Tag Archives: chickens

October Miracle

And no, I ain’t talkin’ baseball.

Today marks the first time since we got the chicks in March that we got 5, count ’em, 5 eggs in one day.












We’ve typically gotten 4: three brown, one blue (like the bigger blue one to the right). Then, once about a month or so ago, we got a teeny little blue egg like the one on the left. Over the past week, we’ve gotten two blues, and two browns. But today? All my lovely chickens gave it up.

Now The Wife will finally have to put her “that one’s a rooster — I just know it” theories to rest. That alone is worth what it took to get here.

Real Canning Looks Like This

I’m reading a book titled: Garden Spot: Lancaster Country, the Old Order Amish and the Selling of Rural America by David Walbert, in the hopes of finding material for the composition class I’m teaching next semester, focusing on sustainable food production. Here’s a quote that stopped me short. In 1950, Walbert says,

It was still not unusual for an Amish farmwife to can 500-700 quarts of fruits and vegetables, plus apple butter, jellies, and dried apples, beans and corn.But the economic argument for buying those products instead of producing them at home was starting to win out. The old idealizations of family farming persisted, but in the postwar years, changes in real-life agriculture would force it to adapt.

500-700 quarts. Every year.

That’s phenomenal. That’s a lot of hard work. I feel virtuous if I get 100 pints done by the end of a summer. And most of that is plum jam.

500 quarts every year is not a record I’m interested in achieving, but dang, my hat is off to the Amish farmwives who did (and perhaps do) all that work to keep their families and communities fed.




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In Which I Get to Feel Righteous about Eggs

I was roaming around my favorite farming websites last night, when I came across this quote from the always fabulous Homegrown Evolution folks:

An AP reporter just called to ask for my comment on the recent egg recall. He asked if I thought more people would start backyard chicken flocks. I said yes, adding that I believed that a “distributed” form of agriculture, i.e. many more people keeping small numbers of animals rather than small numbers of professionals in charge of tens of thousands of birds, would lead to greater food safety. Backyard flocks can get infected with salmonella. But if my birds get infected only two people get sick rather than 2,000. I can also keep a better eye on my flock’s health and rodent issues than can a minimum wage employee in charge of 10,000 hens. A small farmer has the same advantages–literally fewer eggs in one basket.

I love this one, too:

a chicken is a bird and  . . . birds in nature have access to dirt, bugs, sunlight and vegetation. To keep them in battery cages under artificial light is a kind of arrogance, an assumption that we humans know exactly what a chicken needs, that we have a “wisdom of our own.” Admittedly, a chicken is domesticated animal, but that doesn’t give us the right to make the kinds of sudden, radical changes in animal husbandry that have been made in the past hundred years

I’m such a wuss that I feel bad about keeping my five chickens in their ample run instead of letting them out all day to destroy my plants and dig ankle-twisting holes in which to bathe themselves with dust. So when I think of the stress millions of chickens live in. . . Well, let’s just say I eat less chicken now, and when I do, I try and know as much as possible the conditions under which it was raised.

Lest I sound too proud of myself

let me admit that I reread a section of The Encyclopedia of Country Living by Carla Embry this morning, and realized I could be making our chickens sick by not cleaning their feeder and waterer often enough, and by constantly putting new feed on top of old uneaten feed (which she quite clearly states you should NEVER do).

There’s always more to learn. That’s what I know.


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Behold the $1,000 egg

Today, as I was letting the chickens out of their coop, I saw this in the straw:

Our little miracle. I’m thinking it was one of the Australorps’ or Black Sex Links’, because it is a perfectly pale shade of brown. It is perfect, small, and has gone a long way toward justifying the existence of my five avian terrorists, who have taken over my garden and decimated every new plant I try to hide from them.

And the chicken-yelling! No one told me about their tendency to call out LOUDLY when they see me. If the back door opens, they start calling. At a decibel a foghorn would envy.

I was beginning to mutter around them, “yeah, you want food? Give me an egg, and we’ll talk.” But now, with the arrival of the one perfect little egg, I feel much more loving. I ignore their yelling and focus on the way they coo at night when they’re all perched on their roost when I shut them in for the night. I ignore the big holes in my backyard and focus on the adorable ritual of their dustbaths.

Like that.

I’m a sucker for an egg, what can I say?

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Where the Heck Did That Month Go?

Yes, it’s been a long time between posts!

We’ve been busy finishing up our first child’s school year, and The Wife has been dealing with some minor health issues. Meanwhile, the garden-with-delusions-of-grandeur has been going through some changes.

Compost is happening!

I am such a farm geek. I am just thrilled to pieces that the compost is developing! I’ve been faithfully piling in the soiled straw (soiled with chicken manure), cut grass, kitchen scraps — watering and turning until my back screams at me. But the results are divine. Wormy, earthy, black compost.

Chickens are transforming into hens! (And maybe some roosters?)

B, I, N, G, and O are now 3 1/2 months old, and getting huge. I give them lots of table scraps — grains, vegetable matter, fruit peelings, chewed up in the food processor — mixed with laying feed. They run at the gate when they see me coming, and love to forage in the backyard when let out of their run.

The chihuahua doesn’t go after them at all, and luckily for them, the rottweiler’s rather obsessive interest in them has died down.

Here’s the problem: I can’t tell if any of them are roosters are not. I’ll take pictures tomorrow and post them. First one to predict accurately means some kind of prize — jam? Eternal gratitude?

Tomato cuttings

In training my tomato vines to grow vertically, I have pinched off quite a few runners at the bottom of the plant. I put them in water and kept them in a sunny spot of my office. Through that process, I have been able to grow three more tomato plants, which I have put in big olive cans snatched from the Monday night garbage cans left out the Boot and Shoe Pizzeria on Lake Shore Ave.

Other Plant News . . .

The potatoes are growing beautifully in their washer-tub containers. My two little containers of beans are also starting to produce.

The arugula has come and gone — the heat wave last week was the last straw for my favorite salad green. The chard from last Fall also took its last gasp, and the tired stalks were thrown mercilessly to the chickens.

Beets and carrots are coming up like crazy. We just ate another round of Detroit Reds last night in our salad.

I realized that all the lettuce and basil seeds I have been planting since March must be too old, as none of them have germinated. So I gave up and got plants. Now I’ve got enough basil to make pesto for the winter as well as the summer. And I just put in an entire bed of different kinds of romaine lettuce seeds, as well as more carrots and beets.

I have seven tomato plants going at once — some vine, some bush. I don’t remember the varieties, to be honest. But since they’re from Kassenhoff growers, they are sure to be great.

The red peppers and ancho chilis are starting to flower. The heat wave that killed the arugula pushed them into a growth spurt.

The strawberries (in beds) are producing big beautiful berries and the raspberries (in a big container so as to contain the rampant growth) are starting to produce also.

The elderberry, which I had just about given up on, has grown about a foot and is now quite satisfactorily bushy. And the elecampagne came back out of nowhere.

The yarrow is threatening to take over under the big apple tree.

And last but not at all least, the fruit trees are full of fruit at various stages of growth. The peach tree seems to have fought off the peach leaf curl quite successfully. I am going to be chin-deep in plums in a few months. Both apple trees are producing and haven’t had their June drop yet. And the pineapple guava is flowering in preparation for the fall harvest.

That’s the update back there in wonderland. Next up, the new path in my farming adventures . . . stay tuned!


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Chickens in the Rain

Riddle me this:

When it rains, and you have a small flock of 5 chicks in a backyard run, do you:

  • keep them locked in the coop?
  • open their door and let them decide for their tiny-brained selves?
  • let them out and figure they’ll tough out the rain?

These are things a newby chicken-keeper wants to know.

Thoughts, any backyard chicken folks?

Addendum: Never mind, the weather answered it for me. Driving rain and high wind caused me to have pity on the chicks and turn on the heat lamp for them in the coop.

Next up: is that a chicken or a rooster? Coming soon . . .

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Moving Day

Today we put the roof on the chicken coop and moved the stinky, noisy darling chickens out. For good.

Today also marked the day when I bought my first bale of straw. Not a big deal to some, I’d imagine. But I felt like I should start wearing a Stetson and raise cows, I was so proud. Straw. A bale of it. Ha!

Of course, being the person I am, I had to spend 30 minutes with our shop vac cleaning the back of our Suburban after I got home from the straw purchase, but that’s another story.

Anyhow — roof on and ready, we tried to get the chickens to go inside the coop.

For every one we got in, two hopped out. Finally we got them all in there, and after showing them the feeding and watering cans, we shut the door.

It’s 10:30pm now, and I can see the red glow of the heat lamp from out the back window. I sat for an hour at dusk watching them settle in, and I’ll probably go back out just to make sure they haven’t had their heads snapped off by skunks or raccoons or other evil urban predators.

Gotta love those beady-eyed girls!

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Does ANY Food Stay in There?

We had scheduled to put the pullets out in their coop this weekend. And then came news of the rainstorm, so we kept them in the basement brooder box for another few days.

However, I must say that I am way past the “aw, ain’t they cute” phase when it comes to chickens-in-the-house. This is principally because of, oh, how shall I say it politely . . . their digestive habits (and what comes of them).

Number #1 fact about chickens: They Poop. A lot. All the time. In their food. In their water. Everywhere. A lot.

And while still in their (expanded) brooder box, this means that I clean up a lot of soiled newspaper.

So while I am still enamored with my silly chickens and the way they turn their heads and stare up at me with their beady little eyes, I am quite ready for them to go outside now, please.

By the way, I just finished a fun book and informative book called Hit by a Farm: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Barn, by Catherine Friend. It’s about two lesbians living in Minnesota who pursue one partner’s dream of owning a farm, and the joys and challenges that brought them. Check it out!


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