New Logo!

Hi everybody! After much discussion we've modified our logo/business card. Our old design was literally a draft sketch made by Jeff when he dreamed up and pitched this whole crazy chicken idea to me when we still lived in Madison. We liked it because it was simple and always reminded us of how simple and fun the idea started out. But, like the saying goes, we've come a long way baby. We wanted our new card to be a little classy (if you can think of a rooster as classy... we do) and to have a clean, professional appearance. Plus we paid homage to our first Dark Cornish roo. He's the "gentleman" you'll see in the middle of the farm name. This all probably doesn't mean much to our existing customers, but we're hoping the eye-catching orange will get new folks to give us a second look and find out just how serious we are about tasty chicken raised in a humane and sustainable way.

Psychological Warfare?

So today the weather was warm enough that the chickens spent the better part of the day rummaging around in the barnyard, digging through manure and hay. I went out to give the heifers hay in the afternoon and give the chickens some scratch grain and found one rooster crowing, incessantly. That's not entirely uncommon, but he was being VERY persistent. I happen to turn slightly and caught site of the hen house out of the corner of my eye. That's when I noticed the "chicken door" was shut. We have a vertical sliding door made of scrap plexiglass and we prop it open with a stick. The whole lower portion of the hen house is a separate area, essentially enclosed in greenhouse material (mostly transparent) to gather heat from the sun and provide a lounge area and extra nest boxes. I quickly went over to open the door only to find just ONE bird inside.... the other rooster! All of the other hens were out frollicking, along with the #2 rooster, who was making so much noise, all right there for the #1 rooster to see. Now that little chicken door hasn't gotten knocked closed in quite a long time, so I ask you, was it intentional? Did #2 trap #1? Is this war?

What's Love Got To Do With It?

Last year we kept a rooster with our flock for the first time. I've heard my share of rooster horror stories but after we discovered the Dark Cornish I fell in love. So much in love I wanted a breeding flock, which meant keeping a rooster. I admit I chose our first rooster in part because of his color. He had "blazing saddles"... fantastic orange near his tail that contrasted so beautifully against his dark browns and emerald greens. I fell hard for the little guy. He was little when we chose him. Our first Dark Cornish batch was raised later than our batches of Cornish Rocks and Wyandottes. By the time we got to sorting through the Dark Cornish batch for keepers, the Wyandotte laying flock had been chosen.

Our darling little rooster was named Rusty for his flashes of orange and brought down off the hill (where we pasture our meat birds) and confined for a time with two Dark Cornish hens from the same batch. We had the three penned with some three foot chicken wire so they could get acquainted with the Wyandottes visually before joining them. Being younger, they were markedly smaller than the Wyandottes that patrolled the area peering at them. After some time we placed the Dark Cornish with the Wyandottes. The Dark Cornish hens adjusted, though they were low in the pecking order, but poor Rusty had a difficult time. He wasn't a hen, but the Wyandottes still insisted on harrassing him, endlessly, because he was small. It was the most difficult adolesence a bird could have, if you asked him. Eventually he got a little of the size his breed is known for, but he remained quite friendly to us - the people - and generally passive with the Wyandotte hens. With the hens of his own breed he achieved some status and went about the normal mission of a rooster, to serve and protect. But then there were only two hens of his kind to worry over.

Finally spring rolled around. Spring holds a lot of meaning for a rooster. Namely, it means mating. Or should I say, MATING. It is that important. To a rooster. Suddenly Rusty rose from his meek beginnings and began hassling the Wyandottes, even, dare I say, choosing a few of them to be part of his flock. I was very proud of my little rooster, who wasn't little any more. But then it happened. I'd put the horror stories out of my mind for so long, had fed my pet rooster and cared for him through a long, cold winter, and then, BAM! I went to check the flock after a brief trip to town, stepped out of the henhouse after gathering eggs and... what?! Something kicked/hit/grabbed my leg and pounded on my foot! It all happened so suddenly that by the time I looked down at my pummeled foot I just saw feathers ceasing to flap and my sweet Rusty peering up at me a step away.

I convinced myself that Rusty was having a reaction to my shoes. I'd just gotten back from town and was wearing sneakers for the first time in months. He was only familiar with my winter boots, so I was certain something about the sneakers set him off. I was very surprised when I took said sneaker out and set it down near him and backed up. No reaction. Not even a glance. This was concerning. If it wasn't the sneaker, then what? Surely my pet didn't suddenly decide he didn't like me. But sadly I was wrong. Time passed and Rusty perfected his attacks. He saw me and ran around the greenhouse (set up for the hens' winter leasure when it was cold). It appeared he was running away, but I moved slowly, suspecting he'd gone from random attacks to plotting. As I approached the door of the greenhouse Rusty burst around the corner, rushing my feet. Another time I was walking back to check eggs and I saw Rusty in the distance. There was a flatbed trailer parked along the poleshed that I needed to walk by. When I noticed Rusty suddenly disappear on the far end of the trailer from me I looked down to see him running from under the trailer closest to me, again at my feet.

My darling boy became known as the ankle kicker. He was an amazing watch rooster. I knew when anything was amiss or if someone walked or drove on the property. He kept a constant lookout, out in the open while the hens stayed under brush cover, and would crow when his idea of trouble came anywhere near. Unfortunately I was now his idea of trouble and I spent the next three or more months carrying a light pitchfork or other deterrent to fend off any mid-flight attacks. I didn't club him or brutalize him in any way, the outcome of so many of those rooster horror stories. I just attempted to protect my ankles (and feet and hands and anything else that might be exposed). We agreed to disagree until some of our marvelous hens hatched some chicks fathered by Rusty. In the end Rusty went the way of the chicken in noodle soup. He was a good rooster, but such a disagreement could only go on so long.

Since then we've chosen our new rooster, named Chief. He's a hulk of a guy, largest chest I've seen and heavy as a rock. He's not as flashy as Rusty but he's got the personality of a leader. As usual, when we were sorting birds on the hill in the fall, many got out of their "chicken tractor" pens. Chief was one of them. When he freed himself he contentedly went to work picking through a cow patty and clucked insistently at a group of hens that were also out. He was showing the hens that he'd found food for them, and like a good rooster, he allowed them to eat first before taking any for himself. He kept a close eye on the sky, too, and made the appropriate vocal warnings when anything flew overhead. His demeanor with the hens was gentle and he was large. Outside of being average-looking, he was everything we could have wanted, so the choice was made.

Having finally set my protective pitchfork down and been able to walk about the farm doing chores without looking over my shoulder, I was concerned about my future with another rooster. I read up on how to keep them and how to keep peace with them. My husband reassured me this guy was sweet. He'd pick him up and the giant would go limp, no fighting. He'd scratch his chest and the rooster would merely peer back and blink. Things were good and I finally got around to a little chest scratching and conversation with him, too. I was convinced that things would be different. This guy had been exposed to more (namely a pushy little puppy that insisted on sticking his nose deep into chickens' feathery butts to say "hi"). I thought he was worldlier and that we had an understanding that I was the farmer, just there to assist in taking care of his "girls". Oh, we were great friends. It was fantastic.... Then we had a warm day. And then another warm day. Apparently we didn't have an understanding. I just had the advantage of some serious cold that hampered Chief's ability to really flex his birdy might. A little rise in temperature and this guy was warmed up. So one blood blister later (they grab with their beaks - did you know that?) and some strong and assertive pecks on my rubber boot and I'm thinking.... better get my pitchfork out.

Amps, Watts, Volts and Cold

How do we while away the winter evenings? We're heading into another cold spell so tonight we multi-tasked. Jeff fired up the woodburning stove and we boiled water to make tea and relax with the dog and cat in the basement. Well, the cat wasn't really relaxed and the dog was just pretending to be relaxed in between harassing the cat so he could get that dog treat in my hand. Then we discussed how many water heating elements, heaters and heat lights could be run in various combinations without overworking the single fuse all are on while still keeping everybody (every chicken-body and heifer-body) content.

We've got one hen with a hurt foot healing up so she's alone on one side of the hen house and we've had to take Rosie out of solitary. Rosie is the single homegrown hen we kept from the batch that were hatched from our birds on the farm last year. For the past few weeks she's been broody, hogging a nest, sitting on a wooden egg all day, and thinking now is a good time of year to have a little batch of chicks. You can see how this would be a problem. So we isolated her in the old tiny hut alone this weekend while the weather was warm. That's one of the possible "cures" for broodiness... to separate the hen and leave her with food, water, but no nest. Since it's going to be so cold we let her back in with the group tonight. She's obviously not yet "cured" as she showed us by promptly hopping up into one of the nest boxes and growling (I don't know a better word to describe it) at us when we reach in to remove her. I guess she and I will be having more discussions this week about what weather is good for raising chicken kids.

Stay warm everybody!
Toby

Think a heritage bird just won't do the trick?

Need a large bird for a family or gathering? Put two heritage birds in your roasting pan! Works great, takes just a little longer to cook than one small bird and has the added benefit of more drumsticks to go around for kids!

Didn't have time to think of what's for supper but still want something healthy? The smaller heritage birds (particularly 3 1/2 lbs. and under) can go straight from freezer to roasting in the oven, no need to thaw. This can limit the options for preparation - no yummy herbs under the skin - but it's nice in a pinch and doesn't detract from the flavor.

Why else are the Dark Cornish, specifically, so great? We find their flavor just can't be beat. I will prepare other birds for us since we have them, and we have it on good authority that the Wyandottes make great stock and do fantastic on the grill, but I'm always sad when I search the freezer and find no more Dark Cornish. There's a great deal of information available on heritage birds now. Most people remark that their flavor far surpasses the Cornish Rock crosses, in part do to the slower growth. I'll be working on providing more links to information on the heritage birds but we know that, ultimately, it's your taste that will have to make the final choice.

Just a thought

We are passionate about what we do here on the farm. For us sustainability isn't just a marketing phrase. Our farm is our work, our home, our vacation, our life. In order to have balance, health, happiness and dreams we have to make decisions about our involvement with the nature around us in an intelligent and feeling way.

Sustainability is a goal. It isn't something we can claim at this time but life is about moving, evolving and growing with purpose. Sustainability is a path. For every action we take we can ask ourselves, "will this help the land and animals we are responsible for become independently and interdependently perpetual while lessening human intervention?" And lastly, sustainability is a measure. For every day, month and year that goes by we can ask ourselves, "have we brought the land and animals we are responsible for closer to thriving without our assistance?"

There are limitations and our farm isn't a wild place. We have cheated nature a bit to have the privilege of participating more in her processes. That tinkering with nature comes with a great deal of responsibility. We aren't just responsible for feeding and watering these animals we've chosen to keep domestic. We are responsible for our part in the larger picture. Like any other area in life, we have to have ethics and understand the far-reaching effects of our actions when altering nature - from breeds of chickens to plant genetics. I'm certain I will never understand all that goes on around me on our farm - bacteria, plants, soil, animals (wild, domestic, physical, mental, social aspects). My hope is to understand as much as possible to limit negative outcomes that are the result of my a actions.

Snow!

Every year we do more, plan more, know more, but then mother nature hands us the next course, in this case snow, and it feels like the first time. We run around the day before and right into the day of the first "real" snow trying to finish up things we forgot will become important when everything is frozen and buried in white. Yesterday while it began flurrying we put some finishing touches on Jeff's "Bridge to Nowhere", a.k.a. the electrical running overhead to the big day house/lounge for the chickens. The whole apparatus is a little questionable but let's just say we didn't exceed budget on it.

First thing this morning I shoveled a path, door to door, from the hen house to the chickens' day house, figuring they'd want to head inside until the wind died down. Leave it to a bunch of chickens to stray from the straight, cleared path, freak out at the sight of snow, flap and fly and land in a drifted area, squawk about it and have to be ushered back onto the cleared path. Last in line were the two roosters. I "escorted" our second stringer down the path where he quickly hopped into the lit house to be with the hens. Then I turned to see our giant number one rooster, Chief, standing in the entry of the hen house, clearly shocked by the snow and wind. He was about to turn and go back inside (not an option, the girls have eggs to lay and they can't have male riff raff hanging around the hen house during the day). So the big guy got a ride today. He made a bit of a fuss when I stuck my hand under his chest, but he grudgingly accepted the ride. I crouched and set him on my leg so he could hop off and enter the day house on his own. Not so much as a thank you from him for saving his tender little clod hoppers from the cold cold walk. Ahhhhh, a heat lamp, unfrozen water and no snow whipping at their faces... what more could a chicken want?

p.s. - Herbie's "Wubba" toy appears to be lost for good... or for the winter. We've asked Herbie repeatedly after that first light snow to "find your Wubba" and he's looked, nose in the snow, but to no avail. Such a sad thing for a puppy to lose his favorite toy. But worry not - for dogs, frisbee season knows no end!