HOW TO RAISE CHICKEN

 

Mission Accomplished! Our set of six one-month old chicks were finally secure in our handmade chicken tractor. As I stood back, grateful to have completed the necessary repairs, it occurred to me that there is definitely a price tag attached to the eggs that will hopefully begin to appear in the next five or six months. Is it worth it?, I contemplated...

Our chick-to-chicken odyssey began shortly after my hubby, Pat, and I, moved into our new home in the mountain community of Big Bear, CA. We were so excited as our fledgling flock of four transformed from tiny moving cotton balls into fully feathered friends. In due time, the eggs, both brown and white, showed up, sometimes in a newly discovered pile under the chicken coop, sometimes in a nest inside. We loved to spend time inside their “run,” which also housed Nubian goats and a pot belly pig named Zoe. We would each pull up a white plastic chair and sit back to enjoy the “show” as they scrambled to and fro.

Over the years, attrition took its toll until we found ourselves sans hens. With our eminent move to Hawaii we decided to wait to restock the flock until we were moved and settled. 

In early 2012, after making the 2500-mile oceanic jump to the Big Island of Hawaii four months earlier, it seemed that the time had finally come to put out some feelers for chicks. Free seemed to be the best plan, due to our devastating financial situation that began in 2008 and ended four years later with the short sale of our home. We found ourselves renting our Hawaii realtor's 24' diameter yurt, complete with twelve ocean view acres and plenty of room for my 29-year old horse, Smoke, and three-year old goat, Gerdie.

One afternoon, Bernie, our nearest neighbor, presented me with seven assorted chicks, including one sporting what appeared to be a broken appendage. As Bernie carefully pulled each one out of her apron, she provided me with valuable information on how to care for them. I took it all in stride. Later that day, Pat arrived with three more tiny chicks, indicating that a friend had begged him to take them. “If you don't, the Mongoose will get them!” What else could he do?

A few days earlier, Pat had completed construction of a chicken coop in true “Gilligan's Isle” motif.

This little wonder of creativity included scavenged roadside bamboo, used chicken wire and fire hose, plus a nesting crate fashioned from particle board. Once the whole thing was tarped to protect the flock from the nightly drizzle or periodic downpour, we were set to go. But, once again, as the months flew by, we found that, try as we might, an occasional “accident” would occur and we would lose one of the “girls.”  The first “accident” occurred when we tucked them in on their very first night. Somehow, one squeaked past Pat as he attempted to shut the door, and then was hopelessly lost in the tall grass just beyond the fence line! A few days later, we were forced to send the one with the broken leg off to hen heaven. Two months later, we lost two to dog attacks. Now we were down to six...

Early one morning, we woke to a strange sound emitting from the coop. I crept out in my nightgown only to discover that our two “twins,” the blackies, were actually “he's” instead of “she's.” Pat named them the DeLuz Brothers because we lived on Antone De Luz Road. Off they went to join a flock of free-range roosters about a mile away. (Having a rooster...or two...was out of the question due to Pat's need for morning sleep – the fallout of two back surgeries that force him up for hours in the middle of the night.)

Life in our rented love yurt seemed like heaven on earth as we adjusted to living off-grid, which meant no public provided utilities. We made new friends, who quickly became “ohana,” family in Hawaiian culture, and continued to work our way out of over $600,000 in accumulated debt. It was an amazing and transforming fourteen months that led to my first published book entitled, MY YEAR IN A YURT: God's Blessings While Living In 450 Not-So-Square Feet! Then, in January 2013, we moved our four remaining “girls,” along with my now 31-year-old equine, two goats and one orange tabby, onto our new, yet 1980s-built home on the other side of the knoll.

Craigs List is big here on the Big Island! During one of my on-line shopping sprees, I located and purchased a homemade chicken tractor. I had heard about chicken tractors, how easy they are to move around your pasture while allowing the chickens to hunt and peck for blades of grass as well as tasty bugs. Ours was about eight feet long, sporting a variety of creative nooks for the chickens to hang out. It seemed the perfect place for our flock to enjoy life in sunny Paauilo, located on the Hamakua Coast.  And it all worked perfectly until...we brought Lehua home.

Lehua, at eight weeks old, was a beautiful yellow Labrador/Retriever mix; full of energy and possessing the ability to “play” with any and every moving target. Once she discovered the four remaining chickens, all hell broke loose. When the girls were out during the day, she would chase them all over the yard, sending them into our huge Ohia trees, under our cars, just about anywhere other than under one of her front paws. When we put them back into the chicken tractor at night, she eventually figured out that a quick swipe of one of her front paws provided access through the plastic mesh siding, creating four hysterical birds and more than a few flying feathers! Soon, all four girls had flown the coop, choosing instead to spend their time in greener and safer pastures, far away from one hyper puppy. We were crestfallen. The girls were gone, and the chicken tractor was in shreds!

Mission Accomplished! Our set of six one-month old chicks were finally secure in our handmade chicken tractor. As I stood back, grateful to have completed the necessary repairs, it occurred to me that there is definitely a price tag attached to the eggs that will hopefully begin to appear in the next five or six months. Is it worth it?, I contemplated...

Our chick-to-chicken odyssey began shortly after my hubby, Pat, and I, moved into our new home in the mountain community of Big Bear, CA. We were so excited as our fledgling flock of four transformed from tiny moving cotton balls into fully feathered friends. In due time, the eggs, both brown and white, showed up, sometimes in a newly discovered pile under the chicken coop, sometimes in a nest inside. We loved to spend time inside their “run,” which also housed Nubian goats and a pot belly pig named Zoe. We would each pull up a white plastic chair and sit back to enjoy the “show” as they scrambled to and fro.

Over the years, attrition took its toll until we found ourselves sans hens. With our eminent move to Hawaii we decided to wait to restock the flock until we were moved and settled. 

In early 2012, after making the 2500-mile oceanic jump to the Big Island of Hawaii four months earlier, it seemed that the time had finally come to put out some feelers for chicks. Free seemed to be the best plan, due to our devastating financial situation that began in 2008 and ended four years later with the short sale of our home. We found ourselves renting our Hawaii realtor's 24' diameter yurt, complete with twelve ocean view acres and plenty of room for my 29-year old horse, Smoke, and three-year old goat, Gerdie.

One afternoon, Bernie, our nearest neighbor, presented me with seven assorted chicks, including one sporting what appeared to be a broken appendage. As Bernie carefully pulled each one out of her apron, she provided me with valuable information on how to care for them. I took it all in stride. Later that day, Pat arrived with three more tiny chicks, indicating that a friend had begged him to take them. “If you don't, the Mongoose will get them!” What else could he do?

A few days earlier, Pat had completed construction of a chicken coop in true “Gilligan's Isle” motif.

This little wonder of creativity included scavenged roadside bamboo, used chicken wire and fire hose, plus a nesting crate fashioned from particle board. Once the whole thing was tarped to protect the flock from the nightly drizzle or periodic downpour, we were set to go. But, once again, as the months flew by, we found that, try as we might, an occasional “accident” would occur and we would lose one of the “girls.”  The first “accident” occurred when we tucked them in on their very first night. Somehow, one squeaked past Pat as he attempted to shut the door, and then was hopelessly lost in the tall grass just beyond the fence line! A few days later, we were forced to send the one with the broken leg off to hen heaven. Two months later, we lost two to dog attacks. Now we were down to six...

Early one morning, we woke to a strange sound emitting from the coop. I crept out in my nightgown only to discover that our two “twins,” the blackies, were actually “he's” instead of “she's.” Pat named them the DeLuz Brothers because we lived on Antone De Luz Road. Off they went to join a flock of free-range roosters about a mile away. (Having a rooster...or two...was out of the question due to Pat's need for morning sleep – the fallout of two back surgeries that force him up for hours in the middle of the night.)

Life in our rented love yurt seemed like heaven on earth as we adjusted to living off-grid, which meant no public provided utilities. We made new friends, who quickly became “ohana,” family in Hawaiian culture, and continued to work our way out of over $600,000 in accumulated debt. It was an amazing and transforming fourteen months that led to my first published book entitled, MY YEAR IN A YURT: God's Blessings While Living In 450 Not-So-Square Feet! Then, in January 2013, we moved our four remaining “girls,” along with my now 31-year-old equine, two goats and one orange tabby, onto our new, yet 1980s-built home on the other side of the knoll.

Craigs List is big here on the Big Island! During one of my on-line shopping sprees, I located and purchased a homemade chicken tractor. I had heard about chicken tractors, how easy they are to move around your pasture while allowing the chickens to hunt and peck for blades of grass as well as tasty bugs. Ours was about eight feet long, sporting a variety of creative nooks for the chickens to hang out. It seemed the perfect place for our flock to enjoy life in sunny Paauilo, located on the Hamakua Coast.  And it all worked perfectly until...we brought Lehua home.

Lehua, at eight weeks old, was a beautiful yellow Labrador/Retriever mix; full of energy and possessing the ability to “play” with any and every moving target. Once she discovered the four remaining chickens, all hell broke loose. When the girls were out during the day, she would chase them all over the yard, sending them into our huge Ohia trees, under our cars, just about anywhere other than under one of her front paws. When we put them back into the chicken tractor at night, she eventually figured out that a quick swipe of one of her front paws provided access through the plastic mesh siding, creating four hysterical birds and more than a few flying feathers! Soon, all four girls had flown the coop, choosing instead to spend their time in greener and safer pastures, far away from one hyper puppy. We were crestfallen. The girls were gone, and the chicken tractor was in shreds!