With Easter less than a week away, springtime is here. At R-Time Hardware, the babies have arrived. Chicks, ducklings, and even infant turkeys all chirp away on clean sawdust. Nothing brings a smile quicker than brand new baby chicks. Their fluffy little cuteness takes me straight back to childhood.
Being a red-neck country girl, the most exciting day on the farm was the one on which any baby animal arrived. Some arrived the usual way, found on a cold morning, steaming next to their mom. Baby bunnies wiggled, hidden under a cloud of their mother’s soft fur, prepared by her before their birth. Others came by special delivery. Such was the case when the chicks would arrive.
Each year, Dad would order 100 brand new chicks specifically to provide our yearly meat supply. I have no apologies, for I was raised on an organic farm before Organic was the word of the day. There were no pets, except the dogs, who worked for their meals. Everything that we ate as we grew up was fresh and from our bountiful garden or livestock pens. All the meat consumed was raised by my father, in between his other duties as a farmer. This included our meat chickens.
Chicks are delivered in groups of 100, sexed and boxed. Now, who sexes them is a mystery to me. You can’t tell a rooster from a hen in the beginning. Well, obviously someone can, but that wasn’t a skill I learned as a growing farm girl. Whoever did this was good, because from all my memories, there was never a rooster in the bunch.
Roosters can cause havoc in an otherwise peaceful and tranquil farm setting. In the coop, they can upset the hen house, for sure. They are noisey, and later in life, they can become dangerous. We never had such critters on the farm.
There are two versions of chickens one can choose. Those raised for meat and egg-layers. Dad never raised eggs, which was funny, because we certainly consumed enough of them as a family of seven. I guess Mom drew a line in the sand, refusing to add daily egg collection to her long list of chores.
After receiving the chicks, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and give each one a drink of water and a bit of food. He would observe their behavior while assessing their health. They would be transferred 25 at a time to the brooder, outside in the room sized chicken coop. Our brooder was 4 foot in span, and circular in shape. Under this, the chicks would be warmed by the light from a simple bulb. They could run in and out, but slept quietly at night under the warmth.
Baby chicks are very delicate. The change in water can make them sick. They get too cold. They can get too hot. They can forget to eat, or eat too much. Chickens, as a rule, are not the brightest animals in creation, so they need constant supervision to make it to two day old chicks. They are also a sought after taste treat for thieves, such as opossums, raccoons, hawks, or coyotes needing human protection.
Dad watched over these little guys as any nervous parent. Twice a night, he would go out to the coop to make sure everyone was nestled in and no one was sick or injured. With plenty of food, these babies grew to full grown chickens in six weeks. All at once. No stragglers. All babies were full size chickens in 42 days.
Over a week, and with the help of anyone who would, along with those of us that were forced, these chickens were transformed into packages of meat for the next year. This was no small task, and no quick job. The resulting meat was fresh and wholesome. Any of you that have had the opportunity to enjoy fresh chicken know what I mean. It ruins you for grocery store chicken from that point on.
Strolling by the babies at R-Time Hardware, I stopped and thought about it. There were the coops, for sale. The little noises were so enticing. Bags of chicken feed were at the ready. I could raise a new little crop of my own egg-laying cluck-ers. But, reality hit. Chicken poop. Stray feathers. Hawks. Oliver. I had to let the dream die.
For those of you that have your own chickens, enjoy them. They are delightful little animals, and fresh eggs and meat are a delicious addition to any dinner table. We should all remember, the only truly organic food comes from our own back yards! Bon Appetit!