'Pick a little, talk a little, pick a little, talk a little. Cheep cheep cheep.'
An Amaraucana (left) and an Australorp in the pasture.
ANYONE who has seen "The Music Man" knows how catchy those lyrics are. But they also convey with uncanny accuracy the staccato rhythm of a squawky flock of hens. Even without a rooster to guard this brood (more on that below), we can attest that our hens do a pretty good job of making their presence known in highly musical terms (well, if not musical, then at least sonorous). Their constant banter (particularly in the early morning, just after sunrise) alerts us to the fact that they want to be let out from their safe and snug coop (where they spend the night, free from coyotes, raccoons, and other predators). Some also say that they become particularly talkative just after laying an egg, although that particular "theory" doesn't explain all the racket they make when they're not laying (which is the other 99 percent of their time). Whatever the reasons for it, our squawking hens (at any given point, 24 to 40 of them) give QQR a distinctly upbeat sound, one of those elements that make it quintessentially country.
Washed and ready for crating: Our eggs fetch $3 a dozen.
But we don't raise hens for their squawks. First and most obviously, we like the eggs, for cooking and for sale. (Joe crates up to seven or eight dozen a week and sells them at his workplace, which means the hens pay not only for their grain but also hay for the goats.) Hens lay one egg every 28 to 36 hours, depending on sunlight, the weather (they produce more in summer than winter), and their own individual cycle (they can be more or less productive, depending on how close or far away they are from molting--more of which below). We also like their manure along with their efficient scratching and scraping in search of seeds and bugs. They can clear a pasture of noxious weeds and prepare the soil for top-planting with pasture grass. Part of our plan here at the ranch is to become good stewards of the land, and chickens perform an essential part of environmentally sensitive land management. The goal is to rotate the goats and chickens on any of our three fenced pastures, feeding the pasture grass and greens first to the goats and then allowing the chickens their time on it. These industrious birds will de-thatch it enough so that a little irrigation or rain will coax more green from the remaining seeds, and we can then repeat the cycle: goats browse first, followed by more thorough chicken grazing, followed by irrigation and pasture recovery.
But first, a few words of praise...
The Rhode Island Red is a beautiful bird, its auburn plumage punctuated by black on its neck and tail.
WORKHORSE: a person who performs most of the work of a group task: a hardworking person
OK, so they're not people, but our chickens are the true workhorses on QQR. On many levels, the benefits of chickens outweigh almost any other domestic animal. Naturally, when you think of chickens you immediately go to eggs and meat production. Chickens can turn grass, table scraps and bugs into what many consider the perfect food. Pasture raised-free range chicken eggs are unlike any you'll find in the store. The golden yolks can only be described as creamy. Here in Northern California, people are willing to pay as much as $6 a dozen (though Joe only charges his colleagues $3) to experience homegrown eggs from chickens they believe were raised under a happy sun. We think six bucks is a little extreme for this pleasure; however, there is infinite value in eating eggs laid by chickens that are allowed to walk in the sun and roll around in the dust.
Besides the eggs, the other obvious benefit is meat. We've discovered a division of labor seems to work best. We have egg birds, and once a year, we raise meat birds. It takes too much effort and too many resources to get a bird to the point at which she's laying consistently only to butcher her when her meat is still tender. We've worked out a nice balance: the number of laying hens we keep and the sale of their eggs pays for their feed and fully subsidizes the cost of our meat birds. The laying hens are the only animals we own that not only pay for themselves, but also pay for the feeding of another animal. Our goal is to find ways in which the animals pay for their own keep (sale of goat kids to cover hay cost; the cost of "raising" meat [rather than buying it] in relation to feed cost; etc..), so for the laying birds to pay for themselves and put meat in the freezer, that's a total bonus.
So we've talked about eggs and meat, but what about all that wonderful poop? Because chickens practice a scorched earth policy, they follow an invade-conquer-and-destroy approach to land management. Our red dirt, after a few weeks under the care of chickens, results in a Martian scape with an occasional poppy. That being said, chickens can turn any organic matter into the most beautiful dirt in the world. Unfortunately, their manure is too hot to use without composting; however, once it's composted, it becomes a great soil amendment. Because of our chickens, we've been able to garden in ways we wouldn't have been able to do otherwise. Our "native" soil is 70 percent rock, extremely alkaline and just plan hard. Composted coop-poop, mixed prior to planting in our raised beds, gives us lush foliage and good fruit production.
Let's now talk cute factor. My chicken variety of preference is the Rhode Island Red (RIR). As we Americans have grown to believe, eggs come from the supermarket dairy case, wrapped in a nice light-green Styrofoam carton, with shells as white as Christmas snow. I wont go into the horrors of the egg factories; however, due to these factories, varieties like the RIR are now on the watch list for endangered species. A variety once common to grandmothers everywhere is now on the skids to becoming extinct. I love the RIRs, as they are just about the cutest girls going. My second love are Buff Orpintgons; however, they like to sit more than lay, so they're not much for paying the bills. It may be hard to believe, but an RIR pullet is just about as happy in your lap as she is in a nest. They're so curious, they can't help but jump in your lap just to find out if the buttons on your shirt taste as good as they look. When we get our first egg from a pullet, you would think we were a boy getting his first bike. These little jewels signal great things to come, and although they're sometimes no bigger than a quarter and have shells so hard you could pound a nail with them, they're just about the best gift going.
Chickens will always be Joe's first love. When his parents announced they would be leaving their city life to move to a 40-acre goat ranch in Michigan, Joe's mother was smart enough to give him a Mother Earth News article about raising chickens for "fun and profit". He quickly sat down to calculate how many laying hens would be needed to provide enough eggs to feed his family and to have extra eggs to sell. He had dreams of an incubator, broody hens, or chicks that would come in the mail. Who would believe chicks could be mailed to you? But sure enough, as Joe opened that first box from Murray McMurray, his world changed forever. This October, John got to open the McMurray box and dip 31 little beaks into sugar water. He called Joe and held the phone so he could hear the peeps of our new charges. Great blessing for today, and wonderful memories of yesterday. It really doesn't get any better.
Sacramento just passed a city ordinance that allows people to keep up to three laying hens in their backyards. We have friends who have a "Chicken Chalet" decorated with curtains and lights. Sure, chickens are only half a chromosome away from being a reptile, but they're lovable, durable and work hard enough to command the respect of a workhorse. It's my wish the RIR and other varieties will find their way back into the hearts of Americans and off the endangered list.
OK, so they're not people, but our chickens are the true workhorses on QQR. On many levels, the benefits of chickens outweigh almost any other domestic animal. Naturally, when you think of chickens you immediately go to eggs and meat production. Chickens can turn grass, table scraps and bugs into what many consider the perfect food. Pasture raised-free range chicken eggs are unlike any you'll find in the store. The golden yolks can only be described as creamy. Here in Northern California, people are willing to pay as much as $6 a dozen (though Joe only charges his colleagues $3) to experience homegrown eggs from chickens they believe were raised under a happy sun. We think six bucks is a little extreme for this pleasure; however, there is infinite value in eating eggs laid by chickens that are allowed to walk in the sun and roll around in the dust.
Besides the eggs, the other obvious benefit is meat. We've discovered a division of labor seems to work best. We have egg birds, and once a year, we raise meat birds. It takes too much effort and too many resources to get a bird to the point at which she's laying consistently only to butcher her when her meat is still tender. We've worked out a nice balance: the number of laying hens we keep and the sale of their eggs pays for their feed and fully subsidizes the cost of our meat birds. The laying hens are the only animals we own that not only pay for themselves, but also pay for the feeding of another animal. Our goal is to find ways in which the animals pay for their own keep (sale of goat kids to cover hay cost; the cost of "raising" meat [rather than buying it] in relation to feed cost; etc..), so for the laying birds to pay for themselves and put meat in the freezer, that's a total bonus.
So we've talked about eggs and meat, but what about all that wonderful poop? Because chickens practice a scorched earth policy, they follow an invade-conquer-and-destroy approach to land management. Our red dirt, after a few weeks under the care of chickens, results in a Martian scape with an occasional poppy. That being said, chickens can turn any organic matter into the most beautiful dirt in the world. Unfortunately, their manure is too hot to use without composting; however, once it's composted, it becomes a great soil amendment. Because of our chickens, we've been able to garden in ways we wouldn't have been able to do otherwise. Our "native" soil is 70 percent rock, extremely alkaline and just plan hard. Composted coop-poop, mixed prior to planting in our raised beds, gives us lush foliage and good fruit production.
Let's now talk cute factor. My chicken variety of preference is the Rhode Island Red (RIR). As we Americans have grown to believe, eggs come from the supermarket dairy case, wrapped in a nice light-green Styrofoam carton, with shells as white as Christmas snow. I wont go into the horrors of the egg factories; however, due to these factories, varieties like the RIR are now on the watch list for endangered species. A variety once common to grandmothers everywhere is now on the skids to becoming extinct. I love the RIRs, as they are just about the cutest girls going. My second love are Buff Orpintgons; however, they like to sit more than lay, so they're not much for paying the bills. It may be hard to believe, but an RIR pullet is just about as happy in your lap as she is in a nest. They're so curious, they can't help but jump in your lap just to find out if the buttons on your shirt taste as good as they look. When we get our first egg from a pullet, you would think we were a boy getting his first bike. These little jewels signal great things to come, and although they're sometimes no bigger than a quarter and have shells so hard you could pound a nail with them, they're just about the best gift going.
Chickens will always be Joe's first love. When his parents announced they would be leaving their city life to move to a 40-acre goat ranch in Michigan, Joe's mother was smart enough to give him a Mother Earth News article about raising chickens for "fun and profit". He quickly sat down to calculate how many laying hens would be needed to provide enough eggs to feed his family and to have extra eggs to sell. He had dreams of an incubator, broody hens, or chicks that would come in the mail. Who would believe chicks could be mailed to you? But sure enough, as Joe opened that first box from Murray McMurray, his world changed forever. This October, John got to open the McMurray box and dip 31 little beaks into sugar water. He called Joe and held the phone so he could hear the peeps of our new charges. Great blessing for today, and wonderful memories of yesterday. It really doesn't get any better.
Sacramento just passed a city ordinance that allows people to keep up to three laying hens in their backyards. We have friends who have a "Chicken Chalet" decorated with curtains and lights. Sure, chickens are only half a chromosome away from being a reptile, but they're lovable, durable and work hard enough to command the respect of a workhorse. It's my wish the RIR and other varieties will find their way back into the hearts of Americans and off the endangered list.
Back to business...
Joe and our friend, Ellen Cieply, gather the day's eggs.
Our current debate is about how long to keep laying hens. Between 17 and 24 months, most hens go into a molt, which means they lose varying amounts of feathers and body weight and take on a sickly appearance. This is quite normal in the average life of a chicken, and when the hens resume their laying, their eggs are larger and have stronger shells--prized as "jumbo eggs" in the commercial trade. But you have to feed them in the meantime, and they rarely lay during their molt, which can last from two to six months, depending on the breed. We let most of our hens go through an initial molt, because our egg "customers" like the big eggs, hard shells, and orange yolks (the latter come from being pastured, where they eat a huge variety of leaves, seeds, and bugs). But we have begun "culling" (chickenspeak for slaughtering) them when/if they go into a second molt or their production drops off at age 3 or 4.
Some chicken experts say that having a rooster around makes hens molt less frequently and for shorter periods. But frankly, we're fine without a rooster. First of all, the coop is a good 200 feet from the house, but we still don't want to be reminded of the imminent dawn (we have alarms that buzz and hum gently to do that). Second, we've observed that hens who come in contact with the male hormones of a rooster are more aggressive, applying the strictures of the "pecking order" with an almost savage cruelty. (Many of our women friends like to draw analogies to human behavior.) Finally, many of our egg customers are vegetarian, and the idea of an unfertilized egg is preferable to them.
And yes, we also raise hens for their meat (calling them, simply enough, "meat birds"). These are the same "fryers" as you buy in a grocery store (the scrawny ones that weigh about three or four pounds apiece); we let ours live longer (and, we believe, happier) lives, slaughtering them when they've become "broilers" (though, some have dressed out at 10 pounds or more, making them close to a small turkey in size). They are, by far, delicious, much tastier and juicier than anything comparable (free-range or not) we've purchased at groceries, chain or fancy. We believe it's because they are truly free range: raised in the open air under sun and moon (but with shelter at night or in rain), able to walk around, flap their wings, scratch, squawk, and do all the other things a chicken does: pick a little, talk a little, cheep, cheep, cheep.
Some chicken experts say that having a rooster around makes hens molt less frequently and for shorter periods. But frankly, we're fine without a rooster. First of all, the coop is a good 200 feet from the house, but we still don't want to be reminded of the imminent dawn (we have alarms that buzz and hum gently to do that). Second, we've observed that hens who come in contact with the male hormones of a rooster are more aggressive, applying the strictures of the "pecking order" with an almost savage cruelty. (Many of our women friends like to draw analogies to human behavior.) Finally, many of our egg customers are vegetarian, and the idea of an unfertilized egg is preferable to them.
And yes, we also raise hens for their meat (calling them, simply enough, "meat birds"). These are the same "fryers" as you buy in a grocery store (the scrawny ones that weigh about three or four pounds apiece); we let ours live longer (and, we believe, happier) lives, slaughtering them when they've become "broilers" (though, some have dressed out at 10 pounds or more, making them close to a small turkey in size). They are, by far, delicious, much tastier and juicier than anything comparable (free-range or not) we've purchased at groceries, chain or fancy. We believe it's because they are truly free range: raised in the open air under sun and moon (but with shelter at night or in rain), able to walk around, flap their wings, scratch, squawk, and do all the other things a chicken does: pick a little, talk a little, cheep, cheep, cheep.