I heard crowing at dawn. I stretched and smiled, hearing that beautiful familiar sound. My eyes shot open and I jumped out of bed. I searched with sleepy eyes through the window trying to catch sight of who was actually a rooster. Then…nothing. No crowing for days. None of the hens looked like a rooster and I have had six out of seven of them for a year and a half.
Twice now I have pulled my car into the driveway and heard crowing coming from my own backyard. I throw open the gate and stand there as the hens chirp and ask to be let out of their yard. Suspicious. No rooster.
Last week I ran in to see who was crowing and one of the Jersey Giants was pulled up tall just like a rooster. Ah ha! But she lays eggs. Addie came over and we looked at all the chickens. No spurs, no crazy feathers, no prettier than other chickens chicken. And they all lay eggs.
I decided to look into this phenomenon. Addie has a few hen crowers. The internet is filled with tales of crowing hens. It seem that without a rooster to rule the roost a hen will become the queen. She will crow to scare predators or to announce her dissatisfaction, or to let me it’s time to wake up and give them feed. So this really is the best of both worlds, I get my beloved, familiar farm sound (just not every ten minutes throughout the day) without any of the testosterone jerkiness and she lays eggs. How lovely.
Gandalf the Great Pyrenees had a new toy. The story goes (according to him anyway) that Buttercup the chicken got out of the pen and he was simply attempting to corral her back in. Three quarters of her was stuck in his mouth as I screamed at him.
Forget hawks, eagles, raccoons, skunks, bears, coyotes, or any other predator you may have heard about. Dogs are the most common predator chickens face.
My friend, Addie- aka Superwoman…if war breaks out, we are heading to her house- brought us three chickens to make up for Buttercup. Buttercup, was of course, our best layer. These three have some work to do. They were in a large coop hanging out in the front yard when we got home. A lovely surprise! We quietly put them in the coop in the night so that the chickens would all be fooled and think that they were always there come morning and there would be no blood baths. It always works. Except when it doesn’t.
We used the portable coop she loaned us that the chickens had been delivered in to lock up the chickens. “Should I put the three new girls in the pen?”
“No,” she replied, “you lock up the bullies!”
She further explained (if y’all knew how many homesteading lessons I have had from this gal over the years you would think she should have written a book!) that if you put the new girls in the pen it only tells the old girls that they are indeed below them. If you lock up the mean girls then they come to understand that they are not the bosses. It worked like a charm.
Then the egg eating started. Oh, those three rascals. One of them was eating eggs like she was sitting in an IHOP. Addie suggested we raise their protein intake in their food because they were all molting and they needed more nutrients to get through it. We also laid golf balls around the coop so the culprit would peck those once and would stop pecking eggs. That worked but no one is laying eggs right now!
I have been a subscriber since I was twelve years old to a magazine about country living. I am afraid its gotten a little high falutin and ridiculous. Very pretty pictures but really geared for rich people who have no idea what farming is about. Photographs of chicken coops with pea gravel and curtains with lush, landscaped yards and chickens crossing the kitchen without any poo in sight. I love it, but it is a little deceiving.
We have a noxious tree that I love called Tree of Heaven here, or Chinese Sumac. It’s poisonous so the chickens don’t eat it. It has popped up all over the chicken yard creating a jungle atmosphere and shade. When they first moved in they had two foot high grasses to jump through. They will eat any plant that is edible, y’all. Do not landscape your chicken yard!
We looked around this place and saw the chickens, the infant orchard, the vegetables growing tall, and the pumpkins jumping out of their beds, and we have realized that we live on a perfect urban farm. A lot of people cannot afford to live out in the country and I have decided to reopen my Homesteading School. I will be teaching canning, preserving, baking, cooking, gardening, and much more as our little-farm-that-could gets more organized and utilized.
Check out my Facebook page for events here! I will also be putting a link on this blog. Happy Homesteading!
They, too, wait for spring when fresh greenery pushes through to be pecked at and enjoyed by the hens of Pumpkin Hollow Farm. I love chickens. And the thing we missed most when we were away from a farm was having chickens. They make a farm a home anywhere you can keep them. Their colorful feathers, changing in the sun, their strut through high weeds and the way they tilt their head to look at you with one eye. They are hilarious in demeanor and each one is as different as my cats.
Yogi and Hindi are Jersey Giants and we refer to them as the Jersey girls. They tend to stick together. Their large black feathers sparkle emerald in the sunlight. They lay large brown eggs. They were late bloomers but seem to be catching up with others.
Eloise was supposed to be a Marans but she lacks speckles and I think she is actually an Australorpe. She lays small tan eggs wherever she pleases; outside the coop door, near the chicken food-as if the egg popping out surprises her. She wants to be pet but then changes her mind. She sleeps by herself and is a little…um…special. But she is very sweet.
Buttercup is the tiny queen here. A clean, white egg can be found each day. Her breed is Buttercup which is what led to her name. She looks like a miniature leopard with a rose shaped crown. She wants nothing to do with us. Unless we have a bit of cracked corn.
Owlette is an Auracana. This lovely breed looks like an owl and lays blue-green eggs. I would like a few more of these ladies. They are sassy and good layers.
We have fallen for Salmon Favorelles. These girls are beautiful in their French finest and petticoats. They lay pink eggs regularly and are very friendly. Bubba is especially sweet. Our granddaughter named our chickens. Bubba and Chichi are cute names indeed.
We feed organic layer feed and organic scratch. They eat scraps from the kitchen as well. They have a large fenced in area that was likely a dog run in the past with seven foot fencing. They live in an adobe house with trumpet vine that climbs prettily up the side in the summer. We are all ready for a little color and for winter to pass! They are able to wander the yard on the days the puppy goes to the shop with me. I don’t trust his puppyness quite yet. Chickens are very easy to keep. They require little more than a straw strewn shed or chicken coop, fresh water, scratch, oyster shells, scraps, and feed. They love dirt baths and bugs and sunlight. They put themselves to bed in the evening at last light. All you have to do is open the door in the morning and close the door at night.
We are vegan but we do eat the eggs from our own chickens. Our chickens lead a very nice life with pets, treats, and lots of wandering adventures. They will live here their entire life and so in that way they are lucky. No factory farms, cages, enclosed barns, or slaughter for them.
So now as spring approaches we have the question to answer; do we “adopt” five more chicks even though the hatcheries are horrific and provide five chickens with a beautiful future or do we wait and see if we are sent five chickens that need rescuing? There are many moral decisions to be made on a small hobby farm. We do know that chickens make this mini-farm a happier place to live. A farm without chickens is not quite a home.
My goodness, we used to obsess over our chickens. We practically brought them in the house if it were cold. They lived in a cushy 10×10 with windows and heat lamps and were carefully stowed away at night to hide them from all the chicken dinner seekers that come out with the stars.
These are my housemate’s chickens. The rooster I have dubbed “Genghis Khan” for his reputation, which I have not yet countered. He is kind to me through the fence as I throw over melons and this and that. He lives in his bachelor pad alone. Again, not the nicest fellow, so I hear. No other chickens to keep him warm, generally not locked up, but he has four walls.
The ladies live in the smallest apartment I have ever seen. They seem to enjoy it and must be quite warm with body heat. How they all survived last year’s negative zero temps I will never know. They do not get locked up. They did lose three sisters this year but these girls, even on nights their door slams by wind without them in and the have to sleep outdoors, have escaped all manner of frostbite and skunk marauders.
Perhaps I was too coddling with my hens. If there is an animal we miss most, it’s chickens. I suppose when we get our own we will again be ridiculously overprotective chicken parents but at least I will have the wisdom that they are a bit tougher than I give them credit for.
We saw the sign on the door of Big R (our local farm store) as we walked in, “Chicks arrive July 31st!” We have never taken home chicks mid-summer but it made rather good sense. Just a day or so earlier Doug was talking to someone who told him that if we get chicks in the summer they start laying in mid-winter when many of the girls have slowed production. After losing three chickens last week and the others on strike, we figured we better get some more chickies.
I think it is absolutely fabulous that places like Denver and Colorado Springs allow chickens. The fact that they only allow eight and four birds respectively is baffling to me, however. What would one do with four birds? Should one die, or go broody, or the others stop laying for winter, or whatever the situation may be, it would be hard to keep enough eggs coming in! Plus I seem to have a chicken addiction. Not an addiction to eating them, but rather to watching their antics and having them around. So Saturday our numbers jumped to twenty five and secured our permanent place in the country.
We went in to the enclosure to pick out our new chicks and cooed and chased down the cutest and fluffiest ones then would give them a kiss before putting them in the travel box. Both of us, completely smitten by the little birds. The burly salesmen eyed us as if we might be from the city…or Mars.
The house has more charm with chirping in the air. The little fluff balls running about the bathtub are adorable and in the middle of winter our teenagers and ducks, plus these ten layers will provide, not only priceless entertainment, but numerous meals with farm fresh eggs.