September 2011
09-18-11
"The Great Chicken Battle"
If you've had the opportunity to taste our delicious farm eggs (so rich! so yummy!) then you know that we take great pride in our flock of heritage breed, free-range hens. 09-05-11 "The Shape of Things to Come" The heat has abated slightly but in its place there is the dry, unrelenting brown of autumn.
Let's begin with some definitions.
Heritage Chickens: Old or standard breed chickens (probably the ones your grandparents or great grandparents had in their backyards). Heritage breeds have the distinction of being "real" chickens, this means that they are foragers (they LOVE to roam the fields looking for bugs, green grass and other tasty bits) but moderate layers.
Sure, our heritage chickens don't lay as well as the hybrid chickens that live in chicken houses and never see clean air or sunshine. Our chickens are real chickens and they lead real lives.
Farm Eggs: For our purposes, farm eggs are our own mix of "nest run" eggs. That means we collect all eggs, large and small, brown, white and green, and pack them without sorting. You get all sizes and colors.
Free Range: Our chickens are free to roam at will around the farm. They have access to anything and everything (yes, there is a BUT coming...) they could desire.
At night we lock our chickens safely behind electric fences to keep them safe from foxes, other than that they are free to run at will.
BUT.
UNTIL.
THEN.
Right.
The summer was great for the chickens. After a spring of fox attacks, the chickens spent the summer taking sunbaths, chasing bugs, snacking on weeds and garden compost, laying eggs and gossiping like washer women.
But fall is upon us and it is planting time.
Last week we planted 600 cabbage, broccoli and cauliflower plants.
Two days later, the chickens in the upper coop, found their way into the garden and ate half of our tender, young plants.
First we were upset, then horrified, then we decided to take action.
It was time for a new chicken pen, a larger chicken pen, something with six foot fences that would allow our little angels plenty of fresh air and sunshine and green grass but NO MORE GARDEN TIME!
We had a plan.
We bought fencing wire (six foot fencing wire).
We stepped off a larger space, we took an entire day off from planting to build.
Step One: Remove old fencing. Simple. It is possible that A had a little too much fun swinging the hammer and crowbar to remove the old chicken wire and broken posts.
Step Two: Replace broken posts, build corner braces, prepare to string new fencing wire.
(Where, you may ask, where the chickens at this point? Oh the little darlings watched, too fascinated to venture near the garden, too enthralled with our work.)
Step Three: Stretch new wire.
We were off and running.
Of course there were problems.
By the time we'd stretched half of the wire, Ryan's hammer arm was tired and Antonio, sick of watching the chefs try to swing the hammer, took matters into his own hands and finished all of the nailing.
With Antonio (mostly) in charge, we finished the outside of the new coop just before dark. David, Antonio and I chased the chickens into their new digs and drug ourselves home exhausted.
Day Two, Hour 7am:
Antonio and BA go to the barn to feed the chickens and turn out the geese.
(Side note: as much trouble as we thought those geese would be, they have NEVER ventured into the garden and have proven themselves useful guard birds.)
Two chickens have escaped the new coop.
BA and Antonio convince themselves that the two chickens were left out the night before. They drive them into the new coop and lock the gate.
Hour 7:45am: I notice Antonio walking hurriedly to the barn. I spot four chickens out and headed towards the greenhouse. We give chase.
It turns out, chickens like to play ring-around-the-barn.
The chickens go in the barn, we follow, they go out.
Around and around and around.
Finally we catch the wenches, clip their wings, put them back in the pen.
As we high-five our success, we turn in horror to watch the same four chickens strut over to the ladder we've left in the coop, jump up the steps and fly (clipped wings and all), back over the fence.
We give chase again.
We catch the wenches, again.
We put them back into the pen, again.
We remove the ladder.
And so it goes. The chickens learn to squeeze out of the new gate, we tighten the latch.
The chickens learn to hop over the brace boards in the corners of the coop.
We removed the brace boards and replace them on the outside of the pen.
Around and around and around.
As I type this, the "little wenches" are inside their pen enjoying a welcomed shot of cooler air.
The farm is desperate for rain. Pleading. Begging.
Next week's predictions? 50-60% chance of rain.
Everyone: rain dance! Please
There has been no rain. We watch hurricanes skirt the coast and make landfall well north of our farm and we wonder if, perhaps, a hurricane would be preferable to this drought.
There are plans to be made. Rain or no rain, we must plan for the next season.
The cows scour the empty fields and nibble at stems of grass. The steers are off to the butcher this week so that the demands on mothers and pastures are less.
The goats, always the travelers, always the animals willing to traverse the farm and back for any sign of new grass or growth, briar or weed, the goats lie in the shade and twitch their useless tails at the flies. Their annoyance with the heat and the drought is palpable.
But we press onward.
In the barnyards there are baby chicks to run about, always dizzying in their energy, racing hither and yon before collapsing in a pile of chicken fluff.
The spring hens are grown now and finally producing eggs, small pullet eggs with dazzling yellow centers.
The older hens have molted, dropped their feathers and taken a break from laying as is their annual tradition.
The gardens lie fallow or planted over in a cover crop meant to enrich the soil when it is time to plant.
It soon will be time to plant.
The last of the tomatoes have faltered in the hoop house, given up themselves to the season.
We roast the few we harvest, trying to concentrate their flavor, to enjoy on last taste of summer.
Ahead of us there is the autumn with the promise of cooler nights and shorter days.
We've begun planting lettuces and beets, carrots and onions, broccoli and cauliflower. The time is now to plan for what is to come and we are busy again, even as we wait for the season to change.