the right leaning press deriding backyard chickens, that seems to be polarizing pro-chicken folks with those people who hate, well, everything wholesome and good (bicycling, organic food, the environment, brown-skinned babies, compassion... etc.)
Whoops, guess it worked on me. I'm all polarized already.

Today I work on the coop, again. We had a couple of setbacks partitioning off the back of the garden shed. The concrete floor is so dense that we can't drill into it to anchor the concrete nails. Therefore we can't nail the framing lumber to the floor. After talking to a few construction experts I'm going to try "Liquid Nails."
I expect that that means moving the chicks out of the shed while the air clears. They may end up in the basement for a day or two. :-)

Feathering out

2009-06-30T11:29:00.000-07:00

The girls are starting to get their real feathers.

I had to move them from the brooder box to an old galvanized horse waterer (which makes a marvelous brooder by the way).

We're still finishing closing in the coop, so I'm grateful for the tall sides of the waterer, because they're definitely launching themselves into the air.

Sadly, Mr. Peepers didn't make it. But the remaining 16 seem quite healthy.
To get them used to me picking them up, I've been periodically scooping one out and having it sit with me. Typically they just fall asleep in my hand, which is just a little bit too adorable. Yesterday, though, I had a hungry one that pecked at my freckles and strands of hair. So I scooped up a small ant and offered it to the chick. Peck! And it's gone. As were the next three ants I caught for it.
Good chick.

I've also found a local source for organic chick starter: the co-op in Arnott reportedly has organic feed. I'll be making the trip soon, judging by the way that they're going through the feed. Nice to know that I can feed the birds quality meals. I'll have to check and see if they have rabbit food, too.
What was that? Did you see it?
That, friends, was my next harebrained scheme (pardon the pun), making its first e-appearance.

Sotto Voce

2009-06-17T06:35:00.000-07:00

8:30 a.m.
The chicks are here and settled.
At 6:00 this morning I got up, turned on the heat lamp in their brooder, filled their waterers. Then I emptied and refilled their waterers with vitamin-enhanced water to help them recover from the shock of their trip, put a handful of food on a paper towel in the brooder box, and started water to boil for coffee. Then Dogg and I got in the truck and drove to the back door of the post office. As directed, I went right past all the "authorized personel only" signs and buzzed the doorbell. There, right inside the door, was a small peeping box. A young postman hovered solicitously over the package. Together we opened it and inspected the birds -- all alive!
I tucked the box under my sweater to protect them from the light drizzle and Dogg and I brought them home.

As I pulled each one from the box, I dipped its beak briefly into the water and waited until I saw that it was drinking. Counting, dipping... 17 chicks. One extra in case they didn't all make it.

And, in fact, one of them was looking kind of dodgy. At first they all seemed the same, but it didn't take long at all to see that one wasn't nearly as animated as the rest. While most of the chicks were busily drinking, eating, pooping and skittering about the brooder... this little chick was weaving and bobbing, with eyes nearly closed. Tired? Cold? Sick?

I secured the doors and went inside to consult the books. The nursery's instruction sheet suggested warm water (98F.) with sugar (1-2 T. per quart). So I refilled one of the waterers and dipped again. This time the chick stayed at the waterer and drank her fill. She even ate some food, then went back under the brooder lamp. She looks much better now, and I have hope for her.

On the other extreme is "Ralph." I know I said I wasn't going to name them, but this one exhibits such obvious leadership abilities that I couldn't help it. Ralph, the citizen advocate of chickens. She even stands a bit taller than the rest of the birds. It's not that she's bigger, she just stands more erectly. All along I've secretly allowed myself the possibility that one might have to be a pet. It makes the utilitarian aspect of this a lot more manageable for me.
I don't know if Ralph will be the one but, if she is, this is how it will start.

Lesson number 1

2009-06-15T08:56:00.000-07:00

The first snafu.
And the first lesson.
Lesson One: Always read the invoices from the hatchery very carefully.

As you might have noticed, I've been eagerly anticipating the arrival of our chicks. I've been kind of a pain about it, actually. I tell completely strangers that I've ordered chickens and that they're coming this week. I've started to notice the glazing over in my friends' eyes when I start talking about the chicks, again. I've been trying to settle down about it, really, but with very limited success.

I've spent every weekend since I ordered them readying the pen. Yesterday I finished building the brooder box, I filled it with soft pine shavings to the depth of four inches, and I arranged the feeders and waterers (which I'd carefully sanitized). I swept the floor, swiped out cobwebs, made a final list of needed goods, and read thru the chapters in my books for the general care of our new neighbors.

What I should have been doing was re-reading my invoice.

This morning, thinking that it would be devastating if I'd misread the ship date, I double checked the final invoice from the hatchery and yes, I was right, they were shipping today.
Then I scrolled down and realized that what they were intending to ship were 16 Gold Duckwinged Phoenix.

Now I'm sure that the duckwinged phoenix are very nice birds. But they're a high maintenance bird that's ordered primarily for showing. They're something that chicken fanciers get.
I want a meat and egg bird. A friendly, low-maintenance, working bird.
Additionally, they were sending a "straight run" which meant hens and roosters. Roosters aren't a good idea in my neighborhood.

So, oh no!, they've just sent me sixteen birds that I don't want. What's going to happen to them? I can't really return them. They'd never survive the trip. I can't break their little necks and throw them out. That's too much to ask, really. There didn't seem to be any good solution.

So I double checked my initial invoice which correctly listed Golden Laced Wyandottes, and also noted that I'd specifically said that I didn't want any replacement chickens.

Then I rushed to the phone and after spending a very long time on hold, they informed me that they were very sorry, and that they'd managed to stop the shipment (whew!) and, sorry again, they don't have any Golden Laced Wyandottes to ship today. And they won't have any to ship until July 6th. July 6th!!! That's nearly three weeks from now!

I was crushed.

Before my brain could fully register all of this, the lady from the hatchery asked me if I'd be interested in any Silver Laced or White Wyandottes. How quickly could I get the Silver Laced, I asked. They could ship them today.
Deal!
So, probably on Wednesday, I'll get a box of Silver Laced Wyandottes.

Isn't she pretty?

Sweet little Wyandottes. Sweet meaty little Wyandottes.
( I have to keep reminding myself, we're going to eat these animals when their laying skills drop off.)

The plan is back on!

Also, I'd promised to note the books that I'm using as references.
These three are excellent reading. The most technically helpful is the Gail Damerow classic from Storey Publishing

Useful, fun to read, but not really necessary are both "The Joy of Keeping Chickens" by Jennifer Megyesi and "Living with Chickens" by Jay Rossier.

These books are available wherever fine books are sold.

Today I'll go to the Fleet Farm and the farm co-op. I need to get the chick starter feed, some grit, some fly strips, some vitamin solution for their water, and some paper towels for them to walk on for the first day or two. The shavings would be too much for their tender new legs.

I'm also happy to report that I've found a source for locally grown organic feed for the chicks once they start transitioning to adult food. (!!!)

More about that later.

It's back to the coop for me!
b.

Prep time

2009-06-08T09:54:00.000-07:00

So the city of Waupaca has done a wonderful thing, and they've decided that, as far as they're concerned, we can all have as many chickens as we want here, as long as we don't bug our neighbors. This saves me the trouble of having to get on my soapbox and decrying an elected government that interferes with our natural right to raise our own food, blah, blah, blah.

I went straight home from the city planning meeting and ordered 16 Gold Laced Wyandottes.

This's a picture of what they'll look like when they're grown.

Lovely, aren't they?

Here is what the chicks are supposed to look like.

I'm smitten.
I have to keep reminding myself that these are dual purpose birds. I.e., they're meant for both eggs and for meat. We'll be eating them someday, if nothing else gets them first.

The chicks aren't actually here yet. They're due a week from tomorrow, from Cackle Hatchery in Missouri. They'll arrive via U.S. mail at the post office and I'll pick them up there.

To keep peace in the neighborhood, we're only getting hens. No crowing roosters.

I've been busy fitting out the garden shed as the new chicken coop. All my old projects, stored in the south end of the shed, have been given away to make room for my new project, poultry farming.
It seems a little pretentious to call it farming. It's just a handful of birds on my city lot. But it's still raising our own food, and living off our land. And it does make me feel more connected to this plot somehow.
Living in the city has always been a little uncomfortable to me. Like I was just camping out here, until I could actually settle someplace else. Now, with the chickens coming, this feels more like home. It's funny isn't it?

Anyway, the shed preparations involve fencing off the southern half of our garden shed and creating a chicken door to the outside yard, which we'll fence off. And because of the increasing number of birds of prey living in our neighborhood, I'll be putting fencing over the top of the outside pen.
We've got a barred owl, a red-tailed hawk and a pair of bald eagles that regularly fly over our yard. We actually got strafed by the owl last summer. Apparently the top of B.'s head looks a lot like a bunny from an owl's point of view. I haven't ever seen a skunk or weasel in the yard, but I have seen a fox once, and a trio of raccoons -- just once. Luckily the shed is easily secured, and I hope we won't have any problems. The floor is concrete, and we can lock the door to the shed. As long as we close the chickens in at night, and shut their door to the yard, I think we'll be as safe as we could possibly be.

Our dog, Dogg,

is an Australian Shepherd mix so, unlike my childhood dog, the Springer Spaniel, she won't be genetically programmed to kill the birds (long, comically sad story involving my family's attempt at raising chickens there. You can probably guess how it ends.). She may want to corral them, if she ever gets close to them. I've been told that I'm to show her that the chickens are mine, and she should stick to her own toys. She's of the "What's yours is mine" camp, though, so we'll keep an eye on her just the same.

The books I've read say that I shouldn't name the chickens, because then when the day comes, and the roasted bird is on the table, I won't sit there with tears in my eyes, picking over my salad in lieu of digging in. But I'm so bad at naming even my pets, that I doubt that it'll be a problem. My first dog's name was Puppy. And now, forty years later, my dog's name is -- as I mentioned -- Dogg.
Dinner won't be interrupted.

I think we're ready. I've got the brooding lamp and heat bulb, the feeders, waterers, pine shavings and brooder box. I've got to pick up some feed (and I'm so pleased that Fleet Farm has unmedicated chick feed -- Yaaay for Fleet Farm!), and some vitamin solution to dissolve in their water to help them recover from the trip.
We'll have a little time to finish up the pen and get straw, and to build roosts and, finally, nesting boxes.

And I've decided to journal the first two years of the experience here. The whole thing, from chick to souffle to roast to compost.
My first real blog.
Stay tuned. Later I'll list the books and other resources that I'm using. And I'll post pictures when the chicks get here.
b.