Monthly Archives: February 2019

Adventures In Chicken Keeping

28 Thursday Feb 2019

Posted by in Chickens

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Into my eighth year now keeping chickens and I have sampled LOTS of breeds since 2012, 44 to be exact. 

In the early days I had one simple goal. I wanted all the colours. Who cared about productivity? or size? or feed efficiency? or temperament? Not me. I loved my colourful flock, lorded over by my Plymouth Barred Rock rooster Foghorn Leghorn.

Over the first few years, as my chicken-lady mantle settled around my shoulders, I started paying attention to breed characteristics. Much like dogs, chicken breeds come in all shapes and sizes, designed to meet a whole range of environmental conditions and purposes, from pugilist to docile companion to egg producer to Sunday dinner.

There are always special birds like BattleChicken, but generally speaking, brahmas behave like a brahma and australorps act like an australorp. (Birds of a feather really do flock together too, which is fascinating, but a whole other topic.)

Over the next few years I discovered I loved some breeds, while others really irritated me! Some are stupid, others are boring. Some eat a ton of food and their big butts take up half the available roost, but they only produce scrawny little eggs. Some are mean to their flock mates, or flighty to the point of being neurotic. I also learned that I especially can’t abide a whiny, demanding chicken.

There is nothing as effective as direct experience at helping one form an opinion. Therefore, my fellow chicken people, may I present, for a limited time only (until my tastes shift), my current favourites, and why. I hope my opinion helps you, even just a little bit, along on your own individual explorations through the universe of chicken keeping.

#1 – Wyandottes

I keep a mixed flock (all the colours!) of these pleasant, respectful birds. They lay like stink, are drop-dead-gorgeous with their delicately laced feathers and pleasingly rounded bodies, forage very well and not one of mine has ever gone broody. (Watch, now I’ve said that, tomorrow I will find a broody one out there). ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ 

#2 – Cream Legbars

After a few false starts I have finally established a strong line here in our muddy valley. A good size for their type, mine lay prodigious numbers of big, round, blue blue eggs. Trim little birds, legbars don’t eat to excess and the roosters are handsome. They get along with everyone, the chicks practically leap from their shells and I can tell their sex at hatch. Way, way better blue egg layers than any Ameracauna lines I ever kept (and I tried several), except for the hardy, prolific hatchery version, who were in truth Easter Eggers sold as “Americanas”, not purebreds. ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ 

#3 – Silkies

Ok, I know. Silkies are impractical, they lay small eggs, can’t fly, not much of a carcass (and it’s a funny colour), take forever to start laying and are IMPOSSIBLE to sex, but gosh I love my silkies. Silkies don’t count when I do my chicken census, they aren’t really chickens anyhow. They are little gentlemen in snowy trousers and little ladies in flouncy tulle gowns, sedately stepping out to take the barnyard air, with their blue earrings on and their parasols twirling in the breeze. They are powderpuff mamas, devoted to their cotton ball children. Silkies are by Monet. ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ 

#4 – Alsteriers

A somewhat obscure old European breed, I got my Alsterier eggs a couple years ago from Briarwood in Mill Bay in a fun pack of breeder’s choice eggs. All four of my Alsterier eggs hatched, and all four were girls. With their jaunty crests and intelligent eyes, my Alsteriers get along with everyone. They lay incredible numbers of massive, pinky almost white eggs and fertility is spectacular. Almost every Alsterier X chick I hatch is a girl too! And Alsty the broody is one of my best mamas. Femininity is strong in my Alsteriers. ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ 

#5 –  Silverudd’s Blue Isbar

The person I got the eggs of this unusual breed from promised me I would love her isbars, and yup. Petite with big personalities, my three cheeky Isbar pullets have been popping out almost an egg a day apiece all winter long, decently sized green ones, some with brown or peachy spots. Exactly the same age as, and in the same flock with, my beautiful silver laced barnevelder pullets, my isbars lay twice as many eggs at least! I am so impressed with these gals that I may see if I can hatch them a man this year. ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ 

6 – Black Copper Marans

Made the list for their egg colour of course. I’ve tried a few; blue, black copper and wheaten, and I like the black copper best. These super mellow birds lay huge cinnamon to chocolate coloured eggs. I just wish they laid more of them. My Marans usually take the winter off laying, lazy things. And I wish my dominant rooster would shut up. He yells a lot. I can only spare four stars for my Marans. If their eggs weren’t so cool, they’d be GONE. ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ 

That’s my short list for 2019. I shall probably choose one or two new breeds to try this year. Right now I have no idea which, but I am looking forward to ruminating on my choices. Because with adventures in chicken keeping, just like so many of life’s other pleasures, half the fun is in the journey, isn’t it!

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Play Farmer

21 Thursday Feb 2019

Posted by in Farm Life, Farm Produce

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Living on a hobby farm gives me an inkling, just a hint, of what it must be like to be a subsistence farmer, a person who earns their living from the land. Holy cow what a challenging lifestyle. 

Farmers get all my respect. It takes huge effort to wrest one’s living straight outta the earth. Our dabbling in raising plants and animals for the table gives me an idea of how hard it must be. It also makes me very grateful that I don’t have to earn my entire living from the soil and my own two hands. 

Like so many early 20th century Canadians, my forebears were agrarians; Dad’s family farmed in northern Alberta and Mom’s ran a plant nursery in northern Manitoba. My grandpa loved the green valley his mother had settled, and lived there all his life. Not so my parents’ baby boomer generation, most of whom left the farm mid-century for the oil patch, suburban living or the big city. Because farming was exhausting work.

In the 60s and 70s we drove up from the coast to the family farm every summer and I fell in love with country life – at least the sanitized comfortable plentiful summertime version of it – and horses too. I think my folks inherited, and passed on, Grandpa’s “green valley” gene to me, because not only was my childhood spent on a hobby farm, we live on one today.

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We count ourselves lucky, my husband and I, to have raised our kids in our very own green valley. Ours is a muddier version than my parents’ but sure doesn’t beat Grandpa’s! My grandparents’ farm, much to my amazement as a small rubber-booted child stuck fast in grandma’s garden, had the muddiest mud of all – that northern Alberta gumbo is formidable stuff! 

Grandpa’s green valley gene, that pull to the countryside, that need for space and wide open surroundings, lives strong in me and I see it in our children too. Some folks crave the action, the bright lights and high rises, the carefully curated city parks. We like all that stuff too, but we are always just a little relieved to get home to our muddy valley. 

Most of all, I am grateful that I get to play farmer, and that I don’t have to be the real thing. I don’t know if I’d have the strength.

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Still Snowy…

19 Tuesday Feb 2019

Posted by in Farm Life, Seasons, Weather

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A week in and the snow is old now. Crusty and heavy and littered everywhere with bits and pieces. Flotsam and jetsam. We still have more than a foot of it in the fields though! And I continue to be thankful for my grassy, muddy paths.

I tried to use one of the packed snow paths yesterday, and darned near threw a knee out. Our slick mud doesn’t seem near as slippery as usual; it certainly provides much more traction than ice.

Most Canadian smallholders – anyone with a yard they need to get around in during winter really – knows the value of a thoroughly-cleared pathway much more than I did until this year. Here in lotus land, where snow doesn’t keep well, we haven’t needed these winter factoids. But we’re learning. Plus getting a better sense of the chilly conditions our fellow citizens cope with all winter long. Brrrrrrrr. All the respect to my prairie and central Canada-dwelling relatives, friends and co-workers. The coast is getting a taste this year of your every-winter reality. And isn’t the sky so blue against the snow! ❤️

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My Snowy Valentine

14 Thursday Feb 2019

Posted by in Chickens, Farm Life, Weather

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The lilies, roses, chrysanthemums and decadent champagne dark chocolate truffles from my dear husband are delightful, but daughter K trumped her Dad’s spoiling today. I don’t know how long it took, I was inside working at my desk, but this afternoon, she dug me a path. From the back door to the barn! And all around the coops! And from the coops to the horse water! It’s life-altering in its own small, meaningful way.

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Can you spot her way out there?

Nice and wide and right down to the grass (the grass! <3). That means no more struggling out there multiple times a day. I shall stroll. And not only that, this path is wheelbarrow-ready! The snow will take weeks to melt in our muddy valley, it always does,  but I will be able to do some clean up out there this weekend. Mucking out I wasn’t physically able to do while navigating two feet of snow. It was hard enough keeping everyone fed and watered.

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Just a small part of the snow she moved

The snow means my birds stay penned in their damp muddy yards. I tried leting the black chickens free range yesterday, but the snow is much taller than chickens. One hen didn’t make it home at all, spending the night who-knows-where. She reappeared this morning, wanting nothing more than back in her coop; a wish I quickly obliged.

 Now I will be able to clean the coops. This will make my chickens comfortable, which will make me and my chickens very happy. So basically dear K has made a difference in the lives of around a hundred souls with her generous work today. Impactful, I’d say.

My new paths have about two inches of fresh snow on them tonight, but it should turn to rain later on, and be back down to grass by the morning. When I shall meander out to do my morning chores.

What a nice person. Her Dad and I musta done something right! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Snowy Surprise

12 Tuesday Feb 2019

Posted by in Farm Life, Seasons, Weather

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I had decided that this would be the winter it didn’t snow. It’s been so warm, up until the last couple weeks! I don’t think we’ve had more than a couple hard frosts all year and besides, we were due for a mild winter. Here in our coastal valley we often get a year, or even two in a row, with no snow. And we almost made it. Until the polar vortex met the pineapple express. A ton of chill and a ton of wet meant a ton of snow for southern Vancouver Island.

From Sunday night to Tuesday afternoon it fell almost uninterrupted, the bulk coming down in the first 24 hours. At its fluffiest, our snow was at least 22 inches deep. Early this evening, when I finally remembered to bring out the ruler, it had compacted down to 18. Tonight as I write this, it has started snowing again. There is. So. Much. Snow.

As anyone who tends livestock knows, cold weather makes for heavy work. We were already carrying buckets of warm water every time we made the trip out to the barnyard. The water lines out there have been frozen for at least a week, since the vortex began her visit. Now we must carry our heavy, splashy load through knee-high snow drifts, or teeter along snow-packed shovel-carved causeways, trying to keep from slipping off into the loose stuff, not always successfully. I can’t decide which is more difficult. Both seem to engage different sets of muscles, so I alternate.

We are enjoying ourselves though. B is on his Kubota, plowing the half-kilometre long lane we share with a few others. A couple of the other neighbourhood men are out too, one walking his snowblower down the road, another perched on his lawn tractor using his homemade blade. Having fun playing with their big boy toys.

My commute to work is short (down the hallway to my home office) and the internet is still on, so there’s no interruption there. That’s one of the downsides of my job, no time off in poor weather. Such is life. But I’m outside at chore time; early morning, noon and nightfall.

In this weather I’m outside working for longer sure, but it’s beautiful out there, especially at night. And so quiet, with few cars on the roads, no planes overhead. The little harbour-to-harbour seaplanes that fly straight down our valley must be grounded. Schools closed, buses partly shut down, ferries too.  Standing out in the crisp cool air last night, I heard a foghorn call, loud and clear, its cozy grey moan rolling in from the sea and echoing across our muddy valley.

Last night the snow icing sugared the trees, every twig etched clearly in white. Tonight, the snow has aged, congealed, lost its powdery texture, and the trees look as though dabbed by tubes of thick white frosting.

The poor chickens aren’t enjoying the snow, it keeps them penned. And the donkeys and horse aren’t thrilled either. The dogs enjoy it, but they get to spend most of their day snoozing in the warm house.

I am kind of enjoying this latest weather drama, so far anyway, despite its inconveniences. It’s snowing again now, and supposed to keep going all night. I wonder what we’ll wake up to?

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Tuesday, Of A Broken Heart

06 Wednesday Feb 2019

Posted by in Chickens, Farm Life

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Hoppy the White faced Spanish chicken passed away late Tuesday evening at the age of five, four short days after suffering the catastrophic loss of her next door neighbour and bosom buddy BattleChicken. Always a very determined little chicken, Hoppy evidently decided she wanted to be with Battle in the Great Beyond. 

In her youth, Hoppy faced incredible adversity, which she overcame courageously (see Hoppy’s Story). After a nocturnal predator attack and the loss of her sisters, a long recovery including learning to walk on her remaining leg, being brutalized by her flock and cast out for her differences and then her brave decision to become a refugee, Hoppy finally found her peace in the black chicken flock and a best friend in BattleChicken.

She was looking great a couple of weeks ago! Her comb was reddening and I thought she might resume laying soon. Having handled her just yesterday, checking in because I could tell she was feeling down, I know she was not sick, her weight was good and her respiration clear. 

And so, in the absence of any signs to the contrary, I can only assume that our tenacious little Hoppy died of a broken heart.

RIP Hoppy, it has been a real honour knowing you. I imagine that you are running free, your bum leg restored and a sparkle in your eye, finally able to keep up with Battle as you range side-by-side across that sunny bug-filled barnyard in the sky.

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Requiem for a Chicken

02 Saturday Feb 2019

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BattleChicken the White Faced Spanish hen passed away yesterday of natural causes, a few weeks shy of her sixth birthday. She is survived by her dear friend Hoppy, her black chicken flockmates, the greater barnyard crew, and her human and quadruped family and friends, many of whom were with her when she died.

 

Hatched in an industrial setting in March 2013, Battle faced an early life challenge, finding herself at a couple days old, huddling stiff-legged and terrified with her fellow fuzzy butts, in a chilly hamster cage on a plastic table at the poultry swap. Scooped up and deposited into a darkish cardboard box with a couple of peeping buddies, she was whisked away to her new home by the excited newbie chicken lady who would be her caretaker and friend for the next six years.

Lucky BattleChicken grew up free, ranging the barnyard with her peeps, learning from the hens and watched over by the roosters.  She laid her first egg in the fall of 2013. Never a star performer in the nest box, Battle produced maybe three medium white eggs a week at her peak. She didn’t take much interest in men either, not even the handsome white faced Spanish fellow we procured for her one year, and she never brooded chicks, although her best friend Hoppy, fathered by Mr. Handsome Spanish, shared her pretty white earlobes, bright red comb and shiny black feathers. She had kin.

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Battle’s main claim to fame was her larger than life personality and her self-imposed role as barnyard ambassador. She was the friendliest chicken I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.

More like a dog than a chicken, Battle would march right over whenever anyone entered her barnyard. “Buuurrrrrk?”, she’d politely inquire, inspecting the visitor minutely. Those whom she knew had no trouble scooping her right up into their arms, and often did, for a quick scratch and cuddle.

BattleChicken quickly became a favourite due to her clear desire to interact with humans. Most chickens prefer to stay at arms length, some are positively shy. But not Battle. A gregarious sort, she got her name from her habit of bumping her chest up against us, like a Pokémon the kids said, wanting to battle.

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After a few good, uneventful years, in spring 2017 BattleChicken got very sick and we thought she was done for. But much to our surprise, she battled her way back to health, as you can read for yourself in BattleChicken’s Story.

After her recovery Battle laid a few more eggs, but in her last summer, 2018, she laid none, although she still continued to fill her barnyard ambassador role. Active until the end, she only began to slow down a couple weeks ago, moving one nestbox over to sleep snuggled up with her neighbour Hoppy. She needed Hoppy’s heat at night by then and Hoppy was only too glad to accommodate her.

 

On Thursday, Battle made it out to free range, although she was really tottering.  She took to her nest box that evening for the last time. A peaceful scene awaited me when I came out at noon the next day to feed. BattleChicken was reclining in her box, eyes closed, her flock standing quietly in a semi circle around her. I knew then that her end was near.

I informed her human family and, one by one they slipped outside, each in their own time, to say their last goodbyes to a truly unique chicken. Battle loosed her bonds with this earth late Friday afternoon, and the barnyard will feel a little bit lonely as we adjust to the loss of our small ambassador.

 

I know that many who read this post will have their own personal recollections of Battle’s friendly nature, of being greeted by that inquisitive “Buuurrrkkk?” upon entering her barnyard domain. Dear BattleChicken captured the hearts of most of the bipeds and quadrupeds who met her, with her way of reaching clear across the species divide to connect. We should all do more of that. 

RIP little chicken. Thank you for sharing your spirit with us for the past few years. It has been our pleasure knowing you.