Last Fall I decided that I wanted to raise chickens. Not knowing anything about chickens; I did my research and I took the plunge. From their arrival as day old chicks, I coddled and pampered them, feared for them through a blustery winter when a hungry fox stalked their coop. They survived the harsh snows and when the weather finally warmed up, every opportunity to range free was a festive affair. Running wild, spreading their wings, never really taking flight, but clearly jumping for joy! The garden is their paradise. They move about the yard scratching, exposing and consuming slumbering insects and worms. During the summer months the vegetable garden is off limits, for fear that they would steal our harvest. Now that Fall has arrived and I have lost my steam, the gate is open and they are allowed to take full advantage of the bounty.
I had my doubts about being able to actually raise chickens in a small town. The critical days after the baby chicks arrived in the mail were so stressful. They are so cute, but equally fragile. I was the “mother hen”, checking in on them constantly. I am not particularly comfortable with birds. I am more of a cat or dog person, so this was new territory. Chickens are not cuddly creatures. They are skittish and yet when food is offered, the come a running from the far reaches of the yard!
The bonus, of course, is the very best eggs that you will ever experience. Marigold orange yolk that stand tall and fresh, still warm from the nest. The comfort of having chickens roaming the yard has become an evening and weekend ritual for our family. Watching the gorgeous Golden Wyandotte emerge from the garden, followed in tow by the three quirky bantam Brahmas and the sturdy Barred Plymouth Rock, give a distinctive contrast of color, texture and vitality to the landscape that is so surprising and curious. I cannot imagine the garden without this wonderful flock!
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| What a poser! |
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