MAY 26, 2007. It’s hard to believe it’s been less than six years since Chicken Day, when we got our first chickens. Looking back, it’s amazing how quickly things changed for us at that point. In less than a year, we had rapidly built up the size of our flock and had lots of extra eggs. This led to getting our egg dealer’s license and selling eggs to the Alder Wood Bistro. That same spring, we got our first turkeys. And ducks. We’re still wondering just what makes our eggs so delicious. Is it just a matter of being so fresh and organic? Could it be our calcium-rich, unchlorinated mountain spring water? Or is it their penchant for foraging on pasture all day, grazing on green leafy things and snatching up all manner of creeping and crawling things?
Most likely it is a combination of factors. We often hear people suggest that it’s because our eggs “come from happy hens.” For quite a while, I simply dismissed that theory with a somewhat condescending smile. The more I thought about it, though, the more I wondered if that could be the answer. Certainly we try hard to raise our birds in a way that allows them as much of their natural behavior as possible, while keeping them safe. They have plenty of room to move around and fresh air all day. They make nests, incubate eggs and hatch and raise their offspring. They roost, fly, dust-bathe and mate. They bicker among themselves about the pecking order.
While plenty of potential predators are around, the birds also have access to lots of protective cover. There are trees, bushes, even cars for them to run under when the aerial-predator alarm is sounded.
What’s not to be happy about? But how would being happy affect the quality of the eggs? I don’t know. My best answer at the moment is that it is simply a mystery and miracle of nature.
I have talked a few times about the importance of planning. To my mind, it is equally important to periodically evaluate and see how things are going. We have had several discussions recently about the possibility of making some changes. For example, should we continue to raise turkeys? There is no simple answer. It depends on what our goals are now, what our local community wants, what our farming friends are up to and a few other factors. As with many issues, I have decidedly mixed feelings about keeping turkeys. I don’t think this is a bad thing, necessarily, as long as my ambivalence motivates me to take an honest look at the situation and choose the option that makes the most sense in relation to the big picture. Heritage turkeys are sweet. They’re often funny. Although the quality of their meat is outstanding, we figured out long ago that, unless we were raising nothing but turkeys, it’s almost impossible to make raising them for slaughter cost-effective in our location. We live hours away from the nearest USDA-certified facility that processes poultry, and we can’t sell them wholesale if we slaughter them on the farm. The most we can do is sell directly to retail customers, and the customers must come to the farm to buy them.
We also wouldn’t want to raise only one kind of livestock, poultry or anything else. We firmly believe that diversity is key to the success of any small farm. I mentioned in an earlier chapter that ducks follow pigs after they have plowed up their paddock. Ducks also clean up slugs, which, for the most part, chickens and turkeys don’t. A point in favor of turkeys is their valuable predator-alert skills. The roosters are pretty good at spotting aerial predators and sounding the alarm, but turkeys are hands-down superior for letting everyone, including us, know when a potential threat is on the ground. And turkeys, once they are approaching adulthood, are large enough not to have many predator concerns of their own.
So we’re grappling with the turkey question. It may sound as if our main issue with them is that we’re not making money. You should know by now that keeping poultry is not simply a matter of money for us. It is, however, a matter of economics. Remember the unromantic truth about farming: If a farm enterprise is not earning money or even paying for itself, it is by definition not sustainable. And while we might be able to think of other reasons we ought to keep at least some turkeys around, I think it’s irresponsible to completely ignore the financial side of everything we’re doing here.
As for the ducks and chickens, just what is the optimum size of our laying flocks? Obviously that depends on how many customers we have and how many eggs they need. Since our main customer is a restaurant, however, it becomes a tricky question to answer because of its seasonal fluctuations. In 2012, we were able to sell our extra eggs at local retail stores during the spring. In the summer, its busiest season, the Bistro bought most of our eggs, so we had fewer eggs to sell elsewhere. In the fall, when the restaurant’s business is slowing down, so is the egg production; the birds moult and all but stop laying for a couple of months. My guess is that the “perfect” flock size will always be a bit of a moving target. You never know when you’ll lose a few birds in a sudden rash of hawk attacks, such as we experienced in 2012. There’s no guarantee how many chicks will be hatched and survive, or how many of those will be laying hens or ducks. My feeling is that keeping production and sales records (which we do anyway because it’s required for our organic certification) and periodically reviewing the numbers will help us to spot trends earlier and make adjustments where and when we can.
And of course, we’re both getting older. Right now we’re both in pretty good shape, able to cut down trees, haul, split and stack firewood to heat our home. But we are aware that, physical issues aside, we may very well come to a point of simply not wanting to work this hard to heat the house anymore.
So we have a plan B in place, at least for heating the house. In 2007, when all the gas lines in our house were replaced, one was installed right outside our living room, straight across from our wood stove. At any time, we can replace the wood stove with a gas stove or heater, punch a hole in the wall and connect it to the gas line. We already have a gas stove and oven in the kitchen, in addition to the wood-burning cook stove, so cooking isn’t an issue. Whether one gas stove or heater in the living room will be sufficient to heat the entire house remains to be seen.
David and I haven’t always agreed on everything about our poultry enterprise. Actually, he tends to describe what we do as “a hobby gone bad.” And I know what he means; it’s more of a labor of love in many ways. I know it’s really a business, but I look at it differently because I keep the records and do the taxes. We’ve always agreed, though, that, as long as we have birds or other animals up here, we’re going to continue to do our best to give them the best life possible. And when necessary, they will be slaughtered with all the dignity they deserve and the respect that we continue to feel for them.
So what’s next? There is always a list of projects. We can’t get to everything every day, so we have to prioritize. I’ve sometimes thought if only we had no birds here for a year or two then we could get some other things done. Probably the reality is that, even if we had no birds, we’d find ourselves having to pick and choose which projects to start and which to shelve. How we prioritize depends on our cash flow, our busy seasonal work, the shorter days and uncooperative weather.
And what about having the time to travel? Even though traveling is not so important to me now, it would be nice to be able to simply pack an overnight bag and take off for the weekend sometimes. I’m still trying to learn to be flexible, although I’ve gotten somewhat better at it. It also requires patience, willingness to negotiate and a readiness to not take any of it too terribly seriously.
Will we continue to raise pigs part of each year? I don’t know. As with so many questions, there is no obvious, clear-cut answer; there are always pros and cons to consider.
As I write this, Cosmo is curled up fast asleep (again) on a sheepskin rug near the wood stove. David is down the hill in town, delivering eggs. Our chickens, turkeys and ducks are roaming around outside, scratching and pecking through the melting January snow. Breeding season and gardening season are right around the corner. Like Christmas, they always come the same time of year, and always seem to sneak up on me anyway. In a couple of hours, the birds will be heading into their coops for the night, and we will walk around, closing and latching the coop doors.
So much of what we do every day is pure routine, expected, normal and familiar. Yet there are also situations that come up: an unfamiliar predator, difficult weather conditions, an inexplicable drop in egg production, a day when one of us feels overwhelmed by the chores that must be done before dark. From the moment when I open the coop doors in the cool of the morning, watching these beautiful birds begin another day, my hope is that I will learn something today, and will continue to learn. I know for sure that, later this evening, when I put my book down, turn out the gas lamps and head up to bed, I will be looking forward to doing it all again tomorrow.