Tag: farming

In Memory of a Mean Girl

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

Warning: This post discusses the death of an animal.

If you follow my blog, you know that after we rehabilitated Luna’s broken leg this winter, we had a hard time re-integrating her with the flock because she was being abused to the point of having a broken bill. Luna spent another six weeks or so in the house as we healed her bill, and when we were able to finally move her back outside, we had to take our duck bully, Carmelita, also known as “mean girl,” and isolate her for a week to allow Luna time to adjust to the flock without being being abused.

This was Carmelita way back in 2019 when she was just in her second year here on the farm. She was always our biggest duck and was so beautiful. It was only in the last couple of years that she became so mean. I think she got grumpy with age.

I was angry with our mean girl. I did start to feel terrible for her after having to be isolated for a week, but the plan worked. Carmelita quit bullying Luna for the most part, and harmony was restored to the flock. Still, I am ashamed to admit, during the middle of all this process, we noticed one of our ducks was laying an abnormal egg. I knew something was wrong with someone, and at six years of age, I figured we would lose one of our ducks within the year. It would be our first loss. We have kept all of those hens safe all of these years, but loss always comes. I said out loud, “I hope it’s mean girl.”

I wish I had not said those words.

The night before I had to leave our farm and fly to Oklahoma because my little brother is so ill, I went out to give the ducks their peas, and only six ducks came. With Ferdinand, our male, we should have seven ducks, so I went looking. It was pouring rain, and I searched and searched and couldn’t find her. I realized it was our mean girl who was missing.

The night before, she had been slow to come to the peas, but she did come. She ate peas and went to bed like normal, so I didn’t think anything was really wrong. I just thought she was maybe busy hunting bugs and didn’t come to the peas. Still, on this night, I knew things were bad because I couldn’t find her anywhere. The peas were long finished, and everyone else was going to bed. Something was definitely wrong.

After about half an hour, it stopped raining, and I could see a little better. When I shined my flashlight behind the woodpile in the back of the fenced area, I could see her. When I went to her, she just came to me, so I knew things were serious. At first, in the dark, I thought she had a broken egg stuck in her vent, but I had to bring her inside to get a better look.

What I saw was devastating. Her vent had prolapsed, and the tissue was damaged, like she had drug it across the wood of the woodpile or something along those lines. There is a slim chance you can heal a prolapsed vent, but with this kind of damage, I knew we were at the end.

I researched to see the best way to cull a duck. I had always heard to use the broomstick method, but I read as I was researching that the broomstick method only works for chickens, that it can lead to suffering in a duck because their necks are stronger. I could tell she was in pain. I went to Ron.

It was so late into the evening, but I am so thankful to report that Ron didn’t hesitate. He got dressed and went to get his tools. After years of research and talking to both a vet and scientist, the best way to cull a chicken is with a clean cut with a hatchet, and Ron is masterful at it. He says, when he has to cull, it’s like the universe guides his hand to make it quick and clean. I needed him to end our mean girl’s suffering.

While he got everything ready, I sat with our girl in the bathroom, saying goodbye to her. I apologized for having to isolate her that week some months ago. I knew it was hard on her. I touched her and leaned into her, and she leaned right back. She had some tremble but not much, she seemed so ready. I wish I had found her sooner. She must have been suffering for at least a couple of hours.

Death had been very much on my mind anyway due to circumstances with my brother, and I thought so much about the ends we all come to as I sat with Carmelita. There she was–the biggest duck, the boss of the flock, the duck who had bullied Luna until Luna could have died–only now she was fragile, tired, worn, ready. Humbled by the reality that humbles all of us I suppose–even the bullies among us–and my heart ached for her. I told her over and over I loved her. I reminded her of all the good times when she was a baby and lived in the house, of all the peas, of the rain, the bugs, the duck games. I swear she understood it.

When Ron came to get her, I asked him if he needed help, as he had never culled a duck, but he said no. He wasn’t gone long.

When he came back in the house, he said it was the easiest cull he had ever done. He said he probably didn’t even have to use the tiny rope to hold her head, though he did just in case. He said she laid her head down voluntarily and was ready. He said he felt her acknowledge what had to be done. He said he prayed for her to have a good journey.

And just like that, she was gone.

I am going to miss that duck, but the next day, when I let the flock out in the morning, they didn’t skip a beat. In fact, there was maybe a little more peace in the flock. Our mean girl was gone, and life goes on.

Life on the farm goes on, but I have thought about her every day and the life lessons I learned from her that night as we sat together in her last moments.

What a profound thing all of this is.

The first raspberries, the last strawberries, and other updates

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

Mary Jane made it to the raspberries for another year! I hoped she would this spring when I was thinning the branches. She sat with me for hours, looking hopeful for raspberries. I think raspberries might be her favorite–maybe even more than watermelon. This morning, when I picked raspberries for breakfast, I kept out a handful just for her. She gobbled them up with satisfaction. I can tell she surely knows how much I love her.

I am hopeful for the raspberries. They look really good this year, and we need a good year after our strawberries did not do so well. I don’t know if it was just a weird year or if our plants are about done. I think it’s the latter. We have had five great seasons with those plants. I read they should be replaced after three to five years, so I guess it’s time. I think we will try to replace them in the fall, so we can hopefully have berries again next summer. That’s a big task though. Hopefully, I will be up to it. And it wasn’t a terrible year for them. I still made two batches of jam and got five quarts frozen for the winter.

Things have been busy here on the farm this summer but not nearly as busy as usual. Ron has been slow and steady planting the garden and just finished planting the last of things this week. It’s the latest he’s ever finished planting, but COVID has take a toll on all of us for sure. And, with long COVID in mind, we have no music camps this summer for our son. He just rests a lot, sleeps a lot, and I can see that he tries to stay positive. It was hopeful that he started playing his cello again this week, though he has to pace himself and can’t play more than 15 minutes per day. Still, slow and steady, right?

I am less busy than usual with the chickens because we had no babies this year. It’s been hard. The babies always bring so much joy, so long COVID plus no baby chicks has equalled a bit of a tough summer. On the bright side, I have been working on a Swedish death cleanse (though I hope I am not dying anytime soon), and I have made amazing progress. My struggle is books though. How can I get rid of books? I have more work to do, but our home is feeling much better, much less cluttered.It’s very helpful to my mental state.

We have still have our son’s pet mouse, who requires a lot of attention because mice are social animals and need company. I have also learned that mice will eat pretty much as much as you give them, so our little mouse has grown a little chubby eating so many treats from the garden along with homemade bread. I knew we were in trouble the first time I gave him some homemade bread and a fresh strawberry on the same day. He was half asleep with the bread in his hand and the strawberry right next to him. I watched as he would wake up, take a few bites of each item, get a joyful look on his face, and go back to sleep. I also had no idea mice were SO expressive, but he is!

He has a wheel, but we are going to have to build a bigger space for him–and in the last two days, he’s just had his mouse food and lettuce. Poor baby!

I have also been writing, just not as much as I would like here in the blog. I am actually working on a book. It’s a collection of essays, some of which I am revising from old blog posts and some of which are new. I plan to call it Chicken Stories, and I hope it will be worthy of a read. We’ll see. I hope to have it finished by the end of December. I will take any and all advice as well as words of encouragement.

Tell me how you’re doing if you get a chance. How is your garden growing? How are your chickens? What are you learning this year? And do you know anything about raising a mouse?

In memory of plain Jane and sweet Charlotte

~ Crystal Sands ~ 1 Comment
That’s our sweet Charlotte right in front.

In the last week, we have lost two members of our flock. One was a bit of a surprise, and the other came suddenly but was a very old girl.

First, last Saturday evening, I had just been out giving treats to the flock and all had been well, but when I went out to close up the chickens, right in the front door I saw a dead hen. It was a big girl, and in the dark, I panicked and thought it might be Mary Jane. I went inside to get the flashlight and came back to find that it was Jane, Mary Jane’s daughter. She was only four year old, so it was hard to lose her. I am not sure why she passed. I could find nothing wrong with her. It looked like it was just that her heart had given out.

Jane was not supposed to be with us. During the start of the pandemic in 2020, there was a chick shortage, so I used our incubator and hatched quite a few baby chicks for people, probably about 100 in total. Some were given as chicks; others were raised by us until they were ready for a coop. We gave them to people and never charged money, but sometimes, people gave us gifts in return. We got a whole cord of wood from a couple of guys, so that was really nice. Jane was supposed to go out to those guys, but in the end, we decided to keep her.

I had tried really hard not to get attached to all those babies because I knew they were for other people, but Jane was a stand out. She was so curious, always checking me out. One day, Ron said, “There’s one hen in out there I think I’d like to keep.” As he began to describe her, I knew it was Jane! I was so excited that we agreed on keeping her, and so Jane, named so because she was the plainest hen in terms of looks, became a part of our flock.

She fit in so well, and in 2021, when I drove up north to get Poe grand baby eggs, it was Jane who went broody first and raised those babies. Jane raised Cora, Bertha, and Poe Jr. Jr. She did a great job–really too good of job–because Juliet was also raising a clutch at the same time, and Jane bossed Juliet around so badly that Juliet and her babies could barely move around with Jane’s permission.

Interestingly, Juliet had two hens she raised during that time. One was Ophelia who Juliet ended up rejecting early for some reason, and the other one was the only and only Ruby. I feel like Jane may have caused a lot of stress during Ruby’s upbringing, which goes a long way in explaining Ruby.

I am going to miss Jane so much. I assume she died a bit on the young side because she was a big girl with meat-bird genes, but she had a very, very good life in the flock, and I am so glad she stayed with us, especially since every single chicken we gave to those guys for the wood ended up being eaten by a fox. I think a lot of people got chickens during the pandemic, even when they weren’t quite ready for them. I quit hatching chicks for people after that because you know how I am, and the fox stories made me very sad.

This is Jane when she got to be a mama–a fierce mama. That baby chick next to her is Poe Jr. Jr.

Our sweet Charlotte died yesterday in the evening. It was also very sudden with no signs of illness at all. She was just old; she was out in there in the pasture with her people and then just died. She has been with us for a long time. She was a Buff Orpington I bought from a man in early 2017. He was selling them because his daughter had bought too many chicks, and as they grew up, she was overwhelmed. I bought Charlotte and Emily from him and immediately fell in love with them. I don’t know if they were sisters, but when you get a pair of hens, you just have to name them as if they are, so I named them Charlotte and Emily, after the Brontes.

I had hoped I was buying from a local breeder but was too naive to ask. I was more than a little disappointed when I found out they came from Tractor Supply, but it turned out to be okay. Charlotte was seven years old when she passed. Emily is still going, though I expect we won’t have her much longer. Still, that’s a pretty good run for some Tractor Supply chickens.

Emily and Charlotte were very close. They were inseparable for years, and in later years, still hung out a lot. Saint-Saens is either Emily or Charlotte’s daughter, and she always hung out with them as well. It’s one of the most fascinating things to me about chickens, but they tend to hang out with the people who look like them.

It was also interesting to me that both Emily and Charlotte got grumpy in their older age–a little mean sometimes. Buff Opringtons are such a docile breed, and those hens were so sweet most of their lives. Still, about two years ago, I noticed they were both just pecking everyone on the head like they owned the place. I guess they did. They were officially a part of the old guard in the coop, and I am so sad to have lost Charlotte.

But she was out pecking and scratching in the pasture and doing what she loved when she passed. She lived a very, very good life.

Last night, I tried to show her to Emily, to make sure Emily understood, but Rooster was too out of sorts about it. So, this morning, when Ron was about to take Charlotte out to the deep woods to feed a fox or someone in need, he held her down and showed her to the flock. He said the flock got very quiet and that Emily looked for a long time.

For various reasons I hope to write about soon, we can’t get any baby chickens this year and maybe next year. We also have several older hens. I am coming upon a time of loss–death without any new life–in this cycle of our farm as we try to downside our flock.

It’s going to be hard on my heart.

Luna, Ruby, and a Really Tough Night

~ Crystal Sands ~ 5 Comments

When I wrote last, I wrote about my struggles with COVID, and dear readers, I am sad to report things got worse. To make a long story short, that “set back” I wrote about last time ended up being a much bigger set back than I thought it might be. Because of my autoimmune disorder, I ended up at the hospital–twice. I turns out my immune system decided to attack my nervous system. I had hours of not being able to walk or talk, and it was scary. Thankfully, I am doing much–much better. Thankfully, my immune system did not decide to attack my autonomic nervous system. I had to look that up when the doctor mentioned this. That’s the one that controls your automatic functions like breathing. Yeah, I am feeling pretty lucky overall, friends. Pretty lucky and very, very grateful!

I have been pretty joyful since getting out of the hospital last Thursday. I am joyful to be walking, talking, and spending time with my family–my furry and feathered family as well. Tonight, however, I am a little down because Luna is sleeping in the duck house for the first time since December 14 of last year, and I miss her terribly.

When the snow melted and the water puddles came, she started really wanting to go outside, but we have one duck, our Mean Girl, as I now refer to her, who kept beating Luna up so badly that I kept having to bring Luna back to the house. I finally devised a plan to let Luna join the rest of the flock–our Mean Girl is being isolated for a few days, maybe even a week or two. Meal Girl is spending her days in a fenced area where she can’t get to Luna to attack her, and we put her in a crate at night and bring her into the garage for safety. Mean Girl does not like this any little bit, but it’s necessary. Luna had a great day today, and hopefully, she’s doing well in the duck house tonight.

But when I took peas out to the ducks and Luna ate the peas and went into the duck house like everyone else, I cried and cried.

I am worn from cleaning up duck poop and carrying buckets of water as I empty her tub, but my heart is broken thinking about how much I loved the sound of Luna’s little duck feet walking across our old wooden floors. Her little webbed feet made such a splat-splat-splat as she took each step. And how I loved watching her sit in the morning sun coming through the window and fall asleep listening to her Bach cello suites.

I miss her already.

Sadly, I am missing someone else tonight. Ruby is literally missing. I am trying not to worry because she’s Ruby. She’s smart and is surely just hiding somewhere I can’t find her.

We had to leave right before dark to go pick up our son from art class in town, and Ruby was wanting to get in the coop. We were running late though, so I didn’t have time to get her into the coop. Ruby normally just perches on the gate until we get home, and then we put her up. When we got home tonight, she was not on her gate–or in the coop.

We searched and searched and could not find her. I have to believe that she is somewhere nearby just hiding and being stubborn. It will be cold tonight but not cold enough that she can’t make it. I just hope nothing gets her. Surely not. I can’t imagine life without that hen.

Send good vibes for Ruby and Luna tonight. I am saying a little prayer to the universe that no one picks on Luna in the duck house tonight and that my stubborn, quirky little Ruby is outside waiting for me in the morning. Please, oh please, let me find that bird in the morning.

photo credits: Ron Sands

Farm Chores in Times of COVID

~ Crystal Sands ~ 3 Comments

Last week, I took a test and confirmed that I have COVID. Our whole family has had COVID, and it has not been easy for sure. We made it four years without catching it. I have both an autoimmune disorder and asthma, and my mom ended up getting long COVID, so I really didn’t want any part of it. Still, after a while, it just seemed we couldn’t ask our teenage son to keep masking when no one else was. I mean, I don’t mind being strange, but it’s hard to ask your kid to be strange for you. Plus, we were vaccinated, so we decided to just take our chances. Thankfully, we are doing okay overall, but every time I think I am doing better, I go right back down. I am a bit down today because this morning was another setback. I woke up this morning worse than I have been in a couple of days. Nevertheless, I got up and did my farm chores.

And that has been the biggest challenge during all of this–the farm chores. Last week, there were a couple of days I could barely move, but I drug myself out of bed every morning and hauled those buckets of water and carried the bag of feed and did my part–all in extremely slow motion. I noticed one morning that it had taken us two hours to do what we normally do in one. In some ways, I don’t even know how we did it, but you always find strength you didn’t know you had when you have no choice, right?

The whole thing has been a reality check for my life though. My full-time work doesn’t allow for sick days really, so I had to keep working. It was really hard to concentrate. We live thousands of miles from family, and our isolation has never felt more significant. I’m questioning a lot of things.

Still, I am so proud of us because we are making it. Ron has been sicker than I have ever seen him, but he just never stopped. Some mornings, I was moving so slowly on my part of the chores that he would grab the buckets from my hands and finish my chores too after he had finished his own. Some evenings, when he just couldn’t get up, I carried in the feed and water and closed up the chickens and ducks by myself. We took turns when we could and never stopped trying. We took care of each other. I realized that we are pretty self reliant–not completely, of course, but quite a bit.

All of the animals are doing just fine, except for poor Bairre and Boudica. We have not been able to take them on their long walks, and they are both more than a little depressed. Oh, and the chicken coop really, really needs a cleaning, but thankfully, the snow and ice have all melted, allowing the chickens to have full run of their giant fenced yard, which means they are not spending too much time in the coop anyway. Just for sleeping. And I’m pretty sure that, tomorrow, Ron and I will be well enough to clean it out–at least Ron will be able to, and I’ll do my best to help. Ron is noticeably better today.

Cooking has been brutal though. I managed to cook homemade pizza on Thursday, but that’s the last successful thing we have eaten. Ron won’t do take out, so he’s been trying to cook after I gave up on Friday. It has not been pretty. We all just look at the food, laugh and cry a little, and do our best to eat it because we know our bodies need it. We can’t taste much anyway, but somehow, I can still taste “bad.” I am about to have to try to make some bread, so we can eat sandwiches of sorts for a few days. Wish me luck!

I realized during all this that I cannot even imagine being a full-time farmer and getting really sick. What do you do? Who do you call? There are no sick days. Hopefully, all of the full-time farmers I know have a good a support system. I can see it’s needed.

On a side note, since the snow and ice have melted, we started putting Luna outside for a little bit in a separate fenced area. Yesterday, I put the two mean ducks in the fenced area and let her have some time with the rest of the flock. Hopefully, we will get her integrated gradually, but I don’t know if she wants to be. This morning, she acted so tired that I just let her stay in the house and listen to music. She seems so content right now. What in the world are we going to do with her?

A Breakdown Over the Chicken Feed

~ Crystal Sands ~ 2 Comments

We started feeding our chickens organic feed in 2019 after reading more about issues with regular chicken feed. The organic was more expensive, of course, but based on what I was reading about the quality of ingredients in most chicken feed, it seemed worth the money. It was for the chickens but also for us. There is not a ton of research that I can find on how much a bio filter chickens are, but it seems pretty clear that, if you are eating chicken eggs, what goes in their little bodies goes into your body.

Over the years though, the quality of the organic feed we buy has declined significantly while the price has gone up. I get that this is just how things are. The food is still organic, so that’s important, but our bags of feed are full of food dust. Just dust. It makes the chickens sneeze, and I have to throw out pounds and pounds of it. When I do, I just think about how much money I am throwing away and how much of a waste of resources it is.

This morning, I did my usual thing of sifting through the bags of chicken feed and throwing out the dust. I had just enough actual food pellets left in an open bag to fill up both chicken bowls and the duck bowl.

As I was delivering the food bowls to the coop, I saw that our new rooster, Rostropovich, was on Mary Jane, our pardoned meat bird who will be 7 years old this June. Normally, she will let him have it for trying to mate with her, but she just let him and made a sad little noise. When I got back to deliver the fresh water, that little stinker was on her again. I shoved him off, and Mary Jane stumbled.

I realized something was not right with Mary Jane, so I had to scoop up that big chicken and bring her into the house. She had a bit of a poopy butt, but she seems great otherwise. Her comb looks good, and she has no mites. I think she has hurt her leg but, hopefully, not in a bad way. I did see her on the top roost yesterday, which is not a good idea for a nearly 7 year-old meat bird who must surely weigh 12 to 15 pounds. I’m hoping she just has a sprain.

I went out in the snow and dug out the dog crate, cleaned it up, put in fresh straw, trimmed Mary Jane’s back feathers to help her avoid poopy butt going forward, and I got her set up in the garage. She seemed pretty good about getting away from the flock–well, getting away from that young rooster.

Then, it was back inside to get Luna’s nest, food, and water ready for the day. I had to go open a new bag of the dusty feed to make Luna’s bowl, and I couldn’t get it open. I have always prided myself in being able to open the feed bags. It seems like a small thing, but there is a trick to it. There is a little tab on one side. If you pull that, the string comes all loose, and the bag opens. Well, the stupid company making the feed changed the bag, and there’s no more tab. So it’s just you and your cold fingers and the stupid string.

This morning that stupid string was just it, and I broke down and cried because they sell us dust and can’t even give us a tab to open it anymore. And it’s just all the things. The straw we have bought for years (and it’s not cheap) has repeatedly been full of plastic bits that we have pick out, so our chickens don’t eat it and it doesn’t end up in our compost. And the feed company sells dust. And grocery prices are so high that my family back home struggles to afford food, and I can’t mail them food from Maine because shipping is so expensive. Plus, I only know how to can sauce and pears and jam. I send them those things as gifts, but that’s not enough. And, though Ron and I are so tired sometimes, we have to keep going because our food industry is literally poisoning all of us and lowering our IQs and giving us cancer. I realize I am just making these claims without evidence, as an academic should never do, but we all know it’s true.

And I also realize all of this is “first world problems” considering the wars and the hungry people in the world and mess humans make of things everywhere for no good reason, as far as I can tell, but it all came down to that stupid feed bag this morning. I don’t know how farmers are going to keep making it. Feed is so expensive, and the straw is full of plastic, and there is drought, and there is flooding, and I have had three friends–two of them farmers–close their businesses in the last year because it’s all just hard.

This morning, I had a little breakdown–over the chicken feed.

But then, after I finished crying, I went in the house, got the scissors, opened the stupid bag, and got sweet Luna her food. She talks to me now. We are starting to understand each other.

And that helps.

And I am going to have to figure out how to get the organic ingredients to make our own feed. I read that it’s problematic, but it has to be better than dust.

photo credit: Prince Abid, Unsplash

Rooster’s Retirement

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

Do you remember last winter when I was worrying about Rooster, thinking he may not make it through the winter? Well, we are here in the middle of yet another winter, and that boy is going strong–stronger than I have seen him in at least a couple of years. I think I know why.

Rooster has retired from his job.

Rooster has always been a worrier. I think that’s why I have always loved him so much. He’s my kindred spirit. He has also been the one chicken in our whole flock who continued to struggle with the respiratory illness from 2019 years after everyone else was doing great. In the winter, every winter, he would rattle when he breathed sometimes. I tried everything from my natural remedies to breaking down and doing a full round of prescribed antibiotics. He would get better, but we would always relapse. I realize now that it was maybe from the stress of his job because Rooster is doing surprisingly well in terms of his health. I have not heard a single rattle from that boy all winter (I am literally knocking on wood right this second), and he seems so happy–happier than I think I have ever seen him.

A few years ago, we tried to keep a second rooster, Romeo. Rooster really seemed to like him, but Romeo started harassing and then hurting Ruby, so….

I remember thinking that Rooster seemed mad at us for quite some time after that. So, when Dvorak got his chance to try for second rooster of our flock, I was so grateful it worked out.

I noticed that Rooster trained him well and that Dvorak learned well. Dvorak is a very smart boy and seems to be a bit of a worrier like Rooster, though not to the same extent. He paid close attention to Rooster though. You could see him studying Rooster. It was awesome to see. Dvorak was my sweet baby boy from the summer of 2022. I had never seen such a sweet, snuggly baby boy, so I was so thankful he got along with Rooster and developed into an excellent rooster for our flock. Dvorak doesn’t have much of a tail, but he has a big heart.

He and Rooster have worked really well together guarding the flock, and I noticed that, with Dvorak around, every now and then, Rooster would take a rest this summer and just dust bathe or stretch out in the sun. He could NEVER do that before. Still, it wasn’t much of a rest, and he mostly kept working.

Then, Ruby raised two babies in the late spring, and they both turned out to be boys. I was devastated because, with two roosters, we could never keep three. Our flock is just not quite big enough. I found the best home in the history of the world for the gray rooster, but we still had the little black rooster. He was pretty skittish because he was raised by a neurotic mama (Ruby), but he just kept getting more and more beautiful. His real mama is Hector, and he started to look like Black Copper Maran rooster like his mama. And these roosters are gorgeous!

I wanted to keep him, but I figured there was no way. Too many roosters means misery for the hens. I started looking for a home for him. He comes from a great breed and is carrying a very dark egg gene. This is prized, so I thought it would be very easy to find him a home.

Twice, I thought I had made the deal, but when it came time to really do it, they changed their minds. One just ended up being too far to drive, even though I was willing to drive a long way to help. This was also right in the middle of “Free Rooster Looking for a Good Home” season in the fall on social media, so I had to admit defeat.

I asked Ron about what to do, and he said maybe we should try to keep him. I agreed that it wouldn’t hurt to just try, but we both agreed that if the hens started to suffer that he would have to go. I would try again to find him a home, and if that didn’t work, well….

Dear readers, I am happy to report that it worked out very well–like better than I could have imagined well because, as it turns out, Rooster really just wanted to retire. He is pretty old after all. He is 8 years old, which is really good for a Rooster who has been eating feed formulated for hens his whole life.

Dvorak went to work right away training the new boy, and Dvorak is young, so he was just extra. He watched every move the new boy made and put him in his place right away. He never hurt him, and it was a great sign that he never had to. The new rooster went right along with the program and is now doing great. He’s doing so great that we gave him a name. We decided to name him Rostropovich since we had to give our original Rostropovich to a new home.

And, of course, the final great part of this story is watching Rooster enjoy his retirement. He just does whatever he wants all day long. After the near miss with the hawk, he did work for a few days, but mostly, he rests. He eats. He visits with his favorite hens. He makes sure he gets some of the snacks from the kitchen scraps. I even saw him hanging out in a nest box the other day. He like, “I’m just seeing what all the fuss is about.”

His breathing is clear. He has more energy. I do regular checks on him for mites because, when a chicken is run down, they are more likely to get mites, but he has been free and clear all year. I also saw him mate with a hen the other day, and he doesn’t do that a lot any more. And you can just see it in his face. He’s enjoying life. I have no words for how happy this makes me. It also gives me hope for a worrier like me.

I don’t know how much longer he has, but I am grateful he is doing so well and enjoying some retirement. That sweet boy has earned it. I love him to the moon and back, and I hope Rooster’s retirement makes it so I get more time with him and that he gets more time living a pretty good life.

A New Kind of Resolution: Making Small Homesteading Goals for the Year

~ Crystal Sands ~ 2 Comments

We are quite self-sufficient as homesteaders. We grow between 60 and 70 percent of the food we eat and have created a cycle of sustainability and regeneration on our property, but we didn’t get here over night. It has all been a process, and each year, I focus on adding a little more to what I can do. I used to have much bigger ambitions each year, but I learned pretty quickly that we needed to pace ourselves in order to keep from getting discouraged or overwhelmed. With this in mind, I like to think deeply about what we need and what a I love and make a few homesteading New Year’s resolutions each year.

As I have mentioned before, I am a bit of a planner. As such, I am a big New Year’s resolutions kind of person. Not everyone is, and I get that. Some people think they are ridiculous, and I get that too. Still, for me, someone who struggles to complete projects, especially when we can get so busy around here with outside work, homesteading, homeschooling, and more, New Year’s resolutions are helpful. They give me a focus and a deadline.

Last year, one of my biggest homesteading goals was to actually keep records of our eggs sales and consumption along with costs of feed and straw in order to see if there was in any way in world I might, someday, be able to expand our egg business and give it a go as a chicken farmer.

I didn’t get good news in my egg sales experiment and realized in April that, even in our best months, we could barely manage to break even selling eggs at $5.00 a dozen, so my farmer dream of selling eggs for a living was a myth busted in 2023. I can’t quit my day job, but I’m going to keep raising chickens. I am thankful they also use our food waste and supply our garden with fertilizer. Those chickens are our partners on this homestead, and I am thankful for each and every one of them.

On the positive side, in 2023, one of my resolutions was to finish a crochet blanket I started years ago, and I did it! I finished it on New Year’s Eve, just in time. We also had the goal to add more edible landscaping to our property. We added 4 peach trees, 3 grapevines, and 7 additional blueberry bushes. We have 3 raised beds of strawberries and had hoped to add another bed, but didn’t make it. I also learned how to can pears from our pear trees, and I think I may be most proud of that in terms of upping my homesteading game in 2023.

For 2024, I have a few homesteading goals that, I think, will keep us moving in a good direction while also being realistic given our schedules with work and being cello parents. It took me some time this year to think of what I wanted my goals to be and then talk about them with Ron, but I think I have a good list:

First, we need to add that additional strawberry bed if possible because out strawberries will be in their fourth season this year, and I know it won’t be long before we have to replant. We need a least one bed started now because I cannot go a summer without our delicious, organic strawberries.

Second, because our peach trees did marvelously in the chicken yard, we have decided to turn part of the chicken yard (they have about 3/4 of an acre fenced) into an orchard of sorts. We plan to add two more pear trees and then two more fruit trees of another kind, hopefully cherries. I plan to research this winter to see what kinds of cherries do well in Maine. We just decided this year that it doesn’t make sense not to have a yard full of fruit trees.

Our third goal for 2024 is to simplify the garden. Whether it’s a drought year or a flood year, the garden is epic in the summer. In 2023, I planted a small test plot using the Three Sisters Method, and it worked so well and just seems to take care of itself. Ron was greatly impressed and has been looking for a way to cut back on his work in the garden. With that in mind, we plan to plant a huge part of our garden plot using the Three Sisters Method in 2024.

Finally, my last resolution for the homestead is to research making our own organic chicken feed because, for the past year, our organic feed, no matter the brand we have tried, has been full of dust. It’s terribly wasteful and terribly expensive. I have no idea what we need to do, but that will definitely be another post–or series of posts.

Those New Year’s resolutions for the homestead make me hopeful. This coming year is not about growth very much but more about simplifying and finding ways to simply take more advantage of what we already have.

I also have a personal New Year’s resolution to finish some writing and get back to writing for Modern Farmer. I love that magazine. We’ll see how it goes.

In the meantime, what are you New Year’s resolutions for your farm or homestead?

photo credit: Skylar Zilka Unsplash

She watches the skies.

~ Crystal Sands ~ 2 Comments

This morning, we had a near death experience with a hawk. I did not see it, but we clearly had a hawk come in and make a try for one of our chickens.

Ron and I were playing cards while drinking our tea and coffee. The morning chores had been done a while. It was raining, so Ron said he was surprised when Boudica didn’t want to come inside. He said she looked like she meant to work this morning, so Bairre came in the house after chores but not Boudica. We were just about finished with a long game with our cards when Boudica started going off in a big way.

I didn’t run since it seemed like she was barking at the woods and we have good fences, but I did stop what I was doing and head outside. The stress of the situation hit me as soon as I got outside and heard everything. I couldn’t see the chickens at all, which was a big worry, and the birds in the trees were making very weird noises. It sounded like distress. That sound, coupled with Boudica, who was completely freaking out at this point because she was in a different fence and couldn’t get to the chickens, put me to work.

I ran toward the front, forested part of the chicken yard. I couldn’t see anything in the trees, but only a few people were in the coop. I figured everyone had to be in the woods.

When I got there, about half the flock came out running, some went to the raspberry bushes to hide, and others ran all the way to coop. I knew the situation must have been bad because they were all making terrified noises. Even Mary Jane, who was running by the way, was making the strangest noise I have ever heard her–or any chicken–make.

As I made my way into the trees, more chickens came out, and then I heard movement above my head. I saw a gray hawk fly out of a neighbor’s tree that is right above our chicken yard. It flew back toward my neighbor’s house. I am about 90 percent sure it was a Cooper’s hawk. It’s almost always a Cooper’s hawk in our woods.

Then, I started hunting. Ron came outside, and I filled him in. “Boudica is amazing!” he said.

“It’s the truth!” I replied.

I kept looking, and, eventually, Ron came to help. We both agreed that, surely, since I had seen the hawk, that it didn’t get anyone; still, I would feel better finding all of the littles. They are all nearly grown, but Tuesday, Wednesday, and Lenore, are still pretty small and could easily be carried off by a hawk. I will never hatch fall babies again. It’s warm enough now in Maine to do it, but they are pretty little still during hawk season. They have an extra risk.

I could find all of the littles except for Tuesday and Wednesday. Lenore and Annie were in the raspberry bushes, and Clara was in the coop. I found poor little Jacqueline out by herself by the front fence, trying to get into the coop the wrong way. She was completely panic stricken, so I reached down to just pick her up and carry her to the coop. When I did, she reacted violently. Her little head turned around, and she got me and my robe with her beak. She mainly got my robe, but it still hurt. She was just about to get me again, when I started talking sweet to her. She released her vice grip on my robe, and I felt her feet relax. That poor little baby had been traumatized. Because she was completely alone, she may have been a target, but I am not sure. I just know I have never seen a hen that traumatized.

I was still looking for Tuesday and Wednesday when I found Piatigorsky hiding so still in the bushes in the woods. She must have had a close call too. She was so still, I thought she was dead at first. I had to say her name three times before she moved. I reached in to pick her up, and she just buried her head into me. She is still the sweetest girl, and I am so glad she is okay. Next, I found Faure in a similar situation, but she didn’t want me to pick her up. I did have to walk her to Ron, who then walked her to the coop.

Ron and I continued to communicate as we gradually found people. Still, neither of us had found Tuesday and Wednesday. Ron told me to try to coop one more time and check the nest boxes. When I did, I found Wednesday. I was so happy to find her but then also a little more worried that there was no Tuesday. The chances of a hawk getting away with one baby in the time it took me to get out there was not zero.

Ron and I kept looking. We made our way back into the woods that we had already searched and searched when Tuesday came walking out of camouflage it seems. There she was, the cutest little thing I have ever seen–only aged a few years after that much stress. She stayed right with us as we walked her back to the coop.

“We had better go thank Boudica extra hard,” Ron said, and I agreed. We both made the biggest fuss over her, and she was so proud. I cannot express the depths of my gratitude to her in words, but I think she felt it. It is a gratitude I felt in my chest and in my bones this morning.

“She watches the skies,” Ron said. “It’s remarkable.”

I agreed.

It is humbling beyond all measure to be in the presence of such greatness. How lucky am I to have Boudica as my dear friend and partner on this homestead?

*It feels important that I add a quick note at the end of the story about Boudica and her magnificence. Boudica is a Great Pyrenees, a Livestock Guardian dog. She was not born knowing how to protect our flocks. She learned. It is a myth that you do not have to train LGDs. Great Pyrenees are the smartest dogs I have ever encountered. They have been bred for thousands of years to have strong critical thinking skills and to think for themselves without humans around. They learn so quickly, but they do have to be taught. Far too many Great Pyrenees are surrendered to shelters because people do not understand this.

The Opossum

~ Crystal Sands ~ 2 Comments

I feel that my struggle in finding a photo for this post speaks volumes about my struggles with the fact that an opossum has moved in under our back shed, the one by the woods and the giant oak tree that dropped approximately 1 million acorns this fall. Some of the photographs make the opossum look cute and sweet; others make the opossum look mean and scary. Of course, I deeply understand that this animal is just a complex creature like the rest of us–sometimes cute and cuddly, sometimes not so much.

I have been hearing more and more about opossums because their numbers are on the rise here in Maine, and according to the Bangor Daily News, are suddenly everywhere this fall. About a month ago, Ron said he heard a sort of crying from a creature under our shed while he was out working in the burn pile one night. The interesting thing is that the shed is in a fenced area. We have never had an animal come through the fence, so we were surprised that something had moved in. We worried about it for a bit but kept a close eye and never saw anything.

Then, it snowed, and the evidence was upon us. I discovered the little tracks and hoped at first they were tracks from a larger squirrel, maybe, but then I saw the pattern of walking–and I knew this was no squirrel. I didn’t know what, but I knew we had an issue.

I reported said issue to Ron, who thinks I overreact about any potential threat to our chickens. He said he thought it was the neighbor’s cat hunting for mice. I had my doubts because I thought there was evidence of digging in the snow. I tried to study the tracks, but they were a little messy, making it difficult to discern very much.

A few days later, in fresh snow, I found a good track. I took a picture and took it to Ron. He said he was just reading the article I linked above in the newspaper about opossums moving in. Goggling the tracks confirmed the suspicion. It looks like we have a neighbor named opossum.

Is this little neighbor friend or foe? It’s hard to say, but Ron and I are both believers in giving respect and space to wildlife when possible. Apparently, opossums are great to have around for keeping away rats and mice and are generally harmless, slow, peaceful creatures, despite their reputation that they can be aggressive. However, over the years, I have seen a few posts about opossums killing and eating chickens.

Once we confirmed our opossum, I started reading everything I could about interactions between chickens and opossums. The vast majority of the stories are that the opossums coexisted peacefully with the chickens and always kept their distance, but every now and then, there is a story of murder that raises concerns for sure.

As near as I can tell, if you just make sure the opossum does not get into your coop, you are fine. This makes me hopeful because we have a pretty secure coop, and the shed is at least a little distance from the coop. Still, I worry. What if it gets in?

We’ll see how it goes. Please send good opossum vibes our way. Oh, and if you have a story, please share it.

photo credit: Jennifer Uppendahl, Unsplash