Since both Ruth and I
have jobs in town, our homesteading is interrupted by hours of absence.
After returning one summer evening early on in our chicken business, we
went out to check the garden, feed the birds, and gather eggs.
As all good
farmers do, we counted the flock… not much of a job in our case. We were
short one hen. There was no sign of trouble (I’m resisting the temptation
to say foul/fowl play), but there was a spot in the overhead netting that
had come loose. So we started hunting. I went down the hill to the
road, to make sure the hen wasn’t about to get hit by a car, and Ruth
walked the top of the hill. Soon we heard the hen, followed the sound,
and located her in the tall grass. The location, of course, kept moving.
Chicken catching, Take Two.
With our vast
experience, the process went much more quickly this time. Very soon the
hen was in, the netting was secured, and we brought the dog out in the
yard with us. Elle quickly found what looked to us like a dinosaur egg
lying on the hill. Well, maybe an ostrich egg. OK, so it was just a two-yolker,
but remember we’re new at this. Later, the dog found two more eggs in the
same area. We still haven’t figured out the math on that one!
The first real
chicken emergency occurred a few weeks later. Since the farm where we got
Little Buck and the Buxoms had their dogs penned right beside the chicken
runs, as extra protection, we thought nothing of having Elle with us one
day while we were cleaning the garden. Little Buck was watchful but not
alarmed. Elle was curious but not problematic. And the hens were just
doing their thing. Ruth and I went on to do ours, just enjoying our
Peaceable Kingdom as we pulled out dead plants and closed the beds for the
season. Suddenly, total chaos broke loose. Elle had pushed through the
fence to the chickens.
Little Buck acted
exactly as you would expect a rooster to act. He drew Elle’s attention to
him so the hens could get into their coop. Once again, a chicken chase
was on, only this time it was a matter of life and death. At one point in
the running and yelling and arm flailing, Elle got Buck’s neck in her
mouth. Fortunately, she let go of him long enough for Ruth to grab her
and for Buck to escape to another area of the garden. The dog had a “come
to Jesus” meeting with Ruth, the rooster had a few days of canine-induced
laryngitis, and we were all faced with the reality that chicken-raising
may not be all that easy after all. It is still, however, exciting.
Since that crisis
moment, life is back to our version of normal. We’ve moved the Chicken
Wagon to its winter location, closer to the house and the compost pile.
We’ve wrapped the sides in heavy plastic, added a black metal roof (lined
with bubble wrap insulation) to absorb sunlight, and are playing with some
ideas to add solar lights and alternate “heat” for the long Michigan
winter.
Little Buck and the
Buxoms are back to normal, too. They follow me around when I’m out in the
yard, come to the gate to meet me, and eat out of my hand with regularity.
The other day, when I bent over to pick up eggs, Buck even decided to jump
up on my back and use me for his ramp to get outdoors… and then stood and
waited for me to give him some food. His personality is only exceeded by
his appetite.
Despite the comedy of
errors, everyone is healthy and happy. The eggs are less expensive than
they were at first, the flannel shirts are warm, and the boots are comfy.
We may not be 100% homestead, but for us this is the real thing. And
Half-Caff Country feels pretty darn good! Coffee anyone?
