A Chicken Summer

Summer was full of chickens:

New chickens,

old (grumpy) chickens,

under-achievers,

over-achievers,

births,

deaths.

And problems (always problems)... and projects (always projects)...

The chicken problem we deal with most often is broody hens. The natural instinct for a hen to want to hatch eggs leads her to sit on a clutch of eggs (or even just an empty spot if the eggs are collected). Our hens usually go broody in the barn and will quietly sit in the corner of a barn stall forever, unless 1) we allow them to hatch eggs, like this lucky hen got to do this summer,

or, 2) they go in the broody buster, an upside down dog kennel that doesn't allow a hen to hunker down and nest. Three days in the broody buster, and a hen is *usually* cured. We had a revolving door of broody hens all summer long, up to four at one time.

We put these two in the broody buster together.

Hermione is the ameracauna on the left. She is one of our original chicks from 3 1/2 years ago, back when we still named our chickens. The gal on the right is a speckled bantam cochin who we've also had 3 years. She is named after one of the Ingalls sisters from Little House on the Prairie, but I can't remember which one. Bantams are the smaller version of the standard breeds (just like dogs have "toy" versions). In their three years at Good Gifts Farm, she and Hermione have never palled around or been particularly close. However, after their three days in the broody buster together, something remarkable happened. Hermione, who so wanted to hatch chicks, "adopted" the little bantam as her chick. After their release, they were inseparable. Hermione would stand guard while the banty pecked and scratched for food. She would not leave her side for a second of the day. And for several nights in a row, this was the scene on the roost in the coop:

Sssshhh... just let me hold you

Hermione tucking the bantam under her wing to sleep, just like a mama would do with her chick. The whole situation brought us a few chuckles and much joy. A couple months have passed and their relationship has returned to normal.

Our main summer-chicken-project was raising 25 cornish-cross meat chickens.

I know they are adorable and fluffy at one-day old, but I guarantee you, by 8 weeks, they are anything but.

Instead of raising them solely in the barn as we did last summer, we really wanted to get them out on pasture, both for their own health and for sanitation. They were in the barn under the heat lamp for three weeks,

and then we moved them into an old mini-coop that Caleb converted into a chicken tractor by putting wheels on it and placing it in the pasture.

Every day he moved the tractor a few feet to give the chickens fresh grass to peck at and poop on. We still have a few kinks to work out in the watering system (keeping them hydrated was a full-time job for me during those few weeks), but overall this was far superior to keeping them in the barn.

However,  Caleb and I are having serious qualms about raising cornish-cross again. We had to slaughter a week early, at 7 weeks, because we were going on vacation and didn't want our farm-sitter to have to deal with them. Even then, their skin was splitting from their rapid growth and several had gaping wounds under their wings where the heaviness of their breasts had caused the skin to tear. I know it sounds gross, and believe me, it was. Two dropped dead a week before slaughter.

Cornish-cross are designed to grow rapidly with the most-efficient feed-to-weight conversion, and they have the white meat and huge breasts we've grown accustomed to (all commercial meat chickens are cornish-cross).  But they are so, so unnatural. Their legs break or their heart stops if they are allowed to live beyond a certain age. They develop bed-sore type wounds on their breasts because they are always laying on the ground. And they don't exhibit "normal" chicken-type behavior to peck and scratch, to forage, or to roost at night.

Even though we set up a system for them to forage and "range", they could hardly walk. They waddled over to the feeder (where they would sit down to eat) and then lay down all day long. Next time, we have decided to give Freedom Rangers a try. They take four months to raise (rather than 8 weeks), so are not as cost-efficient. But they are true chickens that live and grow the way God designed them to, and from our experience, that may be priceless.

We are raising our own meat and eggs, largely because we want to ensure the animals are treated humanely and that they are fed quality feed, both for their own health and for ours. In the past I was part of a chicken feed co-op with organic feed from Montana shipped here to Oregon at a wholesale price - $28 for 50 lbs. Then I discovered a non-gmo, plus-*many*-organic-ingredients-feed from California at a local pet supply store that was $18 for 40 lbs. I decided non-gmo was a larger priority than strictly organic, and was happier with that price, so I quit the co-op and bought two bags at a time from the store. But this summer I heard from a homesteading friend about a man in Corvallis (30 minutes from us) who is sourcing local ingredients and formulating and milling his own brand of non-gmo, high-quality chicken feed for $18 per 50 lb bag. I knew it would be well-worth a trip down to Mosaic Farms. I filled my van with 700 lbs of feed (both layer for our hens and grower for our meat-chickens), to last 3-4 months.

All the other feed I've bought is compressed into gray pellets that resemble nothing edible. Mosaic Farms' feed is gorgeous. I think I could feed my kids on it in a pinch, though hopefully it will never come to that. I am very thankful for this wholesome, local way of feeding our chickens.

Summer is winding down, and as always, our mama hen abandoned her chicks at 6 weeks. For some reason, that is the age when mamas decide chicks are ready to fend for themselves. Except they really aren't, so we get to step in and help and worry and feed them, and make sure they are in the barn at night. Ah, chickens... it's always something... yet, we always come back for more.  

It's a big wide world outside the barn, little chicks. Fly. Fly!

Summer Begins

 "It was June, and the world smelled of roses. 

The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside."

~ Maud Hart Lovelace

Summer is here. Real summer. 80 + degree-summer. 

Oregon-strawberry-summer. 

Reading-in-the-hammock-summer. 

The beach-with-cousins-summer. 

Outdoor-chores-and-projects-are-enjoyable-again-summer.

We headed into summer with some excitement. In May, our red Irish Dexter, Nutmeg, gave birth to a perfect bull calf.

Due to some (mis)adventures in cow fertility, it had been 3 years since calving occurred on our farm. Because Nutmeg is small and this was her first calf, I was really nervous about it. Caleb and I came out early one morning to find her in labor. Progress appeared to be slow, so I kept my finger on speed-dial to our farm-vet and eventually Caleb ended up helping to pull the calf out. It made him late for work, but I told him he was probably the only person in his office who had pulled a calf that morning. I love my gentleman farmer. 

3 hours old, just snoozing in the sun

Since the bull was black, we were very pleasantly surprised that our calf was red, or actually more of a strawberry blond. He is truly beautiful.

Our only disappointment lies in the fact that he is a he. Because when you're raising beef cattle the hes don't stick around for longer than two years. Our previous two calves had also been bulls and we longed for a calf we could raise and spoil and name and love and keep. We briefly considered keeping him as a bull, but since his mom is our only female, that didn't make any sense. So Caleb and our neighbor made him a steer, and we will enjoy his cuteness while we can. 

For two years we have fantasized about clipping our chickens' wings. They have 8 acres to free range on but mostly prefer to be all up in our business: dust bathing in the flower beds around our house, eating the plants near our front door, and pooping on our driveway and front walk.

This is an action shot: see the dirt flying?

I'll never forget when we were remodeling our kitchen and our contractor was storing his tall, standing tool box in our garage. One of our chickens was obsesssed with nesting in his box of nails. I kept booting her out and she kept returning. Finally one day he walked into the house with a look of distaste on his face, held an egg out, and said, "It's still warm." I sent him home with a complimentary dozen eggs, including that one, and told him to tell his kids it had been laid in his nails.

I have felt the need for more flower-beauty in my life, but knew I had to ensure the chickens would not dig up my flower beds by first clipping their wings. This would ensure they could free-range in the pastures but not fly up over the fences to be in our yard space. We watched a Youtube video, pulled them off their roost one-by-one under the cloak of darkness, and clipped those suckers. 

Feathers are like fingernails - they have no feeling, so no pain. We just clipped the eleven flight feathers half-way up. It was suggested that just clipping one wing was enough to hinder flight, so that is what we began with. The next day, all the chickens were out as usual, so we snuck back in that night, plucked them off the roost again, and clipped the other wing.

Wing-clipping will likely need to be done yearly, but was so much easier than we expected, and has literally changed our lives with chickens. I have lovely flowers growing near the house, the kids can go barefoot in the grass (watch the dog poop!), and the chickens are relegated to the pasture where they belong. We wish we had done it sooner.

Many summer glories still lay before us: 

Sunshine, 

growing animals,

garden bounty,

 long afternoons.

and a very full bucket list.

(We might be the only family with "dentist" on our summer bucket list.)

We can now scratch S-mores off, but we've still got a lot of adventuring to do. And we're off...

More Chickens, Fewer Roosters, and a Freezer-Full of (Chicken) Meat

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

Family photo

Someday I'm sure I'll run out of chicken topics to write about, but today is not the day. The well runs deep. 

Last spring, we let the Mama above hatch chicks. They were adorable and she was a good mama... for five weeks! Then she moved herself back into the coop (after being with them in the barn) and never paid a moment's attention to them again. So these small, defenseless chicks fell prey to animals above them on the food chain, at least one predator being our cat, Digs.

Doesn't he look like a mellow sweetie? Don't be fooled. We have
rescued 3 chicks from his clutches (one died) and suspect him in
the disappearance of several others.

After rescuing a chick from his teeth, setting up an ICU unit in the laundry room, and then having to end the chick's misery two days later when he worsened, rather than improved, we moved the chicks to a small mini-coop we have and then had to care for them ourselves. The first mama we allowed to hatch chicks took care of them until they were almost her size and we never had to do a thing, so this was very disappointing. 

That's Blood-Stop powder on the
chick's neck, which I had conveniently
stocked in my animal first-aid kit.
Sadly, this chick didn't make it.

We had determined to never let this neglectful mama hatch chicks again, and then came the surprise hatching I wrote about a couple of months ago where she unknowingly hid out on some eggs until we found 10 chicks running around the barn one morning. And once again, she moved herself back into the coop when they were five weeks old, but we were expecting it this time. We did rescue two decent-sized chicks from the jaws of Digs, once when Digs actually climbed the fence and entered the chicken pasture specifically to attack. Bad kitty! Both chicks lived and we have since moved them into the protective mini-coop. The problem with this surprise hatching was that it moved us into the realm, numbers-wise, of 30-something chickens. I can't really keep track exactly, but I'm pretty sure I'm venturing into the realm of "Crazy Chicken Lady". Plus, half of them are black and look exactly the same now because they are a "barnyard mix" and black is the dominant trait. I can't tell anyone apart The current batch in the mini-coop is 8 or 10 weeks old?? I don't know. Too many chickens! When they get to a certain size, Digs will leave them alone, and we will release them to the rest of the flock.

The mini-coop full of chicks and a photobomber

Surprisingly, Brody the bird-dog has never caught or even chased a chicken. He is the best dog in the world and I really don't think it is in his power to disobey us. We may have told him no once years ago and that was the end of the matter. He and the chicks/chickens co-exist peacefully. 

Brody, the ever-obedient

If we're having all these chicks, then there must be roosters on the premises, right? A few months back I wrote about having three roosters from the first batch of eggs we hatched, which was at least two too many. We knew that two must be "eliminated", but as much as we are embracing this farm life, we kept procrastinating the task of offing two roosters, for it's not a pleasant task. But neither is having a sky-high feed bill without eggs to show for it, so finally, I came home from grocery shopping one day and the kids excitedly informed me that the deed had been done and that they had watched. Or at least they had watched the first one, and surprised at its brutality, opted to excuse themselves for the second round. Home education.

How did we decide which rooster to keep? He was the one who was the first to crow and whom we all just felt warmest towards . (These matters of life and death are so subjective.) After we committed to him being our one rooster, the guardian of our flock, and after watching him in action, we decided to name him Prince Caspian, for he is very noble.

Prince Caspian

Honestly, he is the perfect rooster. We have not lost a single hen since he has been on duty. He is not aggressive toward us, but very protective of them. When I bring a bowl of scraps out, he could easily take the choicest morsels for himself, as he is 2-3 times their size, but instead will pull things out and then make this certain call that beckons the hens over and he'll offer it to them first. When they are out free-ranging, he constantly stands alert, watching for predators while they forage. It is quite sweet and moving. I love to watch it. Of course, he does take his pleasure when the urge strikes, as the 100% hatching rate for our eggs proves. But that is how our blessed Creator designed it and the system works.

We have wanted to venture into raising meat chickens for quite some time. After seeing certain videos and pictures, and reading certain news articles about the conditions of commercial chicken farms it has been very trying for my conscience to purchase chicken at the grocery store. I occasionally succumb to the "I-have-no-idea-what-to-make-for-dinner-so-I'll-buy-a-Fred-Meyer-rotisserie-chicken" purchase, but mostly we don't eat chicken, accept when I can be a part of a home-grown operation and raise and butcher ourselves or buy on a Facebook homesteading classifieds page I belong to. That is not an indictment on anyone else's chicken purchases, but my own conscience has been pricked. It's horribly inhumane out there.

I have read countless articles about raising meat chickens. There are basically two breeds: Cornish-Cross (what all grocery store chicken is) and Freedom Rangers. Cornish-Cross are bred to get very huge very fast. They are difficult to free-range because they are so large that they pretty much eat, poop, and lay in it. If you let them live past eight weeks, they are likely to have a heart attack (they are bred for those huge, white-meat breasts we've grown accustomed to) or their legs break because they cannot support the above-referenced breasts/bodies. The Freedom Rangers are a heritage bird that free-range and take longer to get to target weight, but lead a more "natural" life as they have not been designed to live and die in eight weeks. But we've heard their meat is a little darker and not quite what we've grown accustomed to, yet still we wanted to give them a try.

10 cornish-cross chicks

In June, we had three broody chickens at one time, so we decided to try and buy some meat chicks and see if a chicken would accept them as her own and raise them for us because we're lazy like that. (I asked the question on a Facebook homesteading chat group I belonged to and people testified they had had success with this.) I called around everywhere and only one place had ten cornish-cross chicks left. We snatched them up (even though we would've preferred to try the Freedom Rangers), waited until dark, and covertly tucked them around one our most matronly hens. The problem is these weren't the helpless little one day old chicks making their pathetic chirping sounds. They were left-over two-week old chicks and already decent sized. That broody mama freaked out, moved herself back into the coop and snapped out of her broodiness completely, as did the other two broodies when we attempted to force an adoption on them. We have NEVER been able to snap a hen out of broodiness except to let her hatch eggs or move into the broody-buster. 

Suddenly we had ten meat chicks we were not prepared to raise, along with a diabolical cat, so we quickly threw the chicks in a barn stall and strung chicken-wire over the top. Caleb put a little roost in, but these are not natural chickens and they never did roost. We fed them constantly and because they were inside, their days and nights were mixed up. They would sleep during the day and be active at night when we turned their heat lamp on to ward off the evening chill. I suppose they didn't quite lead the "free-range" life we would hope our meat chickens would lead. But honestly, they could not even walk around. They would eat laying down. They would take a couple of steps and have to rest. It was uncomfortably unnatural. By the time I called Mineral Springs Poultry to make a butchering appointment, I could not get in until they were 9 1/2 weeks old, which is dangerous for a Cornish-Cross. I ended up calling back just after eight weeks to see if they had a cancellation because I was worried about these chickens dying on me. They were obscenely obese, and thankfully I was able to get in earlier.

Here is how our cost broke down:
10 chicks @ $2 each = $20
4 bags non-GMO, soy-free, organic material feed @ $18 =  $76
Butchering 10 chickens @ $3.20 = $32
1 bag of cedar bedding chips @ $6 = $6 
_____________________________________________________
Total cost = $134

The chickens came in between 5 1/2 lbs and 7 lbs for a total of 60 lbs of meat, making them $2.23/lb.

Caleb had an hour to kill after dropping the chickens off at the poultry processor, so he ate lunch at the casino nearby, winning $20 while there. I am totally counting that against our cost, bringing our cost per pound down to $1.90.  
Some final thoughts: This was a very quick, easy, relatively cheap six-week project. All we had to do was feed/water them twice a day and clean out their barn stall weekly. I do think our chickens had a better life than in a factory farm because they could at least move around, though they were hardly able to. Next time I would absolutely like to try the Freedom Ranger breed and attempt to free-range them. Also, it was convenient that we bought them at two weeks old, as that saved us some feed. And the feed was quality, so much better than any that is given in conventional farming, so I feel good about that. Price, though, cannot be the bottom-line in a venture like this, as we cannot compete with Tyson or any other conventionally farmed chickens. I'm not sure what an "organic" Trader Joes or Fred Meyer chicken runs, but I think we were probably competitive. Regardless, I am very satisfied with this view into my freezer. 

We had a little four month old rooster we sent to be processed from one of our hatchings along with the Cornish-Cross. Even though he was twice as old, he was a pathetic two pounds. I'm not sure how good of eating he'll be, so I think I'll just make some broth out of him. Shockingly, out of seven surviving chicks, he was the only rooster. 6 hens!!!! Those odds are unheard of - akin to winning the lottery. Not mathematically, of course. But practically speaking, that NEVER happens! There are six remaining chicks in our mini-coop now, so we shall see if we are so lucky this time. If so, I may have to head out and buy a lottery ticket. 

Moving Forward, Loading Cows, and a Not Unpleasant Surprise

Summer is rolling by. The pastures are parched, the garden is growing, and the kids are enjoying mostly unscheduled days.

Last blog entry I shared how three animals in the photo at right should be pregnant, but are not. Marianne, the little black goat, was our last hope and her possible due-dates have come and gone, even though we saw her mating with Westley the buck during two heat cycles. I belong to a "goat health care" Facebook group and asked the question: Why would a healthy doeling with regular heat cycles NOT get pregnant??? There are many possibilities, but the most common reasons suggested were a vitamin deficiency (most likely vitamin A) or cysts that prevent pregnancy. We really want goat babies, but after Elinor's stillbirth and the time and money it would require to have a vet assess Marianne and then try and get them both to a buck (pretty sure we don't want a buck here again) on the one day they are in heat (which likely will not be on the same day)... I'm just burned out on the process right now. Perhaps we'll re-assess next spring. 

When we bought Annabelle the black Irish Dexter cow in January we were given the name of a lady who has an Irish Dexter bull that we might be able to use in future. We contacted her and though she didn't want her bull to come to us (she has a closed herd, meaning she does not vaccinate or worm because she does not allow her cows to come in contact with other pastures) she was willing for our two girls to come pasture at her farm for a couple of months. Though we offered to pay her or have a large quantity of hay delivered to her as a useful thanks, she declined. She is just being extremely generous to us, people she's never met. I'm finding that country folks are mostly really kind, giving people.

So the date was set for us to load our two cows into the livestock trailer that we bought from the people who sold us Annabelle and drive them an hour into the hills. I think this trailer is pretty sweet. Originally it had a bumper sticker that said "Back off city boy, country girl on board!" But mercifully I peeled it off before Caleb had to tow it for the first time.  

Bless you, Nutmeg

I asked my experienced neighbor for advice on loading the cows and she said, "Allow yourself plenty of time and just feed them into the trailer. Whatever you do, do not get frustrated. If they know that you want them to get in, that is the last place they will go." Knowing that these girls will follow me anywhere if I'm holding a bucket of grain, I really was not too worried. At this point I will abridge the story and say that after two hours of continuous effort we had loaded zero cows. The grain did not work. Apples did not work. Hay did not work. I was a sweaty mess (that trailer does not breathe!), near tears, seeking guidance from God, and was about to give up, when Nutmeg decided to just hop right in. Praise the Lord! 

Daylight was waning, so we tried Annabelle one last time, but she declined. She is 11 and perhaps wise even beyond her years. She has had several owners. She has calved every year of her life. She understands that no good comes from riding in trailers. 

Annabelle does what she wants. And as I now realize, she also doesn't do what she doesn't want. I have to respect a cow who knows her mind. Nutmeg is still hanging with Buddy the Bull and is hopefully pregnant even as I write this. Annabelle is still un-pregnant in our pasture. 

Annabelle's not hating that grain bucket now

One species of animal we have not struggled to breed are chickens. Last week Caleb came in from the barn and said, "Here's one for you. Apparently we've been missing a chicken for 21 days because there is a black chick running around the barn." Yes, we've gone from naming our chickens to not even counting them at night because I can't remember how many we have and half of them are black (black being the dominant trait in the "barnyard mix" chicks we keep hatching) and I don't know who's who. So it was quite feasible that we had missed a chicken for three weeks without realizing it. After hearing this, I just assumed a hen had sat on one of her own eggs and hatched one chick. The next morning I went out to find not one, but ten adorable fluffy chicks scurrying around the barn. 

We really didn't want more chickens right now, but it's hard to be too upset with this much adorableness pecking and scratching around the barnyard. 

And there's something about summer that just makes everything all right.