Gotta Keep Clucking Going: Treat the Treats

Starting and keeping a small business running is definitely NOT for the faint of heart. I remember when I first launched the dog treats in September 2017 and was so excited that the brewery from which the spent grains came from and my friends were clamoring for the treats in those first few weeks.

I began to get confident and think that this was the way that I was going to cover the expenses that come from running a small farm and having rescue animals.

Then, came the lull and not just any lull – the BIG lull. I applied for a permit to sell at the Columbus Winter Farmer’s Market weeks before the Christmas season and started to dream up images of success as I imagined bags flying off shelves and me in a rush to keep up with demand. I ordered a whole slew of labels for the packaging and stocked up on ribbon and bags. I was READY!

I sat, week after week, watching as potential customers walked by my well placed table with bright shiny bows, pristine labels and the tantalizing smell of peanut butter hovering over my table. I smiled at each customer and wished them a “Good Morning” as they walked by, stopped, commented and walked on. It was so disheartening. I went home every week that I was at the market – thinking that this would be my last one and that I was going to give up the treat business.

But, each week I was there, I would pull my small table from the car get my treats situated and try once more to sell just enough to pay for gas that week and the expenses of making the treats. Some weeks I made it, most I did not.

When summer rolled around, I figured I would try once more to get these treats to take off and applied for a permit to sell at the Seymour Farmer’s Market a few weeks. Once again, I would see people walk up – say hello and walk on. Once again, some weeks I made enough to cover the cost of making the treats and others – just enough to cover breakfast at the taco truck.

Fast forward to this fall – it has been incredibly slow this holiday season and I’m trying to stay hopeful. A very small part of me wants to just throw in the towel and call it quits. It is so hard to keep trying to sell something that you know is good and that dogs love, but just can’t seem to get it to take off the ground.

I’m still hanging on to the fact that I’m inches away from getting a registered trademark on the treats and I keep thinking that I can’t quit. I've come too far, put too much time in and am too determined to let that stop me. I don't want to be one of those small businesses that stop after 18 months. 

The treats are a year old and I hope that they make it to their 2nd birthday. I just have to keep hoping, keep trying. 

Sometimes a Sensitive Mama Clucker

I’ve had my first experience with trapping over the last week or so. I always wondered why the farming stores had so many live traps and, in my city mindset, had this romantic ideal that farming folks trapped the critters just so they could take them to refuges or some other such oasis and let them live their lives out.  

I couldn’t have had thoughts further from the actual truth – at least, most of the time.

Following the slaughter’fest that happened with the small breed chickens, I wanted to find the culprit predator that caused such a major loss. I wanted to rebuild and didn’t want to put birds back into a situation that would result in the same outcome.

I did what any city girl would do and enlisted the help of a neighbor who has been in farming for generations who immediately suggested we set up traps to catch the offender and, he noted, get rid of it.

It didn’t take me two rooster crows to figure out what he was talking about. He was talking about getting RID of it. Like, dead; deceased, to the big forest in the sky, all the prey they want, dead. The city gal in me wanted to scream “Oh hell no,” but the budding country voice (which isn’t always the loudest) whispered “you know he’s right.”

This neighbor was right. Predators don’t belong around barns and having all-you-can-eat buffets of chicken and whatever else is picking around the yard. Predators have a place in the woods and far from civilization.

Now, before you start calling judgement and saying that predators have been pushed out of their wooded homes by other residential developments and therefore belong on my property to pretty much take whatever they wish, I have to respectfully disagree though I do agree that there has been a surge in development recently and this is disheartening.

Most of the time, I live in harmony with the nature that surrounds me. I have moles that are doing some serious damage to the yard and will need to be taken care of sooner or later, but for the most part the critters stay away and I get to put my chickens out to enjoy the day and then lay super tasty eggs.

Things had changed though, since the predator attack and something needed to be done.

So, the neighbor graciously traveled over with his ATV and dropped 4 live traps at various places around the property. He told me that raw meet would attract the most action and unwrapped four frozen slabs of ribs that he said were too old (2016).

I remember laughing just a bit that this was considered “old” for meat. I’m pretty sure I’ve eaten frozen meat that is somewhere in the 5-10 year range. Again, difference in city-gal and country folk. I’ll get there.

The first morning I went out to open the coop door and check the traps and found a very young opossum looking at me cautiously from the confines of the metal wire cage. I knew what the neighbor had said, “that we would get rid of them”, but this one was young, small and far away from the barns. I knew that this wasn’t one of the culprits to damage done around the barn and worked to free the critter – remembering to keep my fingers free from any teeth.

The second morning found another opossum in the same wire trap, though this one was bigger, and a skunk in the trap located in the barn itself where the small breed chickens used to be.

Again, the opossum got to roam free and I returned to the trap in the barn – knowing what the fate was going to be for this creature.

I accept that some folk will relish in the fact that they get to kill a creature, but that’s just not who I am. I knew that there was no way that I could release this fellow and something had to be done.

Under a hazy moonlit night a few hours later, the neighbor came over with his .22 rifle to dispatch the creature humanely. It was a lot quicker than I thought it would be. Only the “snap” of the gun and a small turning of the critter and it was gone.

I remember remarking how much more peaceful that was than to watch a chicken in its final seconds.

Death is never easy and should never be taken lightly. In a sense I see it as power and perhaps that’s what makes me struggle with it. I oftentimes see it as me saying that I am more powerful than whatever I am needing to kill and why should I get to live and the creature at hand has to die?

This being said though, the neighbor reminded me that I needed to think of the other things that need to live on the farm to make it work and that this one skunk could very well wipe that out.

Again, he was right.

That soft country voice is growing louder as I spend more time on this farm and every experience I have, whether good or bad, is a step in the path to becoming a full-fledged farmer. I don’t know that I will ever be comfortable with killing and death and perhaps I don’t want to be.

I have to think that there are others out there just like me. 

A Somber Coop with a Glimmer of Hope

The past week or so has been very trying on this small farm. First, the barn cat that I have had since moving here about two years ago, Sassy, died. The decision was solely mine to have her put humanely to sleep so that she would not have to survive another brutal winter as she did last year. She also was around 16 years old and constantly missing the litter box - putting loose feces not only on the floor, but on tables, tools, and lumber in the barn and also messing in her sleeping spot.
She was not well and was putting up a brave front, but I knew that the kindest thing to do was ease her out of this world while she was still able to mostly get around, still eat and had not gotten to the state where euthanasia would need to be an emergency.
Then, just a few short days later, I arrived home after work on a Friday evening to the pole barn where my small breed chickens, a cross between silkie and cochin breeds, were housed to find not a trace of the little birds left. I continued to call them, cluck to them to get them to come out of their hiding places, but was met with silence.
As the brutal realization set in that there were no birds to be found, I walked out of the barn in a daze to find small piles of feathers in random spots in the yard where the birds were killed and then carried off. My head was absolutely whirling, I thought I was in a dream. I started to repeat the word "no" and with each word, it became louder as the horror of what had happened set in.
I had let these birds free range during the day all summer and had not had a problem with predators as the birds had always managed to get back to cover if they were threatened while out of their coop.
This day, there was a problem.
Nine birds total were killed that day as they roamed around the grassy area that they were allowed to move about in. The entire flock. Two hens, named Blue and Top Hat, who had hatched three clutches of eggs this year and one beautiful rooster, who was extremely protective of his flock, named Jaxby and the 6 chicks that had hatched from the last clutch were all gone.
As I walked around the barn that evening, hoping, praying, yet knowing the answer, I strained to hear a peep, any peep from the flock but was met with only the whisper of the pine trees that stand on the west side of the farm. My flock of small birds, my whole flock of small birds, were gone in one 8 hour period at work.
I grew angry quickly and smacked my hand against one of the support posts in the pole barn, bruising my hand pretty good, and kicked a sawed in half 55 gallon barrel that was also in the barn. The tears began to flow quickly as I realized that there would be no survivors from this attack, no second chance. My hope for these birds to be a money maker for the farm was gone.
I immediately took to Facebook and penned a post that was filled with anger, disbelief, grief and hopelessness. I had heard of friends who had flocks that had been attacked but at least a couple birds survived. Not in this case.
The hens and the rooster were so protective of their babies that I'm sure their end was a brutal one as they tried to keep whatever was attacking the chicks away. I could tell from the feathers remaining where each of the adult birds had met their end and picked up a small pile from the ground as I sobbed at the loss of my flock. This grief was mine, not shared with anyone, not understood by anyone.
In the days that have followed this loss, I've found it hard to go back to the small coop where the hens raised their families and Jaxby would announce morning with a trill in his crow. I listened so hard the first two days after the attack for any sound of survivors but again, only met with silence. Even the sound of the barn swallows and sparrows caused me to stop as I tried to listen for any sign of the small chickens.
Well meaning folks have said, after finding out that I still had birds remaining, that at least not all of the chickens were attacked and yes, I am truly thankful for that. That being said, the grief that I've felt was not only from an emotional investment that I'd had with these birds (remember that I had been there for each of their hatchings, and watching them grow), but it also equaled a financial investment. The chicks that had hatched from this last clutch could have brought around $60-$70 and the adult birds around $50 or so. It was a huge loss that day.
I will need to begin again with this endeavor and try to get where I was before, but I know that there will be no more Blue, no more Top Hat, and no more Jaxby (who had a great little rooster attitude). I can only hope that the next time I try with small breed birds I get hens as attentive and broody as these gals were. I cannot express the joy that I felt when they would hatch chicks and I got to see brand new lives begin right in front of my eyes.
I pray that I will get to feel that joy again some day.
In the meantime, I prepare the farm for winter. Working out strategies to protect my average size birds from an attack from a revisiting predator and working out how I'll get water down to them when the temperature turns to freezing. This is the way of farming,
I write about these things not to depress my readers (thank you for reading my ramblings by the way), but to maybe tell those who are in the farming world and might be brand new that this is the raw truth. Yes, you will lose animals and it will hurt. I have to think that those farmers who maintain a stoic stance, sneak away when everyone is gone to the dark corners of the barn to mourn, to cry and to wonder "what next".
A wise classmate told me that as farmers we are constantly figuring out how to rise from tragedy and rebuild when things happen and she could not be more right. As the winter chill sets in, I'm already planning on a better run, and a more protected run so that maybe I won't have to go through this again. Farming is ranked high for depression and I can absolutely see why.
The trick is, though, how we respond to that depression and rise from the ashes.

Don't Clucking Judge Farmers

Farming has probably been my most demanding, emotionally draining, rewarding job I’ve ever done. I’ve never cried so much, laughed so much, felt frustrated so much nor felt so much pride within one season. I’ve cussed at animals that just days prior I was carrying back to the house to nurse back to health. Sometimes being successful at it and other times – needing to do what had to be done to ease their suffering and keep the farm rolling.

I’ve poured over finances, trying to grow the farm into a small business while still managing to work a 40+ hour/week job, carrying eggs, dog treats, other items made by the farm to my regular work to drop off after those work hours and get a few dollars to put a tiny back for what I have spent; and I have spent quite a lot in the last year trying to grow this crazy dream that I’ve started.

Chicks have developed to my amazement in eggs that weeks before I could have either sold or eaten myself and I’ve cracked eggs open from the incubator of those chicks who began to grow, but for whatever reason, didn’t see the outside of the shell alive.

The farm has been in existence for two years and already I’ve had to bury so many creatures that I wonder if this is why farmers in their later years are viewed as calloused and unfeeling. Perhaps it’s just too painful for them to deal with the amount of loss that is the frequent occurrence on a farm.

I am cautious to never brag that things are going superbly because the moment that pride shows itself – reality gives a sharp jerk and I am brought back to the knowledge that even though I may think I have a handle on things, I actually don’t.

I’ve, at times, felt like I’m “playing God” in deciding who will get to live and who needs to be sent to greener pastures. I’m sure I’ve been judged by others because I’ve needed to decide that the chicken with the crooked foot who was hobbling along (and would never recover) needed to be humanely dispatched even though it was still eating. Or, and I could hear the tone in the vet’s office receptionist’s voice, being judged for needing to put a barn cat down who was elderly, not relieving itself outside the barn and rather deciding to defecate all over where its food was, in its bedding, random places in the barn, and also generally acting like it didn’t feel well.

I wish that I could say that I had piles of cash to be able to treat these animals with the top veterinary care, but I don’t. I give them food, places to rest that are away from drafts, and the opportunity to live the best live that they can. If they are not living to their potential – the kindest thing to do is to end their life.

I was actually told by some well-meaning people that I should take a sickly cat out to a remote location and leave it there than to have the cat put to sleep and have it pass warm, safe and calm. I can’t imagine a crueler thing to do to an animal who is used to the safety of its home and its owner.

I think that as a society we have become so removed from what reality is that people are spending hundreds of dollars treating chickens, thousands on dogs and cats and for those of us who don’t do that or can’t do that – we are often treated like we don’t care.

Because I’m not willing or able to spend a thousand or more on a beloved dog doesn’t mean that I don’t suffer with my decision any less than someone viewing it from the outside and judging me. People like myself suffer more because we don’t only deal with the loss of an animal or needing to put an animal down, but we also have to work through the attitudes of those around us who sometimes say things like “well, it doesn’t matter how much it cost- I would treat my animal even if it bankrupted me…” or the popular “that animal has given you so much love – how can you just ‘put it down’”.

I hate it, I know others hate it and it’s never easy. You can show compassion to those of us struggling by offering a listening ear, assuring the person going through that situation that they are making the right choice not just for the animal but for themselves as well. At the end of the day, we as farmers have to make the choices that are best for the farm and for the welfare of the animals. Please, if you must judge – keep your opinions to yourself or to your close group of friends. We would so appreciate that.  

Nonprofit Work is a Lot Like Farming - Who Knew?

In 2001 I was working for a non-profit agency as an administrative assistant. Not too stressful, predictable hours, the adoration of everyone in the office when I fixed the copier jam for the 20^th time that day, and able to spend a lot of my time putting together craft project like giveaways to recognize the volunteers that the development staff worked with. Pretty smooth gig.

Then, in 2008, I decided to upset everything and join the ranks of the development crew in this same nonprofit agency. Looking around every corner for the next funding opportunity, hearing the word “no” more times than I like to count, working obscene hours and driving for miles – it was a fun job but after so many “no’s” I started to despise what I was doing. A few more hops and skips with some other nonprofit agencies in the development field and I entered doing database work for yet another agency.

That lasted a whole three and a half years behind a desk. I missed being out in the community and doing “boots on the ground” work, but I didn’t want to hear the word “no” again. So, after an opportunity presented itself back in my hometown to work more closely with the clients being served – I said “yes”.

In between all of these job hopping opportunities, I started the farm and suddenly realized that the salary of a nonprofit employee doesn’t quite cover so many mouths to feed, keeping the lights on, paying the property taxes, fuel, and all of the other expenses that come with having that parcel of land in the country. Thus, Purple Shamrock Farm became a business and I started making I.P.A. Bites dog treats.

The I.P.A. Bites haven’t quite taken off as quickly as I would like, though folks who so wonderfully support me keeping saying that one day they will, but I laugh because now I hear the word “no” again just as before when I was trying to earn that almighty dollar to support the mission work of my employing agency.

Just as before though, I cannot let it get me down and I can’t let that one “no” stop me from wanting to move forward. In my previous work, Executive Directors would offer me a goal and then watch to see if I would make it or not. If I did, I was rewarded with praise and if not – offered the chance to try again and come up with an alternate plan to meet that goal. 

While I don’t have an Exec. Director to help lead me in my quest to make the farm a success, I do have my friends and family to urge me on and my own critical thinking to realize when I don’t meet the goals I have set. I still hear the word “no”, but now it’s a different mindset – one that I’m in control of and you can bet that I’m going to try my hardest to make it a success. The farm’s future depends on it.

The Biscuit Story - Or, How the Biscuits got their bite!

In the late summer of 2017, I was rejoicing that I had survived a full season on the farm. The heat had somewhat subsided and I was starting to settle into a groove. Having worked hard all season, caring for birds and attempting to grow a garden, I decided to join some friends and attend the annual fundraising concert put on by Our Hospice in Columbus, Indiana, during Labor Day weekend. My thoughts were to sit back in the picturesque landscape of Mill Race Park there in Columbus and perhaps enjoy a few adult beverages with no worries for a few hours. 

As my group arrived, we dug into our coolers and began to lazily sip beer beverages – waiting for the headliner band that night, Blue Öyster Cult to take the stage. Funny now to realize that the band’s name came from an anagram of “Cully Stout Beer” after reading that the origins of that name came from a 1960’s poem written by their manager, Sandy Pearlman. Little did I know in those brief moments how much my life would change.

Have you ever seen the movie “Back to the Future” where Marty McFly’s parents have to attend the “Fish Under the Sea Dance” to fall in love and thus produce Marty? Yeah, it was kind of like that only without the whole Biff thing. If I hadn’t been where I was at that specific time, I wouldn’t be telling the biscuit story.

I was settled quite comfortably in my lawn chair when a friend walked up and asked if I had met this guy who was going to be brewing beer in Seymour in just a few weeks. I said I’d love to meet him and then found out that he wanted to know if my chickens would want the spent grain for extra feed. Knowing that this would absolutely help my feed bill and also be a pretty cool thing to be a part of, I said yes and he and I started talking.

He, Ritch, told me that the pizza place in town, Brooklyn Pizza Company, was going to be opening Seymour Brewing Company in just a few weeks (after the red tape of the licensing passed through) and that he’d love to give me the spent grain to feed to the chickens so that he didn’t have to throw it away.

We chatted for a bit and I found that his wife was one of my very good friend’s kid’s pediatrician and also that we were in the same high school class in Seymour. After some additional pleasantries, we both headed back to our respective groups and I anxiously awaited the text from him that said that the grain was ready for pick-up.

Two weeks later, I got my first notification and arrived at the back of the restaurant/bar to find three 5 gallon buckets that had to have weighed 50/60lbs. each. Curious, I lifted the lid of one of the buckets and saw the grain. Cool! The smell that accompanied the grain wasn’t unpleasant as I’d heard others say it was – it was earthy and warm. I guess that was a good thing now that I think back- as my car started to carry a hint of the smell and started to stick to my clothing. Needless to say, that made me not so popular with the office that I was working in at the time. Haha.

I took the buckets home and carried them to the chicken coop. Knowing that three buckets would be WAY too much grain for the 5 birds that I had, I gave one bucket to the birds who eagerly started gobbling it up and took the other two buckets to the garden to start composting into the ground for next year’s yield.

A few days later, Ritch contacted me again with another three buckets available. I was now faced with the dilemma on figuring out what I was going to do with this grain as the chickens hadn’t eaten but a portion of what I had dumped in days earlier.

I couldn't stop accepting the grain because I didn’t want to lose that relationship with being a part of something that was going to be huge in my tiny small town. With this determination I took those three buckets and put them on the garden plot.

My garden is quite large so it definitely can handle the leavings of a small brewing operation, but I wanted something more for the grain.

One morning, as I was getting ready for work the idea hit me. Hey, can’t spent brewing grains be used for doggy treats? I grabbed my phone as I was brushing my teeth and went to Google to search.

Sure enough, there were recipes available that worked the pungent grains into treats that dogs loved and that were good for them. I decided on a peanut butter recipe and that night went to work creating the first batch of spent brewing grain dog treats.

My dogs went crazy for them that first night so I took treats to work the next day and had those coworkers try them on their pooches. The reports came back that the pups loved them. Thus, I.P.A. Bites were born.

After a few more trials and a lot of errors and the challenge of coming up with a name that was catchy and tied back to its roots of beer (the term "pupper" was one of my favorites), the I.P.A. Bites are now in local stores, had their first showing in Indianapolis this past summer and were sold at the Indiana State Fair and, most exciting, were recently recognized by a well known public state figure. That's right, the Governor of Indiana's dog, Henry Holcomb, has enjoyed these treats. It's honestly one of my favorite pics. that I've received.

I've since increased the flock to allow me to feed all three buckets of spent brewing grain to the birds at one time, several times a week - but I still hold back a small bit to make the well liked treats. It's good for the environment and helps pay those farm bills that regular work just can't do.

I.P.A. Bites - Incredible. Pupper. Appetizers. - your dog's own Happy Hour! 

A Mother Clucker Has to Do What a Mother Clucker Has to Do

There aren’t any human children at the farm. A lot of you parents out there probably think – well heck, you don’t have a clue what it’s like to stay up late at night worrying about a sick child, cleaning up unending messes, never having enough time to get everything done that you’d like to while stepping around the little inhabitants of the house/farm, or not being able to take a much needed vacation for time away. While I recognize that attitude that some may have, I have to respectfully disagree that I haven’t felt a lot of the same emotions or had the same frustrations that these parents have.

I’ve stayed up late at night worried about my big dog, Ozzie, as he ate something that caused him to become so lethargic that I thought he may pass away through the night. I’ve nursed some chickens back to health from a respiratory issue, removed infections from their feet and then had to gently ease some out of this life into the next. There really isn’t a veterinarian around these parts that would doctor a chicken and really, why would they?

I’ve been able to take one overnight vacation (for 2 nights) in the last year and as the farm grows – that one luxury may be fading too. Anyone know of a good farm watcher?

It’s not that I’m bitter about it, I’m truly not, but there are multiple sacrifices that have to happen on a day to day basis with growing, running and maintaining a farm by oneself. My friends try to be understanding when I bow out of a much needed evening out at 8PM, my need to run home and feed everyone, collect eggs, and lock everyone up for the night so they don’t end up on the coyote/raccoon menu, taking precedence over partying. There’s nothing quite like knowing that the things that you are raising are constantly under threat from being eaten. Imagine that with human children for a moment.  

The mess they leave behind

There are still 19 chicks in my basement at the time of this writing and I can only imagine what the parent of a human teenager feels like as I raise these little ones. They eat voraciously, are incredibly noisy and are absolutely making a complete mess of their inside brooder. It will take days if not weeks to eradicate the dust and the tiny first feathers that they shed to make way for their adult plumage. My “free chicks” that I received from a friend for raising said friend’s birds as well, have totaled well over $50 so far in feed and growing. 

That being said, when these birds “leave the nest” as teenager birds and go to the large coop – I will worry for the first few days that they’re eating enough, that they’re staying warm enough, and that they’re not being picked on too much by the larger adult birds.

No, they are not human children but I think that parents of human children would worry about their teenagers in much the same way. Granted, these human children don’t typically need to worry about getting “eaten” by a hawk or other ground predator – but there are other dangers out there that a teenager has to watch out for.

I may not be a human mother, but being the Mother Clucker that I am – I’m going to raise these little ones and the other animals to the best of my ability and hope that they grow up well and are nice to one another. I'll take their sass and clean up mess after mess just because I love them. When things get too rough and I need a tiny amount of time away, that, dear friends, is why I have a great relationship with the brewery in town. Just know that I'll have to be home by 8:00PM. J

Chickens can be Really Bad Mother Cluckers

As I’m sure most already know, chickens are the closest living relative to the Tyrannosaurus Rex. Apparently some research team stuck a long tail on a chicken sometime back and watched the way the bird moved to have an idea of how big, bad, T-Rex would have moved. Welcome to Jurassic Park?

No surprise then, that the chicken is basically a reptile – the scales replaced by feathers and possessing the mentality of a cold blooded killer/hunter, all wrapped up in a fluffy, seemingly docile package of feathers and crazy movements. Who could guess that these creatures would think nothing of ripping a mouse to shreds, or, in some cases, picking on one another to the death? 

When I’m down in their coop I’ll hear their noises that resemble growls, chirps, and downright noises that sound like they’ve come from the very depths of hades. I’ll watch as a group of hens pick quietly at scattered cracked corn one moment and then the next, look at their flock mate and peck at their eye. Growling as they do it. Chickens are just sometimes downright mean.

I’ve watched ruthless chasing from the current flock as the new birds are introduced and watched with horror as the newcomers huddle in a corner, terrified to make a move as their older counterparts size them up, hissing and threatening to take them down in a flash of beak.  It’s a game of roulette every time I have to introduce birds to the big flock and not something that I look forward to doing. It’s stressful for the birds, it’s stressful for me, but it’s a necessary part of flock keeping and one task that must be taken with a very watchful eye to ensure that the new birds make it to adulthood.

Surely you’ve heard the term “pecking order” and it is chickens that this phrase came from. There is an absolute hierarchy established amongst the flock and each bird knows its place in the group. The lead hen (or rooster), gets first dibs on good food, the best perching spots and the first access to the best dust bath sites. The others fall into their respective places and when a new bird or birds are introduced to the flock – it upsets that balance for a time. No one wants to be put on the low pole and so any new birds that are brought in are usually picked on sometimes to the point of their death. It’s barbaric, but that’s the chicken way. They are bad muther cluckers sometimes.

Unfortunately, recently, a friend who is new to chicken keeping found that out with a bird that was introduced to a flock of hens. All seemed well at first, but as the evening wore on – the established birds had enough of this intruder and brought him down. Sadly, he was found the next morning – having been sent off to the big nest in the sky.

I think of all of these things as I watch my birds peacefully peck around grass and grain on a warm afternoon. They seem so docile, so friendly, so scared, but pushed to the test and when it is broken down – they are really a force to be reckoned with. After all, isn’t it the T-Rex who ends up surviving in the movies? J

The Struggles You Don't Always See

I am asked frequently by folks who follow my antics both on the farm and off, “how do you do it all?” To be truthfully honest, I really don’t know. There are absolutely days where I question my own sanity as I’m rushing home from my 40+ hour/week day job to feed 35+ chickens, 3 dogs, 4 cats, fix my own dinner, package biscuits if that’s needed, collect eggs, pick up around the house, keep up on bills, it’s a lot.
I appreciate, so much, those who say "you're doing an amazing job". I don't hear that from my critters- they're more concerned with what's in my hands and whether or not I'm going to try to capture them. It's an absolutely thankless job and I wouldn't consider to keep doing it if I didn't love it so much.
I do get nonverbal "thanks" every now and again when the barn cat rubs her head against my hand as I'm filling her bowls or a sideways look from one of the hens that just says "hey, I know you're here and I'm okay with that". A sigh from my big dog, Ozzie, and him laying his head on my lap is another moment of gratitude that I treasure. 
On my own Facebook page and the farm's Facebook page, I post things that I think are funny, uplifting, inspiring to others. I rarely, if ever, post those days when I'm down on myself because a chicken died, the dogs made a mess in the house, the cats laid on the piano and put huge tufts of hair on the top of it, I didn't get things cleaned or I just decided to sit on the sofa and watch a TV show instead of doing any number of things that need to be done around the house and the farm. On those days, I'm incredibly hard on myself and get frustrated, feeling that I've fallen short. The only words of encouragement on those days are the ones that I muster to bring from myself and sometimes that's difficult.
I've kept a journal since the first day that I moved to the farm and on those days when it feels like there's a giant gray cloud hovering over my head, I oftentimes refer back through the pages from days/months ago and read what had been happening then and what is happening now. More often than not, after reading those pages I realize that I've always managed to get through those tough times and carry on.
Faith plays a big part in managing the farm as well - I've said to people so many times that there is NO possible way you can have a farm without Faith. I don't attend a church building as often as I should, but each time I walk down to the barn and notice the land around me, a gorgeous sunrise or beautiful sunset, hear the chickens going about their daily lives or hearing any number of birds flying about or critters milling about the pond behind my property, I realize that all of this is a gift from God. I am constantly in awe of all that has been provided to me. 

Clucker Clocks - Times Changing

We had the time change two weekends ago and although I don’t want to get into the debate on how awful it is, how beneficial, etc., I just have to say that it takes me a few weeks to get back on track. I have a constant feeling of running behind, not having enough time to get everything accomplished and grumbling about the fact that when I go to the barn to do my morning check and let the birds out – it’s pitch black again.

The animals don’t seem to mind the time change from the fact that it means that they get fed a full hour earlier. Anytime any change involves getting food earlier, they’re more than willing to accommodate it.

It is more difficult for me with the chickens and the time change because it means that daily eggs are not laid until later, the birds don’t want to go into the coop until it’s dark or, if I want to put them up before heading to evening events, having to have a chicken round up and coerce them into the coop, protesting and squawking like children being told that they have to go to bed while it’s still light outside.
All that being said, I do like when the weather turns warmer and I can stay outside until later with sunlight. There’s something to be said about doing farm chores in either the dark or with light – especially when collecting eggs from the dark nesting boxes. I can’t count the number of times I’ve reached into a box in the dark and ended up with a hand in chicken poo instead of the warm/cool hardness of a freshly laid egg. 

I tend to work more on farm projects when the time springs forward and find myself out way beyond when I usually retire for the night – thinking I can fit “one more thing” in. As of late, however, it’s been too cold to want to stay outside for very long at all. I get frustrated with myself that I grumble so much at this time of year. While the animals don’t seem to mind the time change – this mama does. Honestly, it’s not even the “springing forward” time change either, it happens when “falling back” too. I like to think that I’m a person who rolls with anything, but I guess I’m a creature of habit and just like things to stay as usual as possible. 

A True Mama C!

We’ve got chicks everywhere! 6 week olds in the larger brooder, one week olds in the smaller brooder, a baby chick (or possibly two) about ready to hatch in the small coop outside with the silkie/cochins and in one more week or so – more day-old chicks arriving from the hatchery! I’ve gotten quite used to the peeping noises and trills that newborn chicks make and can tell pretty quickly when everyone is happy and well taken care of.

The other evening, however, I came home from work to feed all the dogs and cats in the house and then went down to the big coop to check water and food and collect eggs. Once those tasks were finished, I proceeded back to the house to go down to the basement to check on the two brooder boxes. The month old chicks were chirping loudly; protesting that their waterer was completely empty and they had managed to sling most, if not all, of their chick feed crumbles about the floor of the brooder. The other brooder box, made from a Sterilite large plastic container with the top cut out, was silent and DARK! Oh my gosh! Dark!

Fearing the absolute worse, I walked over to the dark brooder and timidly listened for some sort of sound before I turned on the overhead light, looked inside, and witnessed what I was afraid would be deceased birds. Thankfully, the little ones had followed instinct and huddled closely together to keep warm while the “outage” was happening.

The culprit of the darkness was nothing more than a burned out heat light bulb and thankfully I had spares (a result of an impulse purchase last year). Once the light was restored, the chicks huddled beneath the red glow for a few minutes and then began to wander about their brooder again – kicking bedding up, scratching at feed and doing what happy little chicks do.

I then took care of my “teenager” chicks (the one month olds) and peace was restored amongst the flock again.

It's been an interesting year so far with this year’s additions. First there was bad luck in not having any chicks develop in eggs in the incubator after trying with 3 separate clutches. Then, there was the good luck in getting 6 additional chicks from the box farm store (something I swore I would never do, but had a weak moment this year) and then finding out that my silkie/cochins were being broody for a developing egg (or two). Then, back to bad luck in having a chick that I purchased from the 4H sale die and then back to good luck that the remaining birds are alive, well, and thriving. 

If there is one lesson that I have learned with farming it is that there is always balance in everything and that if you don’t have a steady sense of patience – you’ll never make it. I had allowed myself to fall into a “get it done and get it done now” and that just doesn’t fly on the farm. I’m grateful for that – it’s more of who I am. I'm a happy Mama Clucker when my birds are well cared for and I do allow myself some pride in knowing that they are doing well because I have put the effort in to make sure that they are well fed, cared for and peaceful. 

Counting Eggs Before they Hatch!

Every time I incubate eggs, I turn into a 5 year old waiting for Christmas so that I can open presents. I want to know what I’m getting so badly that I can hardly stand myself—let alone others tolerating me as well. I peek in the incubator every chance I get to check the temperature and the humidity and then I fight with the hardest part of all – not being able to pick up and “candle” the eggs to see how many are growing and, if they are developing, whether or not they’re still alive.

Candling is the process of shining a bright light into the shell to see the shadow of what’s going on (or rather growing), on the other side of the shell.

Everything I have read on incubating chicken eggs I’ve read says NOT to touch the eggs at all during the first seven days because the chick’s blood vessels are developing and can easily be damaged if moved too much.

I completely understand that, but there’s just something so fascinating with watching a little black “dot” moving around inside of a chicken egg that I crave that sight almost to the point of insanity. The “dot” of course is the chick’s eye and I’ve found that sometimes when candling you can even see the little bird’s heart beating. It’s just cool.

The first time I put eggs into an incubator was about a year ago and I candled each of the 15 eggs every day for the first 7 days. No surprise, none of these eggs developed and I was frustrated. Then, I got wiser with another clutch and started letting the eggs sit untouched in the incubator for the first 3 days and then candled again every day for a total of 7 days. Once again, no shock, none of those eggs developed.

Thinking I was going to a total failure at trying to be a surrogate chicken mama, I tried one more clutch of around 10 eggs. This time, I didn’t touch the eggs at all during the first 7 days and when I went to candle this group—eureka! There were several developing.

I fought the urge with this group of eggs to candle any of them at all, only did it sparingly during the 21 days of incubation, and I was finally successful at having three chicks hatch. Talk about a proud mama!

Old habits die hard and I tried one more time last year with a final clutch in June. I had 6 eggs in that group and out of the 6, only 1 made it to hatch. That was hard to watch one single chick grow up by himself. I put a plush rooster in with the little fellow to try and take the place of siblings, but it just wasn’t the same. Hopefully that doesn’t happen again.

So, it’s the first of the year and the hatching bug has struck again. I have 14 eggs in the incubator and I haven’t touched them for several days as of this writing. I have to occupy myself when I’m at home to not be tempted to just take a tiny “peek” at them to see which ones are developing. By the time this writing is published, I’ll know how many I have and then I’ll have to fight the urge to continue to peek for the remaining 14 days of the incubation period (it usually takes around 21 days). Wish me luck and wish me patience! I’m a horrible count of eggs before they hatch!

Know What the Flock is About

I’ve been thinking about flocks recently. Well, let me rephrase that – I’m always thinking about flocks, but I’ve been thinking more about the dynamics of flocks as this winter has gone on. I watch my feathered crew mill about outside and the soft sounds they make as they explore their 15’ x 15’ run of which they have all but turned into a barren, dusty landscape (save for the recent snow which actually makes it look better); looking for that random worm or grub which has managed to sneak beyond the chicken wire barricade only to be devoured in a flash of beak. I love listening to one of the three roosters cluck excitedly when a treat is sprinkled around him or he finds a tasty spot of ground – calling his hens to the spot so he can stand back and appear to be the most giving gentleman. Of course, he always has an ulterior motive for bringing the hens close, but the very act of the rooster calling the ladies, and then stepping back from what you know is a delectable treat to allow the females to eat their fill is fascinating to me. A lot of human males could learn a lot from a bird brained rooster.

I watch the flock when I step into the coop at night to check the waterer level, collect eggs and make sure that they have enough food and there aren’t drafts in the coop. Each bird knows their place in the flock and seems to be completely groovy with it. Just like with any family, there are squabbles from time to time, but they are short lived and if the rooster has to step in to break up a chicken fight between two females, you can bet that the two females will cease their “hen pecking” pretty quickly. I’ve also noticed that there seems to be a “Higher Society” in my coop with the hens that roost on the upper wall in the coop. They like to be as close as possible to their “man”, Buddy, and sit like prim and proper little ladies – cooing and softly clucking as they move in close to one another to stay warm.

All of this coop cuddle time doesn’t mean, however, that all the males in the coop are as chivalrous as Buddy and sometimes the hens need a little extra protection to protect the feathers on their backs from the other two males. Knowing this, that’s when I decided on the chicken apron! I was a little worried at first about how the flock would receive a hen with one of these capes on her back, but the flock seems to accept this artsy bird without a second thought. I’m pretty stoked also to be able to tell one hen from the other just by the pattern on her back – maybe I’ll be tempted to leave them on beyond the feathers growing back -- then again, maybe not.

If you’ve been following my antics on Facebook, you know that I recently put 14 eggs from my adult birds into the incubator to hopefully grow some chickens. Once these chicks hatch and grow up, it’s always fun to watch the new flock be accepted into the current flock, even if it is just a tad bit painful to watch at first as the pecking order is established.  Then even once they’re accepted – birds that were raised together tend to continue to stick together even if they’re among a totally different group of birds. It’s just cool and neat how these seemingly brainless birds have the whole social thing all figured out. They know their flock and they know what the flock is about.

In the Beak Midwinter

I play the flute in an area community band and there is a music piece that occasionally makes the repertoire called “In the Bleak Midwinter”. It’s a very moving, melancholy piece and reflects the feeling of icy, bleak winter days. That moment after the lights from the holidays fade and everything is replaced with white, brown and barren views.

As of late, my actions at the farm have felt a lot like that piece. It takes about 5 minutes to get prepared to go out to the coop because I never know what I’m going to find that will cause a 5 minute task to become over 30 minutes. Waterers that need refilled (birds drink a lot in the extreme cold weather), birds that need extra tending, collecting eggs that sometimes are frozen and cracked and working with birds that are just as frustrated because they can’t get out in the yard and search for tidbits amongst the dry grass. It’s a definite mind game.

Flock Block

To help with bird boredom, I purchased a “flock block” for my birds so that they’ve got something to peck at when they’re coop bound. A flock block is a compressed block of seeds that causes the birds to have to work to get at the treats. Hopefully this block will stop some of the overbreeding the roosters have been doing and will just allow them to have something to work for while they’re waiting for the warmer weather to come. Believe it or not, birds actually do get bored and need mental challenges! So much for a bird brain, right? 

I have lost two birds already this year; an olive egger hen and a lavender rooster and are just praying that these are the only ones.  Though my realistic mind says that there might be others if the weather continues the way that it has been. Sadly, I had to put the rooster down on my own and that was probably the hardest thing I’ve had to do since I’ve been at the farm. Anyone who says it’s easy to take a life probably has no heart. I’m not saying that I’m the most compassionate person, but to suddenly realize that you’re the one that took the light from a living thing is something to never be taken lightly. I question my ability to be a good executioner – whether I did it as quickly and effectively as I could. When the bird opens its eyes to look at you before it gives up its spirit – that’s tough.

All is not bleak though in my own little “Beak Winter”. I’ve started to collect eggs from my flock to put into the incubator in the next week or so to hopefully add some chicks to the flock which I have lost and also to increase the number of egg layers I have. It’s amazing how many eggs I need. Eggs for the Brew Master who gives me the grain, eggs for the owner of the brewery, eggs for the biscuits, eggs to sell and eggs to give to people as gifts. Not to mention, I’m ready for the cute factor in having baby chicks. There’s something so warming about having babies in the brooder, nice and toasty warm and fluffy as the winds blow outside and the snow flies. It’s what gives me hope when all seems dead and barren.

As I’ve spoken about so many times since moving to the Farm, I know that I’m reminded constantly to just be patient and this is just another test. If I can make it through this Beak Midwinter, I know that I’ll be rewarded soon with blooming trees, a new garden, more animals and better understanding of what works and what needs reworking. I just have to learn to allow what’s going to happen to happen and accept it no matter what.

It's Clucking Cold!

It’s Clucking Cold. Not just sort of cold, or a little chilly, but Clucking Cold. I’m incredibly thankful that my house has such a large unfinished basement because as of late, I have two victims of the cold bedded down in respective kennels to recover and hopefully recoup until this insane cold snap passes over. Sassy the cat and Henrietta the chicken have taken up temporary residence and I have a feeling that these won’t be the only ones admitted to this “inside barn” before it’s all said and done. The temperatures this morning were registering in the negative (-5 degrees to be precise) and I couldn’t bring myself to go down to the coop to open the big door. My thoughts being that the closed door will help hold some of the heat into the coop and protect the birds. I’ve already found one bird deceased in the coop a few days ago and now trying to prevent a second or god forbid, third or more.  

Water freezes quickly in these temperatures if not under a heat source and refilling waterers and cleaning has been next to impossible. The outside hose is frozen and the barn doesn’t have running water yet. At least if there was snow, I could always fill a waterer with snow and let the heater underneath it do the work of turning the white fluff into water, but in this cold—that’s not possible. The nearest water source from the barn is up at the house which is roughly a 150 foot walk uphill (no joke) and then into the bathtub to fill because the waterer is too large for the kitchen sink (not to mention the yuck factor). I have gotten wiser in this frigid environment and learned to get 5 gallon buckets with lids to fill with water so that I don’t have to have the chicken waterer in the bathtub, but that still involves trying not to spill water as I carry the waterer out of the house down to the barn. Spilled water outside quickly turns to ice and, if not paying attention, results in slipping and spillage down one’s coveralls creating instant chill.  

We’re only in the beginning of January and I’m already over the cold – I can’t imagine what my state of mind is going to be at the end of February when the snow really gets going and the wind picks up, creating a sort of liquid nitrogen feel across one’s face as daily chores are completed. I also can’t imagine how Sassy and Henrietta are going to feel if a warmer streak comes and those “patients” are ousted back to the barn. I may end up with a chicken and cat at my back door begging to come back in. This winter is a true test of farming and if I and the other animals can make it through to April 1^st, I think we can call it a success.  

In the meantime, if you need me, just look for something resembling a Stay Puft purple and brown marshmallow, shuffling through the farm buildings and trying to keep animals as comfortable as possible. You most likely will see a parade of animals following this figure back to the house to try and come in with the others. I’m convinced that’s their goal this winter.