Return of the Eggs

Chickens and I have not always gotten along. They have some...how should I say this...un-cultured aspects. They lack manners. (Translation: They poop on my sidewalk.) They are smart enough to know where the Humans leave the house- those Humans that bring food and water, and well, when they are lacking (or feel that they are lacking) in either area, they will come and wait for me At The Front Door.

Hence, the sidewalk *mess*.

ANYHOO.

There are, however, some really great things about chickens. Bug control, for instance. While they are doing all of their scratching and walking about they are also eating any teensy cricket they can find. They will come and clean between my garden rows and even make a (small) dent in the mosquito population. For their bug-decimation abilities alone, chickens are worth the hassle of a messy sidewalk here and there.

But the other reason I love chickens is for the eggs. Free range eggs are so good for you, and there is something wonderful about having an unlimited supply right outside your back door. I haven't always been so thankful for those eggs- in fact there have been times I have been downright overwhelmed with them...but I'm learning.

Every year around late fall, the chickens stop laying. The days get shorter and colder and they go into "molt" and for two or three months we feed chickens day in and day out and there are no eggs to show gratitude.

It feels...just...wrong to buy eggs when you have chickens right outside your back door. It feels weird to ration eggs- to debate whether or not to have scrambled eggs in the morning because you would also like to make cookies in the afternoon! Strange, I tell you!

So when our chickens started laying again this week, I did a little hop-skip-jump. It's so nice to have farm-fresh eggs here once again...and to lighten up on the rationing.

Because there are some days that I need cookies AND cake.

Not the Sharpest Crayons...

As we watched our chicken flock dwindle dramatically this past summer, we eventually decided that "flock fortification" would be necessary. We ordered two types of birds to add to our remaining three layers.

The first kind is a heavy breed- the ladies from which will weigh upwards of 9 pounds(!). They have small combs and feathered feet, making them ideal for winter in Iowa.

The second breed we ordered was my choice- they are called Easter Egg layers, for the beautiful blue and green hued eggs they produce. Understandably, I was quite excited about this prospect! While Phil's choice may be more practical, certainly I have chosen the more aesthetically pleasing!

As they have been growing these past few months,one thing has become clear- Phil's "large" birds are lazy. That, or they are lacking a few important brain cells.

Let me explain

There is a house we drive past on our way to the "big city" that has free range hens. These hens hunt and peck all the way out to the ditch, and right next to (but never on) the main highway. We marvelled at how these unfenced hens could roam, but never meet a car with unpleasant results.

Did the owners train them? How did they learn to stay close to home? How did they know to go back in the coop at night? Was this a lengthy training process?

And then we got our own chickens, and found out that this is normal. Chickens love to roam and look for food, but will rarely go more than 100-200 feet from their coop. Come dusk, they will fly home and roost on the highest possible location out of harms way. No intensive training program needed!

But these hens? They don't go inside at night. While the Easter Egg chickens and our three older layers were inside rustling and jostling for a comfy nighttime spot, these ladies were hunkered in a ball outside the coop. This time I had my camera, because it was the fourth night in a row I had picked them up by hand and delivered them into the door of their coop.

The first night I found them along the coop's fence, barely visible because they were all smashed together as low as they could get, murmuring shivers against the cold winter winds.

Can't you just see them freezing? Waiting for the elevator? What are they doing? Didn't they get the memo about all chickens hunkering down in the coop at night? Oh ladies...

Go inside! Aren't you cold?

Houdini? Houtdiness? Part II

Not long after the last video was filmed and the usefulness of these little birds was sealed in my heart (ok, not my heart, but my brain finally understood it), we lost four of them. Phooey, that Murphy’s Law.
Someone had gathered eggs and left the chicken coop door open one night- in the morning there could only be three chickens found. Three. And the pretty rooster was gone, too.
It happens out here in the wild. Life. Death. We don't name many things here. (And when we discuss our “farm” to new people, we mention that we inadvertently feed a lot of the wildlife.)
So when one of the last three chickens went missing the day my mom arrived for her visit a few weeks ago, I sighed heavily, wondering if I would need to start buying store bought eggs to make "ends meet".
Mom spent a week here, and then flew home. A few days after that, I took the boys out with me to do the morning chores. We don't normally linger over the water shut-off, but this morning I had to reconnect the hose to the faucet so I could fill up the cows’ water trough.
"The chickens in there," Ryan said conversationally.
"Mmm Hmm? What chicken? In where? The coop?"
"No, the chicken is in the watering 'hingie."(the word "thingie" used aptly to any object where a proper name alludes him at the moment -I have started picking up this practice, too.)
I listened for a moment, and I heard an echoing chortle. A chicken cluck-cluck-cluck. It did, indeed, sound as if it was coming from within the well pit. But how in the world...?
With David in one arm, poised on hip, I lifted the heavy lid. Sure enough, perched high on an awkward plank teetering ten feet over the gravel pit below, sat our missing third hen, looking no worse for the wear. Ten days in solitary confinement. At the first peek of light, although obstructed by three heads peeking in at her, she mustered all of her chicken-guts and flew right over Ryan's head. We all shrieked and jumped and the hen waddled as quickly as she could back to the coop.
"WOW! DID YOU SEE THAT RYAN?" I said, breathless, laughing. I could NOT believe that chicken had lived in a damp, dark, scary hole for over a week. Plus! I was back up to three hens.
Ryan, however, was nonplussed. "Well, Sadie chased her in there." As if he was discussing some mundane issue like "It's kind of sunny today." This made perfect sense to him, apparently.
Upon inspection, I found a small hole where she must have squeezed under the roof of the well cover to flee our chicken-loving canine. Needless to say, I am going to have to start listening to my boy a bit more closely.
And as I mentioned before, we don't usually name animals on this farm, for the obvious problem with retention rates, but since this chicken seems to have multiple lives, I think it's safe to give her a name. But creativity alludes me- any suggestions?

P.S. She's the black and white one on the left in the picture above.

P.P.S. Honestly, I don't really know which black and white one she is. Who can tell those two apart? Not I. Not that I couldn't if I tried...it's just that I don't spend THAT much time watching those ladies.

P.P.P.S. It is raining, raining, raining today and so I, one who loves warmth, refuse to go out and take a new picture of the afore mentioned well-pit. However, in the interest of visual aid to the story, the well-pit where the chicken lived is shown in the top picture on this page, behind ol' Roostie (rip). The roof covers a hole about ten feet deep and four feet wide, and houses our pressure tank and numerous connections for well water on our property.

Houdini? Houdiness? Part 1

It was about the time that I started enjoying my chickens that they also started disappearing. One by one, a steady trickle of poultry feeding the crafty wildlife. We ended winter with 15 chickens (one pretty rooster, 14 layers). By this time last month, we were down to seven (one pretty rooster, 6 chickens). And I have to be honest with you. A bit honest. I was OK with this drop in numbers. I liked six. Six was comfortable, easy to count, and the eggs they produced were enough to be generous with yet not so many that I couldn't use them all up at home if need be. It was not an overwhelming number, and they did a nice job grazing for most of their food.

Chickens, though, had to work their way into my heart. They are not overly cuddly (well, not really cuddly at all) and don't have an endearing look to them (ala puppy). But, oh my are they functional! Eggs! We know about the eggs. But, did you know they eat most of the irritating pests strewn about the Iowan yard? Crickets and worms and grubs in the garden. Mosquitoes and flies and lightning bugs and beetles. Weeds! They like small weeds! Also, cucumber beetles and ladybugs. It's like having a mobile, quiet yard/bug/cleaning machine going at all times.

We turned my garden by hand this year, and while it was wonderful because it buried the tough layer of sod deeply in the earth, it was not the easiest task. After such labor, one is not too thrilled with the prospect of breaking up the clods, removing the fat white grubs, and smoothing out the ground for planting.




ENTER CHICKENS!
Before I knew it, the ladies ran over, thrilled with the new treat, and started scratching, digging, pecking and pwoking. A few minutes later, Voila! Ground ready for planting.





It was about this time that our dog, Sadie, decided the chickens had better stay in their pen, and started "showing them the way back" with her mouth. Needless to say, we lost a few in that process. By the time she was trained and all animals were happy, we were left with the six hens and 1 rooster. Here is a video of the ladies at work in my garden this spring. Ok, maybe not thrilling to watch, but let me tell you! It's wonderful! Also, I like how the Rooster is all "uh, you ladies do the work over there. I'll stand here and supervise...don't want to muss the feathers you know." Periodically he would traipse over, survey their progress, and then walk away again, aloof and regal.
I know what you are thinking. You want chickens now, don't you. It's ok, you can admit it here- we're all friends. See that smoothing action? That skillful bug extraction? I'm telling you, chickens are neat.

Second installment of The Amazing Chicken to come...

David Turns One!

This past weekend we decided it was time to finish Chicken Palace. What with its recycled wood exterior, partially completed (also recycled) roof and weedy, fenced-in run, we knew visitors questioned whether it was coming down or going up. Oh! I can't wait for you to see it now. (Pins and needles, I know!)

Up to the roof went Phil to finish framing in for steel, while Ryan and I worked on weeding and clearing out the run. David, being still an Infant, took the coveted "observer" position.



See, before his birthday yesterday, which officially made him a "toddler" he was exempt from arduous farm duties.

While his brother was made to pull weeds (unimaginably tall, stalky weeds requiring the entire force of his body), David sat back and made faces at him.






Oh, he would probably say they were "grins" or "smiles" but we older siblings clearly recognize a mocking laugh when we see one.

And when he felt he needed a little rest, he just lay back, unconcerned with the duties of those around him.
In fact, he did this little "lay down, get up" move quite a few times, alternating it with a giggle to his brother. Ryan, on the other side excitedly pointed to him "Maahm! Lookit David! He's bein' silly!" But mom, a seasoned older sibling, knew the truth.









And as I worked with my older son, cooing at my younger one on the other side of the fence, I thought to myself "live it up kid. A few more days and blammo! You will be a toddler. And you know what that means...chores!"










Oh, my sweet boy- now that you are a bonafide toddler, you have no idea the world that awaits you.

*Disclaimer: Even though we live on a farm, we wait until the kids are at least walking to assign chores. Although we have thought of making a sort of pack** for him to cart around things without the use of his hands.


**Don't worry grandma's, I'm just kidding. Truly. We have a three year old to do all of our packing.

Two Miles

And, truly, its a good thing that our closest neighbor lives two miles away. Because our animals have decided that fences are optional...more accurately: pesky and unnecessary. At first, it was just Molly, the older and craftier sheep that we bought at a sale barn (we should have known she was an escape artist back then). Not too long after we let her into the pasture, she figured out that if she crouches way down and ducks her head under the wire, the electric fence won't penetrate her wool, and she can eat the grass On The Other Side. Sweet, sweet Other Side Grass. SO different from that fenced in grass, you know, with the fence and all.

And there she would stand, three feet from the fence, taunting Millie, the younger, bottle fed, more innocent lamb. Patiently, Millie would wait for some Human to walk by and then loudly voice her frustration. We would once again put Molly back in with the Plain Old Grass, and Millie would immediately start prancing around her like "Ha! You thought you could get away with that! Ha! I told the Humans!"

But since those days of innocence and tattling, Molly has taught her protege a few things, and now nearly daily they are out together, roaming the back and side yards, in search of that Other Grass.

And, let's not forget the chickens. Chickens who once roamed free and then one day, when we decided we would rather have decorations other than Chicken Poop on our front walk, we decided they would be penned up around their coop. We *ahem* took care of half of them and after that, the remaining chickens really had no desire to leave the safety of their pen.

But time went on. And what memory a chicken might have fades, and one by one they started flying over their pen. First, in search of the Humans and a replenishment of food or water. But now, it doesn't matter what amenities are present in the coop...food, water, swimming pools, a miniature treadmill...Have you SEEN what's on the Other Side?

The calves, granted, are our fault. They were to be pastured with our lambs for the time being, but the pasture area has a bunch of old wood and such in it (lambs are great for eating down the grass where you can't mow) and apparently nails and other such prickly objects taste like pumpkin bars to cows. Since nails are not pumpkin bars and are actually quite dangerous for them, we decided they should be in their own pasture. But...that fence is not done yet. It's just too nice to keep them inside, though, and Phil came up with a brilliant idea.

"Come see!" he beckoned me one day. "Out back!" So I glanced in the backyard and the two calves were there, eating, each tied to his own tire. "They can drag them a bit to get to new grass, but this will keep them from going very far - and I can put a bucket of water in the tire so they won't knock it over."

This $0.00 solution to the fence problem (for awhile, at least) really appealed to me, though I am sure the neighbors (when they happen out our way) are shaking their heads in disbelief at our little zoo.

I suppose what is so surprising to me is that they really don't go anywhere. They will run around the garden area or through the backyard...but they have never left our property line. I don't think they have even really come close to it. But, I suppose our little area looks like a lush oasis next to the empty corn and bean fields (Weeds! Grass! Glorious bugs!)

Chicken Wrangling

"You have to be smarter than the animals." neighbor Mike explains during one of our conversations.

Such a seemingly simple concept. And true, I suppose, after what we learned about chicken herding. (Ha, give us some slack, we aren't big time enough to have cows or anything, chickens are about all we have to herd around here!)

Those little puffballs we pictured a few weeks back grew really quickly. We bought them when it was warm- it had been 75 or so for a few days and we just knew winter was over. As soon as we brought them home and started building Chicken Palace, however, it started snowing. Yes, actual snow and ice and rain and every bit of uncomfortable weather Winter could muster for its last little hurrah.

While the little chicks started out in a brooder (metal tub) they quickly outgrew their surroundings. It was too cold to put them outside, too unsafe to keep them in the machine shed. And so, in desperation, we made a circle of chicken wire in the garage, put hay down, and counted the days until we could set them free outside.

One day I came home to find that all of the little guys were picking on my big guys (my five yellow, cute ones grew about three times as fast as Phil's!). Apparently their size made them less able to join in the "pecking order" fights, and they were just getting trampled. I decided then and there that this would be the last day for those chickens in the garage. They needed air, grass, space. Our books say that they peck at each other when they are bored or too confined. They were simply growing too quickly.

That night we separated the 5 big guys from the others, and planned on getting up early to free the other 44.

The next morning, after clearing a path for the birds, we carefully and slowly opened a gap in the chicken wire, expecting them to rush out to freedom. Immediately they smushed together at the back of the pen. Phil and I glanced at each other- this was very strange! Phil picked up a skinny board and started waving it around behind them "Time to go outside chickens! Come on! Ooooooutside!" Momentarily they scattered, and then found another little spot to cluster. After a few minutes of coaxing without much response, we simply rolled up the chicken wire altogether. The birds moved quickly to the exact center of the straw in one clump.

It was quite odd to us that they wouldn't want to leave, but then again, they had never been out of the garage. Maybe they needed to be coaxed out with a little more force. Phil grabbed two wide boards, crouched down, and started trying to push the chickens out of the garage. It worked for a few feet, until one hopped over the board. Then another ran around a board. Yet another ran under the board. And then all at once they scattered, hopping over and running under and before he could blink they were back in the center of the hay.

"Chickens! It is SUNNY outside. There is FOOD outside!" we reasoned. "Look! You belong out there!" They blinked at us, unmoving.

So we both picked up wide boards. I could cut them off at one side, he could herd them from the other. Each attempt would yield us a couple of birds all the way to the garage door until they escaped back to "safety". They were getting pretty riled by now (not to mention us!) and had started to scatter. About six of them actually climbed into the roll of chicken wire- smashed between two layers, claiming safety. Though this was funny, and a bit sad, Phil used it as an opportunity to grab them two-by-two and carry them out of the garage. He plopped them on the dirt next to their food and water. You could almost see their discomfort as they sat there, unmoving, like "Wow, this place is BIG!"

"See chickens! THEY like it out there! THEY are playing in the grass!" We point angrily to the six chickens standing awkwardly on the dirt pile, imploring the others to see the wonders and joy that would await them if only they walked outside.

By this time, it had been about an hour of attempts, and 6 whole chickens were outside. The rest were either huddled on the hay or strewn throughout the garage on or behind various tools. We decided that there would be no easy way- we would simply have to catch each one and drag it outside. The following hour (yes, hour) consisted of chickens fluttering about and the two of us pouncing, missing, and pouncing again. We had to shut the breezeway door, because a few of them had figured out they could walk through the breezeway and end up in the garage again. The garage door stayed open, and occasionally I would see one walk slowly, almost like nothing was going on, toward the garage door. As soon as it hit that threshold, it would run with wild abandon to the hay circle. I could almost hear it squeal "olly olly oxenfree!!"

Two and a half hours after we started the Freedom Project, all of the chickens were out of the garage and huddled against the wall of the house. They stayed there- unmoving, for about 5 hours that day. They were outside, and I wasn't too worried about them running away, for obvious reasons.

...to be continued tomorrow - the best is yet to come!