Chicks and Hope, Anyway

       I lifted one of the chicks and plopped it down into the brown hands of the little boy.

       He gasped. "Oh!" Took in a breath. Stilled. Said again, "Oh."

       This ten-year-old had been following me around for half an hour, filled with questions that he barely heard the answers to, curious but cautious, and roving non-stop.

       I was showing him our new baby chicks.

       During this spring and summer, while COVID-19 ravaged the world, our flock went from eighteen chickens to six. Coyotes or foxes had taken a daily toll. This is the price we pay for letting the chickens range freely around our yard and grounds: they become prey to the local food chain.

       Our six chickens were only laying two or three eggs a day, barely enough for us, much less our Airbnb guests. Our reliable, standard food resource was threatened, adding to my fears of  apocalyptic disaster.

       Finally, my partner ordered six chickens from a mail order catalogue. They arrived in a cardboard box with wire-covered holes and small plastic cups inside for food and water – watched over by the post office employees! The next week, we learned that a local farm store had day-old chicks, so Partner went shopping and returned with twelve very tiny, fluffy, cute chicken babies.

       One of these chicks is what I handed to the little boy.

       "Put your hand under its feet so it doesn't fall," I told him. "And cup your thumbs around it to help it feel safe."

       His head was tilted down so his black cap hid his dark eyes. He held completely still, staring at the tiny, fluffy, peeping life in his hands. That moment stretched out as we stood, toe to toe, silently studying a baby chick.

       Having chicks again reminds me that life continues. That despite the invisible pandemic monster outside the door, we can bring healthy little babies inside our hearts.

       Fluffy, peeping chicks and awe-struck little boys remind me to hope.

 

Encapsulated

        A close friend of mine contacted me and said, "I went to your blog to catch up and you haven't written since March?!"

       Her words made me weep.

       Even as I write my answer to her, I weep.

       What could have happened since March to keep me from the page and bring on all these tears?

       The answer is mind-numbingly global and deeply personal.

       In March, our world shut down. I'm not referring to my family's world, but to the Entire World. We all stepped off a curb and into a separate dimension, one of those dystopian, apocalyptic times described so painfully well in science fiction novels.

       Every single person was ordered to go home, quarantine, refrain from contact with anyone. No travel, no concerts, no summer vacations. No going to the grocery store much less visiting the sick and dying.

       Faced with the magnitude of living inside a pandemic, what was there for me to say?

       I attempt, in my blog posts, to be hopeful, funny, personal yet universal.

       How to be hopeful when we were all terrified of the invisible, deadly monster outside our doors? How does one even mention "hope" when faced with a world-wide plague? Like everyone else, I was deeply afraid.

       And any attempt at being funny in such a terrible time, would be irreverent. It would feel like I was belittling our mutual, real, anxiety. Even writing about the antics of our chickens felt cheap and thin.

       And finally, why write about my personal experience of these terrible times when everyone else was experiencing the same? Any feelings I would write about were shared by billions of other people. I could not think of any unique angle for myself.

       And then, in late May, when I was finally sharpening my pencil to write blog posts, a horrific act of violence was perpetrated against a black citizen by a white police officer -- using his bare hands to kill on a public street, witnessed through video by the entire world.

       This act occurred in downtown Minneapolis, six blocks from where my daughter lives. She is a hard-working, tax-paying citizen who was suddenly inside a war zone.

       Every night more disturbance occurred there and every day I talked to my child about surviving there. This went on for a week.

       Then another week.        

       Then another week.

       My experience of that time is unique, and I knew I would write about it on my blog. But I couldn't write then. The intensity of my feelings would have destroyed countless pencils, burned up pages and scorched my desk, got me kicked off the internet for my foul, bitter language.

       I have wanted to write about that, and about my own tiny survival of the 2020 Plague, but I have been in a time capsule of suspended animation.

       It took the love of a friend to get me back here.

       So often, as a writer, I feel alone. Why bother to tell stories or to react to the news of the day? My voice is tiny, insignificant, unheard.

       And then, out of the blue, someone wondered where my voice had gone. She tapped on my capsule and inquired about me.

       Because I love her, and because I do have a voice, and because my voice craves to be heard – even by one beloved friend – I return to this blog.

       My blog will be different now because I am different. But truthfully, every single one of us is different now.

       We are in a new dimension, a time of apocalyptic change.

       I will attempt to report about it from my tiny place, even though the reporting makes me weep.

       Thank you, friend.

Chickens and Bedtime

Chickens wake up at the crack of dawn. Literally, as soon as a teeny, weeny bit of light creeps across the sky, chickens open their eyes.

This is a blessing and a problem for people with roosters.

Roosters, when they wake up, lift up their lovely, red wattled heads and announce to the world that the sun is coming up. "Cock-a-doodle-do!" they shout in English.

Roosters -- well, all chickens -- are very dumb, so they must think that the rest of the world is as well. They shout about the sun coming up over and over. "Cock-a-doodle-do! Cock-a-doodle-do! Cock-a-doodle-do!"

If you live on a farm, and getting up early is helpful, you might not mind this organic, annoying alarm clock. You might welcome it in the same way city folk welcome the loud, clanging of their mechanical alarm clocks.

Wait!

Does anyone welcome the sound of an alarm that wakes them from a deep and happy sleep? Doesn't matter the alarm, does it? We all dread it.

Sidebar: This is something retired people look forward to: no alarm clocks any day f the week. Unless we fill up our schedules with volunteer commitments and grandparenting obligations, we get to sleep in. I recommend this. End sidebar.

So roosters and hens awake with the first tiny glimmering of the sun. Roosters crow about it, which is why most cities, if they allow people to keep chickens, don't allow them to keep roosters. Can you imagine the racket if every other home had a rooster crowing at the sun every day?

Hens don't crow. Probably they blink their eyes, stretch out their wings, turn to each other to start gossiping and planning their exciting day of eating.

On the other end of the day, chickens put them selves to bed.

No kidding!

They are very dumb creatures in so many ways, but this is one great thing about chickens: at dusk they head for their roosting spots. By dark they are safe in their chicken house, nestled up against each other, falling asleep.

One time, my sister watched our house and chickens when we went on vacation. After the first day, she called us in a terrible panic. "I've been chasing the chickens to get them to bed, but I can't get them into the henhouse! They're all gonna get eaten by coyotes! I'm exhausted! What should I do?!?!"

We said, "Oh, dear. Take a deep breath. Make yourself a cup of tea. Wait. Wait a half-hour or so. When you go outside, you'll find that the chickens have put themselves away for the night."

She was very offended that we hadn't told her this vital, and surprising piece of information about chickens. She was right, but we are so used to this wonderful chicken blessing, that we hadn't thought about it.

I sometimes wonder if people would be as enchanted by chickens if they had to round them up every night and carry them to the roosts.

So besides giving eggs so generously, this is a great reason to have chickens: they put themselves to bed at night without any complaining or whining or requests for bedtime stories.

Did you know this about chickens? It's a great reason to get some, don't you think? Go tell you parents, siblings, city council.

Chickens in Winter

We are frequently asked how our chickens fare in wintertime. Today, I'll show you.

Last week I talked about the bleak mid-winter. Here is our place covered with snow. In the far left of this photo you'll see a vague outline of a long, brown building. That is the home of our chickens.

Their home is a combination of hen house and shed. For a creature that began its life on planet earth in the jungles of South-east Asia, chickens are extraordinarily adaptable. They now live in high mountain valleys, dry deserts, and the middle of cities. However, they must be cared for at this time of year, and they must be protected from predators year-round.

On the left, is a smaller building, the hen house. Our chickens roost there at night, and return to the nesting boxes to lay their eggs during the day. We had this hen house on our previous property and moved it when we moved. It is perfectly adapted for chickens.

 

 Our hen house has two sources of heat: an oil-filled radiator, and a hanging heat lamp. These keep the temperature at least above freezing during the nights.

On the right, is a long shed that already existed when we moved here. It had probably been a calving barn for the dairy cows who lived here in the 1930-1960s, and also provided shelter for sheep. Remarkably, it is completely encased in wire, making it very secure. Chickens can't leave unless we leave the door open, and predators, such a coyotes, can't get to the chickens – again, unless we leave the door open.

 

The shed, where our chickens spend most of their day, has only solar heat. It also has a small  metal trough in one corner for free-flowing water from our artesian well. This water is about 50 degrees, so it doesn't freeze as long as it runs. Thus, our chickens always have fresh water.

Chickens love to eat seeds, insects, grains, grass, and weeds such as Kosha. The sheds are clearly surrounded by snow right now, so chickens don't have access to their favorite treats. They must be fed every day.

 As you may have noticed, our chickens don't go walking across the snow.

Occasionally, they make an attempt to seek out green pastures, as this white and red chicken did.

These two chickens returned, but they crossed to the door of the shed on old pieces of lumber, balancing like kids crossing a dangerous bridge because they didn't want to step into the snow all around them.

So chickens can survive our winters with help, but they lay fewer eggs. Whether because of the shorter days or the cold, we don't know.

As I said, chickens have managed to spread all across the globe. But … does anyone know if there are chickens in Antarctica?

Why We Have Chickens

If you've ever stopped by my web page (hollyy.com) you'll notice that chickens play a role in my life: a troublesome role, but beloved.

So why do I put up these flower-destroyers? Why have chickens at our house, at all?

Having chickens is not the norm – at least not in the year 2019.

Having chickens used to be very common. Historically, almost every household had a few chickens.

chickens in our front yard

 Why?

For the same reason we have chickens: because chickens lay eggs.

As long as we have a small flock of healthy chickens, we get eggs every day.

Having eggs in the refrigerator makes us feel like we always have a little food. No matter what happens in the world, we won't go hungry. We may get REALLY tired of eggs, but we won't go hungry.

a sample collection of eggs

Always having food, even if it's lowly eggs, makes us feel healthy, rich, and free from hunger.

Eggs are one reason  we have chickens.

chickens eating cottage cheese

Another reason is that chickens eat our table scraps. They are omnivorous – meaning they'll eat anything, -- and they're scavengers – meaning they'll eat anything dead on the road.

Landfills are filled with food that people throw out. We don't send any food at all to landfills. We toss all our leftovers, even from restaurants, into our yard for the chickens.

Another reason  we have chickens, is that they eat bugs and weeds. Controlling weeds around our house helps prevent fire. And eating bugs, well, we're glad to have fewer bugs in our lives – that's all.

Our chickens are like pets to us. We feed them, talk to them, care for them. We don't butcher them (although we should if we were very good to the planet). We let them "free range", meaning they can walk around all over the place, pooping everywhere – which is good for grass, but kinda gross.

Anything I've missed? Do you have chickens? What are the reasons you have chickens? Would you like to begin a flock of your own? (I have some that eat flowers, that you could get very cheap from me.)