Thursday Dose of Cute: Thinking Outside the Box

The short version: We've started a free ranging chicken experiment, and so far it's going pretty well.

Farm Photo: 8/9/07

Showin' Some Style

I keep picturing this chicken in itty bitty cowboy boots.

Unfortunately it's been showing more than style since this photo was taken back on June 24th. Specifically, it's been showing signs of being a rooster. Roosters don't lay eggs. Instead they spend their time strutting around and making lots of noise. The real tough ones go around picking fights.

The last time we mail-ordered baby chicks from a hatchery, we paid extra so they would all be pullets (females). But out of the 27 baby chicks that arrived in a small peeping box at the post office, nine of them turned into roosters. I'm convinced the chick sexer (how's that for a job title?) was on a break when our order was packed. There are varieties of chickens called 'sex-links,' and when these come crashing out of their eggs the girls already look different from the boys, but I didn't learn about them until after the roosters had arrived.

It was sort of fun at first, hearing that distinctive rooster crow. Cock-a-doodle-doo! Cock-a-doodle-doo! COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO! It made the farm feel more like a farm. But contrary to popular belief, roosters do not only crow at the break of dawn. At least not our nine roosters.

They crowed at all hours of the day and night, and boy, does that sound carry. We'd be heading up the driveway on a morning or afternoon walk, at least a quarter mile away from the farmyard, and suddenly you'd hear this Cock-a-doodle-doo! floating across the fields and into the woods.

"Wow," I said, the first time it happened. "You can really hear those roosters a long ways away." Joe simply shook his head in agreement. He's had more experience with roosters than he cares to remember.

"So how do I know if these chicks are hens or roosters?" I asked him a few weeks ago after returning from feeding Whitey and her rapidly growing brood yet another gourmet meal. They were putting on feathers, turning different colors, and taking on individual characteristics.

"We'll know soon enough," he replied, then hitched his deep voice up a few notches and said, "Cock-a-doodle-doo!"

There's nothing like a hunky farmguy crowing like a rooster. Now if I could just convince him that we need to keep one of these new boys around so he can fertilize some eggs. How else will Whitey be able to raise another batch of chicks?

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Many thanks to the nearly 200 of you who so kindly completed my five second survey (and for all those kind words -- wow). Your responses have been extremely helpful, and I'll be making some changes around here based on what you've told me. If you haven't yet taken part, I'd still love to have your input. Just click here -- it really does only take a few seconds.

© 2007 FarmgirlFare.com, the award-winning blog where Farmgirl Susan shares photos & stories of her crazy country life on 240 remote Missouri acres.

Farm Photo 8/5/07: Mama Whitey and Her Brood

Mother as landing pad

This gives a whole new meaning to 'letting your children walk all over you.' I took this photo back on June 14th, when Whitey's seven baby chicks were ten days old and beginning to figure out that if you flapped your wings, you could lift off the ground.

But the only place to set down once you were airborne was on mom's back, where the landing was soft but the terrain was uneven and slippery. This prime spot was highly coveted, and there were times when Whitey had two chicks wobbling on top of her while two or three others prepared to launch an invasion and claim the territory.

Whitey didn't seem to mind all this, apparently accepting it as simply one more thing that comes with being a mother.

I hadn't planned on putting up any more baby chick photos for a while, lest some of you who are more sheep/donkey/food/cat/whatever fans start to complain. But I changed my mind this morning when I brought Whitey and her little flock their first gourmet meal of the day.

The chicks go into a feathered frenzy every time I show up with food, chirping frantically while scurrying into the screened-in area where their wooden feed trough resides. As usual, I stood in the narrow doorway between the main chicken house and the dining room, bent over at the waist so I could empty the bowl of treats into the trough. I didn't do a head count first.

I heard flap! flap! flap! and felt a soft thunk.

There's a chicken on my back, I thought. Which was immediately followed by And I can't get a picture of it.

The feeling of having something jump onto my back while bent over wasn't completely unfamiliar, as the 4-1/2 pound Doodle Monster often uses me as a landing pad, though she usually swoops down from some higher perch rather than flying up from the ground. (Life with Molly Doodlebug is sort of what I imagine living with a demanding flying squirrel would be like.)

I contemplated the situation for a couple of seconds and then wiggled my back a little. The chick didn't budge. I turned my head around so I could look at it, wondering at the same time how long I could stay in this position and what in the world this chicken was thinking.

After a few more seconds it flapped back onto the ground behind me, then raced toward the treats as soon as I unblocked the doorway.

I didn't mind any of this. It was simply one more thing that comes with being a farmgirl. But I do wish I'd managed to get a picture.

Just tuning in to Whitey Watch? Click here and scroll to the bottom to begin at the beginning.

© FarmgirlFare.com, the always full of surprises foodie farm blog where Farmgirl Susan shares photos & stories of her crazy country life on 240 remote Missouri acres.

Daily Farm Photo 11/29/06: Goodbye to Lindy the Chicken

Off To That Great Henhouse In The Sky

I am sorry to say that Lindy The Chicken passed away over the holiday weekend, probably from natural causes associated with age. (Though death by too much celebrating with her longtime companion and cohort, Whitey, is not entirely out of the question.) She was a little over five and a half years old.

We are certainly not strangers to death on the farm, and new visitors are no doubt wondering why on earth I am making a big deal about the passing of some poultry on a food blog. But those of you who have been following along here for a while know that Lindy was one of the central characters in our crazy cast of critters. You worried with me when she escaped from the coop during a storm, and you cheered when she was safely returned to her home.

Lindy The Chicken did not come by her name until last year during my Name That Sheep Contest. As I've stated before, I was not her voice in the comments section over the past year. But the person who was that voice imbued her with such a wonderful personality. She was smart, funny, and full of wit, and I always looked forward to reading what she had to say. For many months I have been meaning to write down a story or two about Lindy and Whitey, and one of these days I will. And if I ever do end up creating that line of farm animal stuffed toys (with accompanying storybooks), you can be sure that Lindy The Chicken will be included as one of the gang.

Whitey seems confused and a little sad. The hens are usually all silent once it gets dark outside, as they are settled on their perches and ready for sleep. But that first night alone I heard Whitey making soft, nervous little noises to herself. Whitey & Lindy always perched right next to each other. During the day I see her constantly peering about, and I do believe she is looking for her friend.

Lindy The Chicken lived a long and mostly uneventful life. She was loved and admired and surrounded by friends, and she always ate very, very well. She was happy and healthy until the very end, and her last meal was a feast that included organic purple cabbage, her all time favorite food. She may have been just a chicken, but I, for one, would be quite happy with a life consisting of nothing more than that.

Farewell, my fine feathered friend. You are missed.

A year of Daily Photos ago:
Autumn Artwork

© Copyright FarmgirlFare.com.

Daily Farm Photo 7/21/06: And Sheeeeeeee's SAFE!

It's not exactly dignified, but it works.

There's still a lot of storm damage to deal with around the farm, but we definitely made some progress yesterday. The large chunk of barn roof that blew off has been nailed back down, the top of the chimney is no longer laying on the lawn, a fair amount of the 2006 onion crop that had been drying out in the greenhouse was re-dried and salvaged, and, most importantly, Lindy The Chicken is back at home with Whitey.

Yesterday morning I crouched down on the ground in the yard, aimed a giant spotlight under The Shack, and spotted Lindy—about 15 feet in, totally unreachable, but blinking her beady little eyes. Alive!

I checked on her throughout the day, and the only thing she appeared to move was her head, but she looked okay, and I didn't think the dogs could fit under that particular section of the house. I racked my brain to figure out a way to rescue her, but Joe (who has much more chicken catching experience than I do) said we would just have to wait until she came out on her own. I was doubtful.

But around 8 o'clock last night, I got back down on the ground, aimed my spotlight under The Shack, and didn't see a chicken. I circled around The Shack, crouching and looking in various spots, and still I couldn't find her. I walked back into the house, announced that she was gone, and then practically scared Joe to death as I glanced out the window and shrieked, "THERE SHE IS! SHE'S ON THE DRIVEWAY!"

He grabbed the fishing/chicken-catching net, I grabbed my camera, and we quietly sneaked outside so as not to alert the dogs. There she was, ambling down the road as only a chicken can amble, paying no attention to all of the sheep milling about her.

Our view was mainly blocked by the giant fallen tree in front of the yard, so Joe went one way, and I went the other, tiptoeing gingerly through the tall grass in totally inappropriate shoes and not nearly enough protective clothing.

A few scuffles, some muffled laughter later (there is nothing quite as amusing to me as the sight of a chicken who is jogging), and then whap! she was in the net. Joe scooped her up while I fumbled with the camera and tried not to trip over the rocks in the creekbed. I slip-slided after the two of them, Joe hurrying as fast as he could toward the coop, Lindy swinging in the net beside him, and me yelling "Stop! Stop! I can't get a good picture!"

But they didn't slow down. Not until Joe had Lindy safely back in her henhouse did he turn to me and calmly explain, "I've had them escape from the net before. No way was I going to stop."


Lindy the Chicken, back where she belongs.

Phew. What a relief. As we walked back to the house I said, "I'm sure Whitey is happier now, too. Poor thing, when I caught her up this morning she looked so pitiful, soaking wet and muddy and missing all those feathers. She wouldn't even come out of the coop when I checked on her later. It was awful."

"Oh no," said Joe. "She came out. Dan went over to see how she was doing. He munched on some weeds around her run so they'd have better airflow, and she popped out and said 'hello.'"

"Are you making this up?"

"No! It was a Kodak moment. You missed it."

I can only imagine what else I miss around here—because half of the stuff I do see is pretty unbelievable.

Thanks so much for all of your kind words and bolstering comments. I'm just happy that Lindy and Whitey are safe. It's bad enough if a dog gets any chicken. It's something else entirely when that chicken has friends and fans around the world.

So now that you've been updated, baby Cary and I need to leave the comfort of our tiny air-conditioned office and head out into the oppressive heat (looks like it's going to be another record breaker like yesterday) to help restore my poor blown apart greenhouse to its previous splendor, supervise some serious chainsawing work, and prepare for tonight's storm that's supposed to hit.

Meanwhile, 470,000 homes in the greater St. Louis area are still without power from the same storm that hit our farm Wednesday night. I knew it could have been a lot worse.

Want to read a little more about life on the farm?

Farm Life Tidbits Part 1

Farm Life Tidbits Part 2

Farm Life Tidbits Part 3

Farm Life Tidbits Part 4

Farm Life Tidbits 2010

Farm Life Tidbits 2011

A year of Daily Photos ago:
Wild Mullein In The Creekbed Is Taller Than I Am

© FarmgirlFare.com

Daily Farm Photo 7/20/06: Storm Damage

New View From The Front Yard

I thought Tuesday's late night storm (which found us at the tail end of a 300 mile trip in 100+ degree weather in a 20-year-old pickup that was, shall we say, not having a good day) was bad. But it was nothing compared to last night's.

There are now even more things on the ground that shouldn't be—like this tree, the top of the chimney, much of the garden, and, unfortunately, Lindy The Chicken. The coop door was blown open in the night, and although Whitey is thankfully back where she should be, Lindy ran under the house--which is where the dogs hang out. I haven't given up on her yet. All of the other critters are safe, as are we.

Thanks for all of your recent kind words and comments. And welcome new visitors! (The place isn't usually such a mess.) Between damage control and my iffy dial-up connection, I don't think I'll be online much during the next few days. Did I mention the greenhouse blew apart?

I just keep reminding myself the same thing over and over: It could have been a lot worse. There are always so many reasons to be grateful.

A year of Daily Photos ago:
Take One Rainshower, Add A Scoop Of Sunshine. . .