THE HOMESTEAD/ACCUMULATION YEARS
Farm animals. I blame Mother Earth News for this, along with about a zillion books DH had compiled on the joys of homesteading. I already mentioned that he had calves and dogs when we met, but together we were downright dangerous. Within a year or so, we’d added chickens, geese, ducks, rabbits, bees and a milk goat. I really couldn’t tell you what we were thinking.
The calves were steers, bought from a local dairy farm (the farm offloads the useless males for cheap
) and ferried home in the back of DH’s compact car. They were Holsteins, a breed that Wikipedia says typically weigh 680-770 kg at maturity. Too bad we didn’t have Wikipedia at the time, because trying to manage a creature that carries more than ten times your own weight can be challenging. They were pretty well-behaved, though – unlike the Black Angus cow we bought later. That one tried to escape at every opportunity, running far and wide to neighboring properties and generally wreaking havoc. One time DH caught her on a neighbor’s farm, and she dragged him through a barbed wire fence at the end of a rope. He came home with his face horrifically bloody and had to leave for work after quickly washing the worst of it off. I have no idea what customers at the restaurant thought, but the tips were good that night.
The chickens were inevitable. You go to the feed store in the spring, and they have stock tanks (just like our bathtub!) filled with fluffy little chicks. Visions of free eggs dance in your head; you imagine how great it will be to have lovely birds running around eating all the bugs and providing you with free meat when the time is right; the chicks mill about looking so adorable…we resisted. Briefly. Then we ordered Araucana chicks from a catalog, and they arrived in the mail with one free grab-bag “exotic” rooster. More about Mr. Freakin’ Exotic Rooster later.
Most people who indulge the baby chick fantasy have electricity to keep a brooder warm for the first set of motherless chicks. Without grid power, we had to bring the chicks into the house and keep them in front of the wood stove. Fluffy little pooping birds in your house are adorable for maybe one day, until the smell really sinks in (maybe this is true of children also?
). We built a spacious chicken palace and moved them into it as soon as possible, but that wasn’t for a few very long weeks.
We wanted our chickens to be free-range, at least during the day, which is one reason we chose Araucanas. They were described as tough, self-reliant, Survivalist chickens and great mothers (tip: great mother translates as “Hides eggs under bushes.”). Also: blue and green eggs! The shell, that is.
And thus began a war with wildlife. Hawks, weasels, coyotes, bobcats, bears and raccoons all turned up for the buffet we had so considerately laid out. We yelled at, chased, shot at, cursed at and generally said bad things about all of the creatures that were just doing their natural thing. It was truly a losing battle unless we wanted to keep the chickens imprisoned 24/7. The dogs were 100% useless in this battle, which is just wrong. What are we feeding you for?? You’re supposed to police the homestead!
Ah, but while it lasted: the eggs. The EGGS. I had never been a great fan of eggs, but these had firm, bright orange yolks bursting with flavor. It’s hard to describe the difference from sad, pale, flat old store eggs. I couldn’t get enough of them and probably ate an average of 4 per day (no discernable negative effects). Killing and plucking the chickens for meat was another matter entirely, and I won’t miss that. After some years, we finally gave up on chickens.
Before we give up on the chickens, though: a word about Mr. Freakin’ Exotic Rooster. He was like the guy in a bar who goes up to every female and makes some lewd proposition, then just moves on when he gets smacked. This bird, graced with iridescent black feathers and impressive comb, never stopped harassing the hens until we finally gave him to our neighbors. They were thrilled to have him just for decorative value, but Mr. F-E-R missed the disdainful hens. He kept coming back, we kept returning him. When we found him jumping our hens for about the tenth time, we realized the futility of the exercise, chopped his head off and hung him in the pantry. Our neighbors asked if we’d seen him, and I said no -- and then invited them over for chicken dinner. The power of a guilty conscience. I’m not making this up.
To be continued.