I See Chickens

I look out the window over our sink and see the chickens pecking under the bird feeder, wandering through the yard, or hopping about in the compost bin. In reality, though, I just see where our barn used to be, chickadees and nuthatches under and on the feeder, and no action in the compost bin. The girls don't come running across the road from our neighbors or stroll casually up the driveway. Even though I fully expect to witness these events as I go through the course of my day, they don't happen. Each time it is jarring.

Saturday evening the girls moved into their new digs at Dragonwood Farm. They moved from their small rural convent to a larger commune that includes roosters and a variety of other ladies from different backgrounds. Dragonwood bustles with chickens and chicken action. Chatty, hopping birds and roosters eyeballing everyone in the vicinity. It's a big change. Sort of like us moving from the country to Tokyo, I guess.

I stopped in to say hello on Sunday evening, and the girls looked good. I like to imagine they recognized my clucking (they did seem to perk up a bit and look about), but I don't know. I think they're making friends, learning the lay of the land, and holding their own with the roosters. I know they'll be happy at Dragonwood - free-ranging for bugs and greens and digging in the compost as usual - which is why we chose that for their new home. It makes it no less easy though, and I still find myself at sunset thinking I'd better go out and close up the coop.

Possum Coop?

The warm weather seems to bringing out our local marsupials. About two weeks ago we spotted this little fellow ambling around the compost bins and garden fence. Filled with envy for a tail of my own, I watched him attempt to climb on the chicken wire and the garden fence so he wouldn't fall in the snow. I wondered if it was fun in some way or simply the grogginess of the first sunny day in some time. (It would have been much more efficient to simply plop down and wade through the snow to the fence, climb the fence using the tail as needed, plop again, and then dig for food. But, who am I with my longer legs and opposable thumb?)

Yesterday, though, these little fellows put their names on my list. My list of things that need to go, that is.

I returned from a run around our country block to see two opossums eating from the chicken feeder. I walked up speaking loudly, and one darted between the coop and the barn, and the other (this is where I absolutely shrieked!) went directly into the coop. I bounded over and quickly opened the roof to find...just the opossum. Sitting in the bottom nesting box like a furry chicken with a ratty tail.

My greatest relief came when I saw the girls standing in an empty bay of the woodshed just behind me. Whew! Now, I just needed to get the opossum out of the coop. Easy.

I live in a fantasy world of logical small animals.

I tried shooing the opossum out. No go.

I gently poked the opossum. It ran out of the nesting box and climbed on top of another one where it waited. I don't know what it was waiting for, so I tried tipping the box with the stick. The stick slipped and the opossum fell between the wall and the nesting box. No injuries except perhaps to the pride of both of us.

I finally tipped it over, and it ran back into the first nesting box. At this point, I simply lifted out the entire box and set it down in the snow. The opossum ambled out and into the barn. Not rushed at all, but I'm sure it had a headache.

The other opossum was still between the barn and the coop, and hissing at me. It would not budge despite a little gentle poking, and moving things out of its way to encourage progress. No go.

Meanwhile, the girls behind me started making those "I'm ready for bed, how about you?" sounds, and walking toward the coop. Good grief. Any other time I want them to go to bed, it's an Olympic feat to catch them. So, I closed the door to the sound of a hissing opossum, and then lifted the girls in to their roost. Thankfully, that was very easy. They must have been tuckered out after a day in the sun.

A little more poking, and the second opossum started on its way. And now we've got the live trap out and ready.

The Girls Below Zero

The deep freeze currently known as Michigan is not ideal weather for our ladies. We suspect that while we were in Marquette returning a cousin to Northern Michigan University that they did not leave their little hut. They practically dove into the feed container when I put it in down yesterday! I also suspect that the cold weather makes them hungrier just like humans. Trying to stay warm requires energy, which requires food.

We are also considering giving them a hot water bottle or rigging something that will radiate heat. No electricity runs out there at the moment, so we won't rig a light bulb for them. We are considering starting a handwarmer in a jar and placing it in there with them. A little strange, but so far the best idea.

The Power of Poop

We're hopeful it's powerful, anyway. Things are a wee bit chilly in the hoophouse these days since winter started really moving in, and a neighbor suggested manure for a bit of a heater. The relatively fresh and therefore "hot" manure will give off heat as it decomposes. It will nourish the soil (depleted by our lovely tomatoes and eggplants this summer) at the same time it helps keep our swiss chard, broccoli, kale, and parsley cozy during these long winter nights.

Since this is an experiment, I mixed some in with the soil and some I left only lightly mixed in to the soil. Some we plopped in a corner. And since it's horse manure there's plenty of straw still...well, visible...so that may help with composting/decomposition. Horse manure is not the ideal choice for your garden it should be said. Word has it that since many things (i.e. seeds and grains) simply make their way through the horse and out again that you end up with lots of extra weeds. I do battle some weeds I have seen in the horses pasture at our friends house, so I suspect there is a grain of truth in this.

A book I'm reading at the moment talks about how fresh manure gives off amonia as it decomposes, but my thought is that the hoophouse is fairly well ventilated by nature of its construction it shouldn't really be a problem. We use this practice for our chickens to help them stay warm through the cold weather. We just add a fresh layer of litter periodically to keep things fresh for the girls, and the heat given off by the composting process of their droppings and the bedding keeps them snuggly. And since the door is open all day while they roam there is no risk of anyone getting asphyxiated.

We'll see how things fare. When I went in today to get some greens and check on the plants I did notice that things looked like they were suffering a bit from the cold. Hopefully, this helps until we get the cold frame built.

Fall in the Garden

The other day while perusing the garden to see what tomatoes might be ready I heard a soft buzzing. I looked up to see a hummingbird visiting my cosmos, zinnias, and maidenhair vine. A small "tweeting" sound came with each sip. It flew on in less than a minute, and my only wish was that I had more to offer the little one. As it got smaller and smaller in the distance, I thought about the migration it was most likely about to begin.

Frost is soon on its way, and this year it is particularly bittersweet for me as we plan our upcoming move to Japan. The opportunity to explore gardening and agriculture in another country is thrilling, not to mention all the cool vegetables and flowers I anticipate meeting during our time there. And I believe it will be good for these beds to rest from growing for a bit, although I am quite sure the grass running along the edge is already formulating a take-over strategy.

Yet, I feel a certain sadness as I look over the garden and listen to the bees. The garden is a source of food for us, but it is also a place of solace and joy for me. The time spent here with my hands in the dirt weeding and planting is meditative. Time slows down or stops as my hands carve a row for seeds or pull weeds to give the kale a bit more room. Sunlight warms my shoulders and the cats curl up in the shade of the leaves of the rhubarb plant. Bees buzz about the blooms of the bergamont and the sage blossoms, and I laugh at one that dives directly into the nasturtium blossom without hesitation.

I wonder how the damson trees will fare, and if we can arrange for a burn of our yard in the spring. Will the milkweed host more tussock moth caterpillars and will there be again more goldenrod and aster plants scattered throughout the yard? Should we arrange for someone to pick the pears and keep an eye on the apple trees? If I scatter the garlic seeds from my friend Karen how will I know they will take and who will weed around them? Should I arrange for someone to weed out the million tiny tansy plants I know will again try to take over the space?

Looking up from the garden to the blue sky above and the lines of the land that is not mine but is in some way because it forms part of my personal geography, I feel the beginnings of home. The wind in the tree line to our north also rustles the corn, and a praying mantis lumbers by. The chickens stroll the edge of the garden looking for a tomato hornworm, a tasty weed, or just a word of hello. As they work their final lap of the day and edge closer to their coop, the sky swings to orange and a gentle chill settles over us. My heart is settling here at last, finding its place.

Chicken Bath

Periodically, we see one of the girls lying on her side, foot slowly unclenching, wing outspread in a fan, and her eye slightly unfocused. Then the foot scuffles into the dirt and flings it up and out. She burrows her head into the dirt. Sometimes we see more than one chicken at a time in close proximity doing this.

The dirt bath must be extremely satisfying. That slightly unfocused look is not uncommon, and they seem so at peace. It usually occurs toward the end of the day (just like our baths can), although a mid-afternoon "plunge" is not unheard of.

The first time we saw it we thought the chicken must have been attacked. To our untrained eye our girl appeared to be writhing about in agony. Rushing up to see what had attacked her, the chicken sat up somewhat dazed and appeared perfectly fine. We walked away only to see her resume the same activity. Once we realized there was no pain involved, we understood it was a dirt bath.

They often choose a somewhat shady spot, although I've seen them do it in full sun. A most recent hole outside our porch door is four to six inches deep. While a pleasant bathtub it could also turn into a real ankle-turner. They love it though, so we haven't asked them to switch spots yet.

Lost Chicken

Sad news on the homefront. We lost one of our girls to a raccoon. We went to a movie that ran long, and asked a relative to put the girls away for the evening. When he arrived he found a raccoon in the coop with a hen in hand. The damage had already been done.

We immediately rushed out with flashlights, and for my part I confess to my own bit of bloodlust. It is one of the few moments in life where having a gun is appealing. We roamed about the yard and barn clucking and calling, but heard nothing. We spotted the raccoon occasionally skulking about but were not able to catch it or catch up to it.

We circled out to our neighbors yard, and found feathers. They seemed to match Rhoda (the Rhode Island Red) and a little further on we found some that seemed to match Rocky (our Barred Rock). A bit despondent to say the least we carried on looking in his barns and property, but found nothing.

Standing in the driveway thanking our uncle for his efforts, I heard a clucking from the neighbors yard. I dashed down the driveway, and then heard the equivalent of a chicken yelping. At a dead run we ran toward the woods that line the southern end of the property near his pond. We saw eyes in the woods low to the ground. No other sounds.

We walked along the pond, and that's when we found one of the girls. Lying on her back with her feet in the air she looked the part of a dead chicken. Upon closer inspection we realized she was breathing. As we approached to pick her up, she rolled away from us toward the water's edge. After a bit more floundering I scooped her up and took her back to our house. We put her in the cat carrier, which we then put in the bathtub with a blanket over it.

We walked about a bit more after sending our uncle home, but heard and saw nothing. Heavy-hearted we went to bed thinking we'd lost three, and not sure what we'd find in the morning when we opened up the carrier.

Needless to say we spent a restless night, and shortly after sunrise I got up. As I stood at our diningroom window looking out at the beautiful morning and wondering what we might find, Rhoda popped her head around the corner and clucked at me.

I dashed outside with some birdseed (treats seemed to be in order) and fresh water. She looked none the worse for wear, and certainly had not lost her appetite. As I was talking to her and inspecting as best I could, Rocky came walking up one of the paths. She too enjoyed her birdseed and water, and seemed to not be missing any feathers.

Kooretza, on the other hand, looked like she had been mugged. All but one tail feather were gone, and one eye looked a bit rough. Feather around the neck and back were missing, and her head was a bit roughed up. She ate and drank though, and clucked a bit at us.

We watched them closely throughout the day. All three spent the day napping on our front porch, and let them do whatever they wanted. Want to scratch about in the compost bin? Sure thing. Extra bird seed? You bet. Fresh water every couple hours. No problem. Poop on that bench? Go right ahead.

We tucked them in early that night, and invited a cousin who likes to hunt over. Everyone we spoke to said that once a raccoon learns where chickens live they return night after night after night. Every sound we heard was a raccoon, and every shape moving through the grass. Our cousin got a raccoon that night - a big fella, too - but I can't say we really felt like justice was done.

The girls go to bed early each night now, and we keep an eye on things. We know nature is red in tooth and claw, and that we are smack dab in the middle of it. The raccoon was just doing what a raccoon does. Intellectually, we understand that and how the food chain works. Yet, when the food chain runs so close to us in a way not of our choosing our reaction is not intellectual. It's deeply emotional and nearly primal. Maybe if I was more of a farmer rather than a agricultural hobbyist type, I'd feel differently. But I've seen the look on the faces of our friends at Ambry Farms when a lamb is taken by coyotes and I am not so sure it is different.

City Chickens...Wait...

Drat. It looks like the Ann Arbor Chicken Ordinance (allowing folks in the city to have chickens) is stalled.

Here's hoping for a chicken in every yard!

Three Eggs a Day and a Fox

The girls are laying like mad. We get about three eggs a day, which rapidly fills up the spare cartons we have. Our Auracauna lays almost religiously - hers is the only green egg out there - and the others aren't far behind.

The girls free range and as the season carries on they venture over to our neighbors house. Imagine my shock as I saw them calmly walk down our driveway to cross the road and walk all the way up to his house. When I went to herd them back he came out to tell me they visit regularly. They like the birdseed from the feeder outside his livingroom window.

Our neighbor is now attached to them, and keeps an eye out for their safety. He called the other night to report he'd seen a fox. He chased it away, but the girls were at risk. Yikes.

Well. What's a mother hen like me to do?

Open the coop door and hope for the best, and feel grateful every time I see four girls come running when I get home at night.

Portrait of a Flock

The girls don't lay in the winter. It's part of their natural cycle, and we don't provide them with a light bulb. Often done for a little additional heat in cold weather, the bulb encourages them to lay, too. (It's the length of day that gets them to start and stop.) We decided we didn't want an extension cord running out to the coop, and we also thought if Mother Nature thought they should just focus energy on eating and surviving it was good enough for us.

Our flock is small and so is their coop. The roof opens up so we can lean in to do a count at night, collect eggs, and tidy things up. They have a bar to roost on, and two nesting boxes. We cleaned out the coop in the fall and put down a thick layer of cedar chips. As the girls make their "deposits" we add more cedar chips. The heat created by the composting process helped keep them warm, and will make some excellent fertilizer for the garden, too.

A small door on one end lets them come and go during the day, but we close them up at night. This is sometimes the hardest part, especially if we're out of town. We close them up after they go to bed (or we entice them to bed early if we're going out for an evening) to protect them against predators. Raccoons and opossums are waking up looking for that first post-hibernation snack, and I have no doubt the coyotes know about our little poultry buffet, too. We sleep better knowing they sleep safely.

The Decision to Free Range

Our girls roam free. They enjoy exploring the yard, eating what the birds and the squirrels drop from our feeders, sunning in the lower part of our barn, eating out the compost pile, and walking the trails of our yard. Our last group enjoyed crossing the road to our neighbors yard, and they even strolled up the road sometimes.

The Benefits
Free range chickens eat well - so many greens, bugs, and other critters - and produce the best eggs I've ever seen in my life. The shells are thick and hard to break. The yolks are brilliant gold, and stain the bowl when we mix up an omelet or scrambled eggs. Study results published in Mother Earth News showed that free range eggs (literally roaming free out under the sun versus roaming freely in an over-packed hen house) have higher nutritional value - lower in bad cholesterol, high in all that good stuff - than conventional eggs from chickens raised in a high-density setting on a diet of grain that includes antibiotics and pesticides.

The Risks
Free range chickens are at risk. Predators (coyotes, hawks, raccoons, foxes, oppossums, skunks), cars, dogs, etc. tend to also free range, especially in the country. Having a small free range flock is delightful for the eggs and the joy of seeing a chicken ambling about your yard, but they are in more danger than they would be in a contained run.

What We Do
Other than hoping for the best for them each and every day, we take a few precautions. We lock them up each night around dusk and let them out each morning. This is labor intensive and sometimes tedious. If we're out of town for an extended period we need to schedule family, friends and neighbors to help out. If it's just one evening, we'll rustle them into the coop using bird seed.

We put away their feeder each night. Their food is attractive not only to them, but to predators. One night I found an opossum inside the feeder when I went to pick it up.

Predators are often attracted by the chicken smell. By closing the girls up at night, we figure we lower the smell a bit for the evening. We also figure that by having them free range the smell is dispersed. (We realize we may be fooling ourselves.)

We gather eggs every day. Predators also like eggs. By gathering them each day it means the eggs won't be left to rot and smell. We do leave a wooden egg in the nesting box so the girls don't feel completely bereft. No one has been broody, and so far we don't think they're laying elsewhere. We did have that problem a year ago with the first flock, but the wooden eggs seem to help. I also don't let them see me take the eggs out of the nesting box. This probably is more me than them, but I don't want to risk it.

The Ladies are Laying

The Ladies, as we like to call our four girs - Kooretza, Asa, Rhoda, and Rocky - are back in the egg business. As part of their natural cycle, they stopped laying last fall when they started molting (talk about stressful for everyone!) and didn't start again until about two weeks ago. Koortetza is an Araucana and the only survivor of our original gang of five. The other three are a mixed batch a friend of mine shared with me this past August. They are an Isa Brown, a Rhode Island Red, and a Barred Rock. (Hence, their names.)

Kooretza lays lovely light green blue eggs, and is the most regular layer we have. She's laid almost an egg a day since this latest round. The others all lay brown eggs, and unless there is a feather attached (and sometimes there is) we don't know who used the nesting box that morning.

We've had chickens for about two years now. We got them solely for the eggs, and now we have them for eggs, their terrific compost, and the entertainment value. The first gang of Araucanas were good fun and laid beautiful eggs; however, we lost them in ones and twos. One simply died at the coop door (we buried her in the garden and she gave us some of our best tomatoes), two were hit by a car (we left them for the coyotes to clean up), and one was taken by a fox living in the nearby culvert. Koortetza survived, and we consider her possibly our smartest chicken.

When we brought the new girls home, the pecking order needed to be established. Koortetza made it clear that the coop and the roost were hers, and they would do her bidding. One night there was such a commotion that I opened the roof to see what was happening. There I saw my girl, Koortetza, standing (literally) on top of Rhoda "discouraging" her presence on the roost. Like molting, this was a bit traumatic for all of us. When we'd check on them before closing up the coop, we'd see Koortetza in her usual spot and the other three huddled at the opposite end of the roost.

We suspected that the coming winter would make friends of them all, and so it did. As the temperatures dropped, the new girls inched closer to K. Finally, I found Rhoda snuggled under K's wing, and the others nearby. Peace at last.

Which Came First...

In our case, the chickens were surely first. In fact, in our first batch of girls we thought we would never see eggs. Yet, the eggs finally came. And we similarly thought with this group in the Fall that eggs were being hidden.

More importantly, my mother-in-law posed the most mind-boggling question: How do they do that? How does that little bird produce something that big nearly every day?

Egg formation is perhaps one of the most amazing processes I've ever read about. My fascination is perhaps because I have begun again to find them (one brown, one blue today!), and I marvel at what my girls do with all they eat.