a favorite color, deep dark red

side shot

hen tail

fluffing out the finery

poor George, only has one eye

hello, pretty

this is *the end*

It is fun to play with the eggs my sixteen hens leave for me in the coop.  I bring them in the house, wash and dry them, and arrange them in bowls and cartons to maximize their beauty.  Sometimes I would rather leave them all in the bowl than eat them up – but we do that, too.

I wonder to myself, why dye the eggs when they already come in such pleasing shades?

Oh, yes…..“teach us delight in simple things”  Rudyard Kipling

the latest news from shanda’s henhouse

Most of you may know that I have chickens.  These days, I have been busy raising our second flock (the first one was wiped out by raccoons) and eagarly awaiting the egg-laying stage.  On December 12, I excitedly found the first four brown eggs.   But now I want to let you know (in case you’re interested in such things) that my Ameraucanas are beginning to lay. On December 29, I almost stepped on the first green egg.  It was right in the middle of the chicken coop floor, quite impossible to miss.  Eggs are usually put in secret places, and so I wonder if Hen was flaunting this, her first lovely offering?

These pretty eggs are my favorite.  For now, we are only gathering one a day so I try not to use them up too fast; in this way I always have several to look at in the midst of all the browns. 

Happy Wednesday, friends!

My flock of hens is six months old and recently they began flying over their fence to explore the other side.  To their delight, there were plenty of enticing places to scratch with their little claw feet.  “Clip the Hen’s Wings” was put on my to-do list.

We don’t let them free range because it isn’t safe for them.  (dog)

On Friday afternoon half the flock was scratching around in the neighbor’s grassy lawn.  After Caleb chased them home, I announced that we would be clipping wings the next morning.  He cheered and said he wanted to help. 

Early Saturday morning found us, with coats thrown over our pj’s, in the coop with a pair of scissors.

We shut them on one side.  Grace threw the rooster out the open window on “our side” and she and Caleb started chicken wrangling.  There was such quickness of feet, flurry of wings, and tremendous squawking, it was impossible not to get caught up in the excitement.

No more freedom for you, or you, or any of you.

We have twenty hens.  None of them lay yet.

Only one wing needs to be clipped per hen.  It makes them unbalanced, poor dears.

Only the feathers are cut, and it doesn’t hurt them a bit.

The most amusing part for me is when a squawking hen stops her noise to watch her feathers fall to the floor.

Once it was clipped, she was thrown out the window into the chicken pen, to recover from the trauma.  Eventually, we were down to the last three, the smartest? or dumbest?

They are such soft little birds.  Not quite full grown.

I paid my helpers generously, in chicken feathers.  “Take as many as you want.” 

Caleb remarked,

“I’m going to pin them all

Upon my wall.”

But they ended up as a centerpiece, in a wicker basket on the table. 

Everytime I see it, I admire the feathers and feel thankful, for my fun children, and a job well done.

“The art of being happy lies in the power of extracting happiness

 from common things.”  

 Henry Ward Beecher

This morning for breakfast, I put a pat of butter in a frying pan and waited for it to melt.  I reached into the fridge and choose two eggs with sage green shells that Grace gathered from the coop, just yesterday.  I put down two pieces of white bread into the toaster and cracked the eggs into the pool of hot butter, where they immedietly started sizzling.  At just the right time, I used a wooden spoon (because I couldn’t find my flipper) and turned the eggs.  Turning off the heat, I grabbed a (fiesta) plate from the cupboard, buttered my toast, and put it and the eggs on the plate.  The older children were all in school and the younger ones had already eaten.  I sat at the table a nd ate my eggs with the hot, crispy toast and remembered all the mornings my Mom made me this very same breakfast before school.  Eggs and toast are a comfort food for me.  A perfectly fried egg is something to be proud of.

I remember when Rich finally agreed to let me get chickens.  We had stopped at Agway for something and I sat in the car with the children while he ran in.  When he came out, he smiled and handed me a brochure through the open window, and told me that it was time to order chicks.  Everyone in the car heard my happy cries, as I realized I was finally going to live out one of my dreams; to have a flock of chickens!

That was three years ago now.  The chicks came in the late summer, and by that winter they were starting to lay.  We have enjoyed two and a half years of our own rich, beautiful eggs.  Each one is interesting, big or small, speckled or solid colored, and sometimes we even get a tiny egg. 

Through the years we have lost some of our original, first chickens.  One of our hens hatched out eggs (for a second flock) and we lost some of those new ones, too.  Right now we get about 5 eggs a day. 

Grace and I are hooked.  We will always have chickens now.  They add so much to life here at home.  We observe them, laugh at them, hold them, and enjoy their eggs.

A few months ago, I ordered twenty five more chicks.  Five each of five different varieties.  On the morning the Post Office called, Grace went down with me (at 6:30 am) to get our box of warm, peeping chicks.  The two of us brought them home and got them cozy in the garage, in a big crate.  We put down wood shavings, filled their water and food, and sat down to watch them.  We’ve been sitting out there every chance we could get, all weekend.

The chicks get sleepy under their red heat lamp.  We smile as we watch them sink into the straw, limp, and looking very peaceful.

Most of the time, they are busy eating and drinking (and growing).  We put food in empty food lids and they seem to like it better that way.  They gather around in a circle and get right into the dish so they can scratch backwards and eat.  I found a metal water ring at Agway, made to use with a mason jar.  Delightful.

Yesterday afternoon, Grace and I took nine of the chicks outside for a little while.  Although they are tiny, they knew just what to do; scratch and hunt for little tasty morsels.  One of them found a leaf and got chased by her sisters, who thought it was something good to eat.

We have five each of:

Ameraucana (blue or green eggs)

Lakenvelder (white or cream eggs)

Welsummer (dark brown eggs)  I am most excited about these.  I can’t wait to see the eggs.

Rhode Island Reds (brown)

New Hampshire Reds (brown)

We haven’t raised any poultry for meat, although we may in the future.  For now we are simply enjoying our chickens as pets and the wonderful egg producers that they are.

“She pecks here, there, and everywhere.  She’s indefatigable.
Now and then, she takes a rest.
Her neck sticks up under her red revolutionary bonnet, she has a lively eye, she’s pouting with conceit, listening first with one ear, then with the other.
Reassured that all’s well, once again she goes off searching.
She lifts her feet up stiffly, as if she’s got gout.  She spreads her claws and puts them down cautiously, without making a sound.
You’d think she was walking barefoot.”

Jules Renard

The chicken who was really a rooster.

I wrote before that we were not jealous of “Juliet” and her long blond feathers.

No, we were never jealous, but we were suspicious.

Why did she not look like her sisters?

Why is she so fancy looking, with such plumed feathers upon her tail?

Oh, I was quite suspicious, and every once in a while I would say, “I wonder if Juliet is really a rooster?”

This morning, my suspicions were confirmed.  Davy went down to the coop at 7:30 this morning and ran back with red cheeks (from the cold), and breathlessly said, “One of our chickens is a BOY!  I heard it say cockadoodledoo!”

Half an hour later, Grace returned with her authoritative report.  “Yes, Juliet is definitely a rooster.  He’s acting KINGLY and mated with Ena!”

It was my idea to name him George.  Grace wanted to name him Cock.  So, George Cock it is.

We had ordered all female birds this summer but was aware that mistakes can happen.  I never wanted a rooster as part of our flock but now that we know Juliet is really George, I am at peace.  George may stay with our blessing, and live a long and happy life with his one dozen girls. 

The most beautiful view
is the one I share with you. 
~Author Unknown

It was early morning, and freezing cold outside, but undauntedly, Davy-do got bundled up anyway, to go take care of the chickens (all his idea).  He was gone for a little while, and when I heard him on the porch I tapped my husband (wonderful Saturday, he is home and by my side today) and said, “Davy’s back, let’s see the eggs he brought!”  He came in and found our undivided attention, we were ready for the show.

(Yesterday David brought me seven eggs, stuffed in his blue jean pockets, all perfect.)

How exciting!  He came over in front of us and started pulling eggs out of various pockets, but the first one he proudly showed us was OUR FIRST GREEN EGG!  I squealed and we all took turns holding it and looking at it.

David said, “I thought it was rotten!”

There are wild speculations going on about just which one of our five Araucana chickens laid the egg.  Grace says it’s either Swirl or Ena because Ena has been going in the nest boxes and they both crouch down now when she picks them up.

I was happy, I thought the color of the egg was lovely.  I enjoy having a variety of different eggs to admire.  We all had eggs for breakfast and I studied each one (briefly) before I cooked it up. 

What a blessing!  I have wanted chickens for years but never dreamed that I would enjoy it so much. 

After properly photo-documenting the event, Davy took “his” egg back and after much persuasion (“It will ROT if you try to keep it forever!”) he fried it up and ate it.  “How did it taste, Davy?”  “It was NICE!”  He later gave the keepsake egg shell to his sister.

I went outside into the cold midmorning air with Grace and Seth yesterday, to take care of our flock of chickens.  We first brought them home about six months ago, in late summer, and we are continuing to enjoy them very much.

Grace put on her boots and coat, I strapped Seth into the Ergo on my chest and zipped us both up together in Rich’s warm winter coat and away we went.

As we approached the coop, we could hear the girls talking to each other.  They could sense us coming.

For a treat, we took half a container of cottage cheese(it wasn’t spoiled but had been sitting in the fridge long enough for us humans not to want it anymore).  The chickens LOVED it.  We scooped some into each food container and then Grace scraped the rest out and offered it to them from the rubber spatula.  She was surrounded by chickens, pretty as a picture in her red boots and current favorite dress, that she picked out herself.

We filled up their water jugs, as they curiously pecked at our boots, gave them their feed, and watched them enjoy their breakfast. 

Then, as Grace took care of her rabbit, who lives in another part of the coop, Seth and I opened up the chicken door and went outside to watch them come out.

Only a couple of black chickens spend prolonged time out in the cold.  They wander around the house, come to the door to ask for treats, and seem to enjoy the day outside, scratching and hunting for things to nibble on.  The rest of them step out of their coop door only to eat snow and then go back in, where it’s warm.  It was funny to watch them gobble up the white stuff and then help each other clean their beaks off.

Juliet attracts the eye; she is our fanciest looking girl.  She has naturally blond hair, but we don’t envy her, we just admire.

On our little walk back to the house, I showed Seth our prize; four golden brown eggs.  He wanted to eat one, right away.  I put them in my pocket and smiled.  We looked around at the frozen pond, the snow covered ground, and breathed deep.  We could hear the wind chimes playing their music for us in the wind.  Grace caught up with us and we laughed and talked our way back to the warm house.