Chick Lessons

Mother Hen teaching the chicks to perch

Homestead life is full of joy and serendipity. Each week brings a new Mother Hen story that surprises me about nature and animal instinct. As if she has a curriculum to follow, Mother Hen is teaching her chicks the ropes ... how to return to the nest each evening, how to scratch for food, how to hide from predators, how to flap your wings while running to get there faster. Today's lesson was how to perch. Less than 3 weeks old, these chicks are perching. (It took my chicks, bought from the hatchery without a mom to show them, over 2 months to perch.) When I went out this morning, there the chicks were -- one on the lower rung of the rocker and the other on the arm of the rocker, under foot of her watchful mom. That started my day with a smile.

Mother's Day

Can you see the chick's head sticking out of her feathers?

This intense-looking girl celebrated her first Mother's Day last Sunday. On day 21, two of the six eggs hatched into adorable baby chicks ... one tan with dark brown markings from the green shell, an Ameracauna, and the other black with a white fluffy bum, a Cuckoo Maran like my broody hen. After day 25, I pulled the remaining eggs. Closer inspection revealed they were never fertilized. So much for my candling skills!

She is a terrific mom. The babies follow her every where she goes and she is teaching them how to scratch for bugs in all the natural areas of my back yard. Throwing the pine straw off the grass and back under the roses in such a small price to pay for such cuteness.

I have to tell you a quick story about how fascinating nature is. I was in the kitchen and heard some awful squawking, definitely not the I-just-laid-an-egg announcement sound. I rushed out to see the Mother Hen making all that noise, standing alone near her nest. No baby chicks in sight. Then I saw the source of her alarm ... a crow perched on top of the nearby hay shed. My arrival scared off the crow, and as I stood there dumbstruck, I began to absorb what had just happened. The crow had taken the chicks. I thought of the 21 days Mother Hen had dutifully done nothing but sit on the eggs. I thought the week since, watching her diligent mothering and thinking of all the joy those little creatures had brought to us and our visitors in such a short time. As the loss was settling in, I saw Mother Hen rush over to a spot near the hydrangea. I headed that way too, wondering what she was doing. The moment she stopped next to the lariope border, out popped two little chicks. They had been hiding under the pine straw, but quickly rejoined her, staying close as I had always seen them do. My sorrow turned to amazement as I realized how she had protected them. And how they had known to stay put and out of sight as she left them and went off to sound the alarm. All glory to their Creator for such incredible instincts, especially in chicks just 7 days old.

Broody Hen ... an update

"Patience is a virtue", my mother often said. I like my mother-in-law's saying better: "Don't pray for patience. The LORD will give you opportunities to practice it". My contribution to the wisdom of the ages should be "Impatience is expensive and more trouble in the long run".

Case in point. I didn't wait for one of my hens to go broody. I bought 7 chicks, pictured here, and began the heat-lamp-another-clutch-of-animals-to-feed-water-and-clean-up-after thing. About a week later, sure 'nuff, one of my hens went broody. So in a week or so, we should have another 6 chicks running around the farm. Sweetly, my husband has built a new enclosure where the hen can raise her chicks. This brings our total of chicken areas -- which all need individual attention -- to 4. And by the way, my efforts to force a hen to set were worthless. They kicked the plastic eggs out of the nesting boxes (golf balls may have been better). I had removed them and given up by the time nature took its course.

That's the bad news. The good news is that it is exciting to raise my own chicks for the first time. I learn so much watching nature. That hen is such a good mother. She has sat day after day on those eggs, keeping them warm and gently turning them every so often. She won't leave to eat or drink unless I tempt her with scratch. Only the sound of the treat bucket lures her from her nest for a short period to stretch her legs, poop, eat a little and drink a lot. Human mothers have alot to learn from the dedication of animals to their offspring.

If all goes well, I'll be posting some pics of our newest additions soon. Stay tuned.

Broody Hens

Now that we have two "accidental" roosters, I wish I still had my broody hen, a Buff Orpington. Her broodiness was triggered by only three eggs, so if I didn't get out to the nesting boxes often, she started setting. Since that meant she stopped laying, I was displeased with her and put her in time out -- the chicken tractor where she could not get to the nesting boxes. It took days to break her brood, then back to the flock she would go.

Oh, to have her now. We want to try to raise our own chicks and we need a hen to do it for us. But none of the girls are broody like Buffy, may she rest in peace. I have heirloom breeds that have broody tendencies -- Black Australorp, Delaware, Barred Rock, Silver Laced Wyandotte -- as well as an Ameracauna that pecks at me when I gather eggs, but no one who won't leave the nesting box.

So, after an online search (this is the best article I found), we placed plastic easter eggs in the boxes, 7 eggs each in their 2 favorite boxes. We painted them first since chickens can see color; I didn't feel the neon pinks, blues and greens would fool the girls. If we can trigger a brood, then we will place her in a secure location to hatch the eggs, a place where the chicks can arrive safely away from the rest of the flock.

That's Plan A. Here is a look at Plan B ... the seven new chicks we got yesterday from The Little Birdie Hatchery in Wake Forest. Two Welsummers, two Orpingtons, and one each of a Dominique, New Hampshire and Speckled Sussex. Welcome to the farm, girls!

Processing Poultry

My husband and I attended a workshop Saturday sponsored by our local meet-up group Triangle Area Gardeners and Homesteaders to learn poultry processing (a euphemism for "choppin' chicken", as my stepson so aptly called it). Julie, pictured here, donated her time and vast expertise to help the ignorant and squeamish -- of whom I am chief! -- get over themselves and accomplish what generations before us have done as a natural part of life. I am so thankful for this opportunity to see it, practice it with skilled help looking over my shoulder and know I can do it myself should starvation come knocking at my door. I am also thankful my husband went too, because we make a good team and I don't think I can do it alone.

For those of you who find this off-putting ... it's like the frog who gets boiled. If you drop a frog into hot water, he will jump out. But if you place him in a pot of tepid water and heat it slowly, he will boil. When I first got chickens over 3 years ago, if you had asked me about killing and eating them, I would have jumped out of that pot of hot water. But over the years, as I have stopped naming my chickens and developed a more sustainable-living mind set, I have come to the point where it is not only possible, but probable. I just can't tell my family why the chicken slick tastes so much better than usual ...

Designer Chicks

It all began with egg-color envy. My sweet new friend Deborah harvests the loveliest colored eggs from her girls! In addition to regular brown eggs, her hens lay pastel and dark-chocolate colored eggs.

Now that it's time to get chicks, I determined to select ones that will add beauty to my practical egg basket. Ameracauna was the first breed that came to mind. Also known as "easter eggers", Ameracaunas lay pastel blue and green eggs and are relatively easy to find this time of year at Tractor Supply or Hudson Hardware. But Deborah also inspired me to look for rare and/or heirloom breeds -- her dark brown eggs are laid by Welsummer hens and her Javas are an heirloom breed.  
 
I had alot to learn -- what exactly is an heirloom breed? Are heirloom breeds different from heritage breeds? Which are endangered? What color eggs do they lay and how often? Will they do well on my urban homestead (tolerate NC winters, bear confinement well, get along with the other girls)?
 
Heritage / Heirloom Breeds
First, a visit to the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy web site ( http://albc-usa.org/ ). Based in our own Pittsboro, NC, this non-profit works to conserve historic breeds of livestock from extinction. According to ALBC,  heritage chickens (heirloom, antique, old-fashioned are synonymous)
1. must be from parent and grandparent stock of breeds recognized by the American Poultry Association (APA) prior to the mid-20th century; whose genetic line can be traced back multiple generations;
2. must be the result of naturally mating pairs of both grandparent and parent stock.
3. must have the genetic ability to live a long, vigorous life and thrive in the rigors of pasture-based, outdoor production systems (hens productive for 5-7 years, roosters for 3-5 years).
4. must have a moderate to slow rate of growth, reaching appropriate market weight for the breed in no less than 16 weeks.

Endangered Breeds
ALBC lists poultry breeds according to categories of endangerment. Categories include: 
Critical: Fewer than 500 breeding birds in the US, with five or fewer primary breeding flocks (50 birds or more), and estimated global population less than 1,000.
Threatened: Fewer than 1,000 breeding birds in the US, with seven or fewer primary breeding flocks, and estimated global population less than 5,000.
Watch: Fewer than 5,000 breeding birds in the US, with ten or fewer primary breeding flocks, and estimated global population less than 10,000. Also included are breeds with genetic or numerical concerns or limited geographic distribution.
Recovering: Breeds that were once listed in another category and have exceeded Watch category numbers but are still in need of monitoring.
Study: Breeds that are of interest but either lack definition or lack genetic or historical documentation.

I was pleased to know that I already have birds from the list. An Andalusian (threatened); Jersey Giant (watch); Orpington and Wyandotte (recovering).

Here are two farm hands going with us to Wendell to get our new chicks. This breeder, http://ozbertfarms.com/index.html ,  has Delawares (on the critical list), Welsummers (that lay the beautiful dark-chocolate brown eggs) and Marans. I found him on craigslist and was very impressed with his chicken farm ... clean, lots of space, organized.  So the new hatchlings are under the heat lamp in our kitchen, greeting me each morning with their precious baby chicken sounds.

A Visit Back in Time to High Ground Farm

It was my pleasure and good fortune to visit Deborah at High Ground Farm yesterday. The consummate hostess, she extended a warm welcome to our mutual friend Anne and me on a cold winter's day. I expected a brief visit, a stay no longer than the 45-minute drive to get there. I hoped for a short walk around her homestead, a passing howdy-do to her heirloom chicken flock, and a quick overview of how she markets her eggs and garden produce to Whole Foods Market and local chefs. The four hours we spent with Deborah felt like 45 minutes, and was a leisurely visit back in time to a by-gone era meticulously recreated and joyfully lived.

This picture from her blog at http://highgroundfarm.blogspot.com/ shows the Harrington-Dewar House, the late 19th century restored farmhouse which is the centerpiece of High Ground Farm. It is listed on the National Register of Historic Places (http://www.hpo.ncdcr.gov/nr/HT0123.pdf).

There is so much to say about our visit that it is hard to know where to begin, except to start with Deborah herself. The word most fitting to describe her is the one she uses to describe herself ... purist. Whatever she does, her desire is to do it well and right, always with the aim of giving back. One of my first questions to her was about the restrictions placed on her home since it is listed on the National Historic Register. As most homesteaders seem to be free spirits who like doing things their own way, I wondered how she managed to restore this house, for which she paid $500 in 1977 and moved almost 5 miles to its current location, according to National Register Criteria. She quickly pointed out that she would never violate the history of the home, registered or not. From the rocking chair front porch to a small rear kitchen with an arched-opening fireplace, past walls made of painted hand hewn boards and wooden floors that sometimes creak under foot, Deborah has tastefully decorated her home with beautiful vintage furniture, dishes and utilitarian pieces that trick one's senses into believing it is 1860 again. The Civil War era ambiance continues on the grounds, which are landscaped with stone walls -- made from stones removed from the heirloom tomato garden -- and split rail fences, fashioned by an 85-year old gentleman from a nearby town, using trees harvested when the pasture was created. Although not in bloom, the climbing roses, fruit trees and perennials bespeak history and legacy.

Deborah's purist nature is evident in her choice of chickens. Wanting to do more than just produce eggs, she chose to raise Javas, an endangered heirloom breed, pictured left in an original oil painting -- another of her talents. Their coop is deluxe, to say the least, complete with piped-in music for them and a rear trap door to simplify cleaning and composting for her. They free-range on clover pasture and enjoy scavenging in the bordering woods. Deborah has recently been awarded an Animal Welfare Approved grant for predator control. The grant will fund completion of the fence and the purchase of a guard dog. She lamented that she lost a hen during the night before our visit, so the grant will be put to good use.

To my surprise, I learned that she really has no marketing strategy -- Whole Foods contacted her as a result of her memberships with American Livestock Breed Conservancy and Carolina Farm Stewardship. She delivers these beautiful eggs twice a week to Whole Foods in Cary, and she reports they fly off the shelves at $6 per dozen. Together with a neighboring farmer, she grew 750 heirloom tomato plants as well as seedlings, basil, and other vegetables and herbs which she sold last year. She also sells cut flowers, zinnias being one of her favorites.

A recounting of our visit would not be complete without telling you how she fed us homemade soup and fresh-baked bread made from flour she milled herself. Occasionally she rose from the antique farm table at the center of her kitchen to stoke the fire and add a log. Conversation flowed as we shared stories of our lives and family, friendships, beloved animals, nursing careers, hobbies and favorite books (both Deborah and Anne are Anglophiles). We even discovered we have other mutual friends and marveled how small the world really is. Dessert was iced molasses cookies with a hot cup of tea; she introduced me to the smoky flavor of Lapsand Souchong tea. Delicious!

It was hard to leave this new friend and the slice of afternoon that was suspended in time. As we drove homeward, first along the tree lined gravel road, then on isolated country roads and finally back into the city, we both commented how the trip covered more than distance. It transported us forward in time, back to the 21st century and our awaiting responsibilities.

Golden Comet Twins

This is the reason I love Golden Comet chickens ... look at that egg! The smaller one is either one of the other breeds or a new GC layer (the eggs get larger as they mature). Granted, the large one is twins, as shown on the griddle for Scott's breakfast, but we get one this size every day. I highly recommend this breed if you are considering starting a backyard flock!! You won't be disappointed.

Animal Health

There is nothing more satisfying than seeing my goats happily lounging in the sun chewing their cud. All is well. Or hearing my chickens cluck and proudly announce a new egg in the nesting box. Life is as it should be. But then there are times the animals get sick. I guess it is inevitable, in spite of meticulous care to ensure a clean environment, clean water and nutritious feed.

My chickens are sick. This is the second time in two years of a backyard flock that I have encountered an illness. Blue got sick about a year ago. She had a fever and was listless. I didn't know exactly what was wrong, so I isolated her from the others and brought her inside where I could keep a close eye on her. I fed her molasses water and took her out for some sun and free-range fun each afternoon. After about three days, she seemed better and I re-introduced her to the flock. Love, prayer and tincture of time were all the cure she needed.

Now a problem is spreading through the flock and these same remedies are not working. The birds have respiratory symptoms; most noticeable is their rattling breathing and occasional sneeze. Two girls were listless, still roosting at 10 in the morning. It's hard to know if egg production is down since the new girls are starting to lay, but I guess I would add this to the list of symptoms. One had cold feet and another had nasal discharge. When I read the symptom of "pale", I confess I laughed. How do you tell when a chicken is pale?! Now I know, because one hen was pale. (The places that are supposed to be red, around their beak and eyes, aren't.)

Reading the books about poultry maladies is enough to scare a city girl like me. So, I have called my county extension agent. She recommended a treatment and referred me to the NC Department of Agriculture to have my birds swabbed ... to rule out bad diseases. Best case scenario is a course of treatment that will require wasting a month's worth of eggs. Worst case scenario is destruction of my whole flock. Neither is good, but the worst-case alternative makes throwing out eggs more palatable.

I'm waiting for a call back ... and a visit. I'll let you know how it goes.

More Chickens!

I have been running out of eggs and turning egg customers away ... remind me of that when we are gathering 2 dozen a day and don't know what to do with the bounty! So we decided to increase our flock.

We got 18 more chickens last evening, bringing us to a total of 26. The new girls are all Golden Comets (aka Golden Buff, Red Sex Linked, Red Stars, Cinnamon Queens) and should start laying within the month. This breed has become my favorite, compared to the Orpingtons, Rocks, Wyandottes, Jerseys and Andalusians that are also part of our existing flock, because of their faithfully-laid, beautiful dark brown eggs.

My wonderful husband has been at it again, expanding the chicken run and converting our little shed into a coop sufficient to handle more girls. Your nose might be the only thing that tells you this shed is not what it appears to be. Yes, my pooper duties have increased as will our feed costs, but this is a positive move toward greater self-sustainability. One of the most important aspects of this acquisition is that there are too many new birds to name and bond with as pets. It is conceivable that we could use them for food one day, if times get tough ... really tough, mind you. I so wish city ordinances allowed roosters because I think I would enjoy hatching Golden Comet chicks to spread the joy around.

The Other Sorts Quilt

My dad told a story about when he was a little boy. Seems he used to spend summers on his grandparents' farm in Nash Co, NC. They had chickens, of course, as most did. He remembered seeing chickens running around with their heads cut off, from which the expression comes. Most folks today can't claim that anymore. And that may be a good thing. But I digress.

When a little boy, he would squat down, pick up chicks, rub them and say, "This one is so soft and black." "This one is so soft and white." "This one is so soft and red." But the speckled chicks gave him pause. One day, he picked up a speckled chick and said, "This one is so soft and ... other sorts." And so the expression was born.

To honor my dad in his later years, my talented sister handmade The Other Sorts Quilt. It is my good fortune to have it now that Gramps is gone. It hangs in a place of honor in my kitchen ... within view of my own chicken coop and Other Sorts, my speckled hen.

Snow on the Homestead

One of the things I like most about North Carolina is its four distinct seasons. We have cold winters with the occasional snow, and hot summers good for gardening and swimming. These are separated by fabulously mild spring and fall seasons when the windows to the house can be open and all outdoor activities are a pleasure. Today is one of those cold, snowy times.

I have learned several things about snow and single-digit chill factors on an urban homestead:

1. Goats are just as sissy about snow as they are about rain! I was only able to coax them out of the goat house once ... with grain.

2. Chickens don't like snow either. These birds thought nothing of staying out in tropical storm-strength rain, but they were all huddled up in the coop most of the day today. I guess the snow was cold on their chicken feet. They visited the water and feeder only after I lay down a carpet of straw over the snow.

3. Blue Andalusians are not cold hardy, just like the book says. Blue stayed in the nesting area all day ... under the heat lamp. She is the only light weight bird we have. The others are medium to heavy -- they just poofed out their feathers to stay warm. Blue also has a large comb and wattles. I put vaseline on them to prevent chapping. She didn't like it at first, but once she figured out how nice it felt, she calmed down and let me slather them with a thick layer. One of the small downy feathers stuck to the vaseline on her comb ... she looked like she was wearing a French lady's hat!

4. No time for boredom on a snow day at the homestead. Toting warm water to replace that which is frozen, checking to make sure all the creatures are warm, feeding the wild birds, keeping the heavy snow and sleet off the sides of the greenhouse, and my husband's favorite ... getting out the tractor so he can pull his son and friend on their sleds. I stayed inside and continued to plan my herb garden, thinking of warmer days to come.

Christmas Traditions

While keeping Jesus as the Reason for the Season, our family has several traditions that make the season bright. The most important tradition is being together. As we gather Christmas Day at my sister's house, Gramps (pictured above) will be with us only in spirit.  He died August 2008 after 85 wonderful years. However, his "Bah Humbug" hat, ever present atop his head during the holidays, is now atop Mom's Christmas tree.  I think Gramps would like that!

A second tradition is driving to Cane Creek Baptist Church the Sunday before Christmas and hearing their 12-person choir sing a cantata. My sister is the soprano soloist and hit a high B-flat as her concluding note.  Wow! I marvel every year at how magnificent they sound, their voices blending and filling the worship center, and how moved I am by the words and music. This morning's cantata was "Only Love" ... only love would motivate a King to leave His throne, and take on poverty and suffering and death so that His people might live. That's our awesome God! That's how much He loves us. Thanks be to God!

One final tradition, albeit only 3 years old, is a white elephant gift exchange. Rather than all of us buying gifts for each other -- we already have so much! -- we buy one $15 item. After Christmas brunch, we put all the gifts in the center of our circle and do the draw-a-number-open-a-new-gift-or-steal-someone-else's-gift thing. We use the money we would have spent on each other to do something for someone. This year, I am going to buy one goat and two chickens for a family in a third world country. (For more info on how to do this, visit worldvision.org)  How neat is that.

photo from WorldVision.org

What Do You Have in Your Hand?

Yesterday, my husband and I took our 14-month old grandson Isaac to the chicken coop to collect eggs. His eyes brightened as he peered into the nest and saw several eggs. With help from longer arms, he gathered a large brown egg into each chubby hand. He looked at the eggs, then he looked at me ... and giggled. I was flooded with a sense of how good life is on the farm!
He stretched wide his arms, still holding an egg in each hand. In an instant, my mind flashed to earlier in the day when we had been playing with his blocks. Part of the game had been to crash the blocks together like cymbals. He would be wearing a gooey mess of yolk and broken shell if I didn't move quickly! I took one of the eggs from him, to his surprise and displeasure. Attempts to get him to focus on the egg in his hand and teach him about its smooth, hard shell, its lovely brown color and its distinctive shape were fruitless. He was focused on the egg in MY hand --the one he didn't have --to the exclusion of all else.
This simple vignette reminded me that it is human nature to focus on what we don't have, thus missing the joys of what we do have. I long for a more acres, more and additional kinds of animals, a fishing pond. But yesterday, just a few short weeks after Thanksgiving, I was again reminded to appreciate what I do have, to focus on what I have in my hand.
What do you have in your hand?