Chicken Coops

We built more chicken coops.  We've been through quite a few designs and placements.

The first one we built was a chicken tractor.  A chicken tractor is a great design that lets you carry or drag your coop around your garden or yard, letting your chickens get at eat, de-bug, and fertilize a variety of different areas on your property.  We were starting with 6 chickens and felt this was a good design.  Problem was our design was a little heavy...especially after I shingled it with leftover roofing shingles to make it look adorable.  It took like four people to move, so it didn't work out so well.  I have since taken the shingles off, and we do use it, but primarily in the spring/early summer when we get new chicks.  It is just the right size for the little ones.

The second one we built was a more typical stationary shed-like coop.  It was going in the back yard which tends to get really wet.  So I had the great idea to place it on a platform 4 feet off the ground.  Then we made a metal cage that went around it.  It was like the chicken Thunderdome. The chickens had the coop, a bit of the platform and the entire underside to roam around in.  The platform is 8x8 feet and the coop is 6x4 feet.  We had to walk on a plank to get the eggs, couldn't get into the bottom if there was any need and the chickens didn't have quite as much space as we liked.  So my (wonderful) husband and some (amazing) friends dismantled the coop (it was built in sections, so this wasn't so bad) took it off the platform and lowered the cage to the ground which then served as the run.  This has been working out pretty well, except that the area that they were using as the run, which is 8x8 feet is spent.  There seems to be no amount of hay or wood chips that will keep it from smelling.   I guess we could dig it all out...but I just don't want to go there.  So we built another coop. 

This is the best one yet.  So easy to make, we finished it in an afternoon--or could have if we didn't have kids.  It's built like a mini hoop house.

First we made the frame out of 2x4's it is about 10 feet long by a little less than 4 feet wide.  We left the end pieces long so we could use them to carry or drag it around (which is a breeze!)

Then we bent four pieces of  re-bar to form the hoops. My husband suggested we bend them like this.  I told him I would bond with him some other way.  We ended up bending it by putting the end against the curb.  We also tried just putting it into the frame and bending the other side in.  Both ways worked fine. 

We attached the re-bar with two pieces of metal strapping.

Then we attached the wire fencing.  This is a bit tricky because you need to take metal wire (with spikes on it) and curve it around the frame. It doesn't want to do what you say and you will most likely get your hair caught a few times and if you get a little frustrated you run the risk of looking like you're in a fight with a role of metal fencing.  Which is funny for everyone but you.  But once you have the hang of it, you'll be fine.  Also, once the first piece is up the others sort of get in line and you have something to attach them too. The important thing here is to remember not to space your four pieces of re-bar farther apart than the width of your fencing.  We had four foot wide fencing so we spaced them at just under four feet so there would be some overlap.  This makes attaching the fencing a little less ridiculous. 

We stapled the fencing to the wooden base and "tied" it with 16 gauge wire to the poles. 

We made the ends by bending the fencing over the sides and sort of sewing it with a smaller gauge wire to the re-bar.  I had to make something of a patchwork because I was running out of fencing and I wanted to use all my scraps.

The hardest part was the door.  I have tried two different styles.  One I made with a piece of chicken wire folded in half and then framed at the bottom with two pieces of wood.  The wood weighs it down.  I then screwed two pieces of wood together over the "wall" part of the front and left some screw heads out about a half inch.  I just pull the chicken wire door over the screws to close it.  it works pretty well.  I did the same basic thing for the other door except I used a different kind of wire that is more sturdy but has larger holes.  I recently tired to put in my pullets, but found out they were still too small for it since they could just walk out of the closed door.  Lame.  I will either have to wait until they are a bit bigger or put a smaller wire over the door.  I think this is what I'll probably do so I can also keep small egg-stealing animals out. 

 

For the perch I just took a small tree I had cut down and screwed it into a small piece of wood.  The fencing is sandwiched in between.   It is a little wobbly and I wasn't sure if the chickens would fuss, but they don't seem to mind. 

As for the nesting box.  I will be basically building a little nesting box book shelf.  It will be attached at the bottom between the two sides of the frame.  Access is granted at the back by little "doggy flaps" in the wire.  I cut it out and then attached a larger piece with metal wire .  This can be lifted up to get the eggs. 

Simple...at last!


On a similar note. One of the ladies in the new flock--the only barred rock out of the bunch of reds--was adopted by my oldest daughter.  She has been named "Mackie" and was living in the kitchen for a little while.  I used an old picnic table that I found in the trash and brought home.  It had fallen apart as we were taking it out of the truck.   I used a bunch of scrap wood and some nice purple paint to make this chicken a very fancy chicken chalet.

 My little one is playing in it before I painted it purple.  She's sitting in the nesting box, but hasn't laid any eggs.

Reassessing

I am in a process of reassessment. I originally intended this space to be a place for tips, recipes, craft ideas and advice on what (not to do) when creating your backyard homestead.  But in the spirit of my spirit, I guess, I have added my thoughts and feelings on mothering, life, and all that mushy stuff that comes along with reflection glimpsed in between maddening moments of failed experiments and lovey little kid hugs.  I thought that with the start of the spring and summer, with all the projects already begun, failed, going well, and the yard coming together in a way that has yet to be seen, I would jump back in the this-is-how-we-do-it (and this is what you should probably do for yourself) swing of things.  But, alas, I've been thinking again.  I can't seem to help myself!

Wild Strawberries

And tame ones

I've been reassessing, again.  A few incredible things have happened to me over the past few months.  They have been both sad and miraculous, and I'm still not sure which was which.  Some of these "events" have been quiet eruptions of self and heart, some trips to the past and all that can bring, others have been family events and still others are brought on by the changing of the seasons and all the work and fun that come along.  I recently stayed with my brother through the night waiting to bring him to detox in the morning.  Witnessing the pain, relief and bravery that accompanies making a huge life-altering decision was so powerful.  I felt honored to be able to be the person to share this pivotal moment, and to be able to be support him without negative judgment.  In the morning, we got in the car and drove up to the hospital.

The one blackberry bush that survived the aphids, we'll have to wait until next year for jam and juice.

When we were nearly there, I recognized the route.  It slowly became clear to me that we were on the way to the same hospital I was involuntarily hospitalized in twice when I was a teen.  It was like watching a car accident happen.  I could feel the past sneak up behind me like that scary story about the knife wielding maniac in the back seat of the car.  Luckily, I have (apparently) healed enough to know what my priorities were in that moment, and I just told myself, "Not now, baby, we have more pressing work to do."  I was like a superhero of awesome zen love.

A table we found on the side of the road that promptly fell apart as soon as wee took it off the truck. It is now siting int he driveway as another piece of junk we'll have to dispose of somehow. 

When that was all over, I packed up the car, drove back over the Tapenzee and headed home.  I knew I was driving home to something.  I knew there was a lot waiting on me.  Waiting for me to let out.  I knew there was a reckoning coming.  I had told my heart to wait, and it wouldn't wait forever.   I got home and cried.  I cried for myself, I cried for my brother, I cried for the road ahead for my own children, I cried for my mother and for my father.  I cried so much with love, pain, loss, and hurt for three days that I decided to shut it off. I knew there was more waiting for me.  Deeper stuff, the stuff I piled new stuff on top of, and I wasn't ready.   It was all too close. I used a couple of old coping mechanisms, and some new ones.

Forty or so paste tomato plants.

The new ones were a bit less harmful than the days of old.  I gave myself about a week, maybe two.  I lost myself in audio books, keeping that earbud crammed in my ear for about two weeks, pausing only to have the interactions necessary to be a mother, a wife and a friend.  But when there was any chance of distraction, when there was any chance that I might slip into the present moment or the past, I had Harry potter in my ear.  Man that Lord Voldemort is a real jerk, and thank God Harry has Hermione Granger to keep him out of trouble, and oh, Dumbledore...  it is true what he says in The Prisoner of Azkaban: "If I thought I could help you by putting you into an enchanted sleep and allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what has happened tonight, I would do it. But I know better. Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it." Man is he ever right, that guy. 

But I guess it's not too bad when your "weeds" are all lemon balm and cilantro.

Even for this attempt to escape I judged myself harshly.  I am now healed and conscious enough to know what I was doing.  But I guess that's the difference, I knew what I was doing.  I made a choice to leave my head, to run, temporarily, from what was coming for me. A coping mechanism is just that--a mechanism for coping with something to big and too scary for you.  There are healthy ones that hasten healing, like yoga, writing, praying, loving, meditating.  And there are unhealthy ones that bury the pain down so that it festers and poisons, like drug use, cutting, throwing up, starving, and compulsively eating.  I have done all of this and more in my past, so all things considered, briefly revising the least of my unhealthy techniques, or making a conscious choice to compulsively listen to Harry Potter on audio book are not the worst choices I could make.  I guess.

One mostly finished new chicken coop (more on the how-too of this later).

The past is breaking over me like waves crashing on the beach.  It is amazing to experience this, not in the hurricane everything-flying-all-over-the-place fashion of my youth, but in the slow steady wash of past on stone.  The wave comes in, covers me and recedes.  With its steady pull back out to sea it takes with it some of what I'd like to let go and maybe some of the calm and safety I'd like to keep with me. But it comes back with the next  wave, mostly. 

A new house for the girls, made form most of the wood I'd like to clear out of our basement. 

How does this relate to my homesteading adventure?  What does this have to do with the chickens, the gardening, the kids, and the food?  Well, nothing and everything.   All these thoughts, of course, are informing the way I look at my kids, the way I see myself as a parent, and a woman.  These experiences of pain and peace I have while I heal old wounds I thought had been healed has made me slow down a bit, and look at my life again with more conscious open eyes.  I am realizing that a lot of the things I am doing I didn't actually agree to.  Make no mistake, I haven't been pressured into doing something I didn't want.  No passing strangers have pulled up to the house, a box of squawking chickens under one arm and a cudgel in the other.  I haven't been given an "offer I couldn't refuse" to grow sugar snap peas and native flowers.  I just haven't thought to ask myself  what I want to be doing.

"Found" garden of motherwort and chickweed.

I suspect I do want to be doing what I am up to.  I like the reasons we live the way we do. I like the outcome from a life lived as close to the ground as we can.  It's comfortable, the rhythm is beautiful and the Spirit of Life is ever present. I am wondering, however, if I had consciously agreed to these tasks I take on how many of them I would still choose.  What if I looked at a new opportunity (or job) with full understanding of  the amount of energy it would take?  What if I weighed it against the other things I might like to do, or am already doing, would I still say yes?  How much more would I love what I'm doing if I had a memory of choosing with open eyes and an open heart?  How much more forgiving of myself would I be when I failed to complete/succeed/start said project if I didn't feel the weight of responsibility, not only for myself but for my husband and kids also?  What is my responsibility anyway?

Snow peas climbing on the old twisted frame that remained after we burned an old box spring.

I suppose I am re-choosing my life.  Seriously, I do like what I do, I'm just not sure I like why I do the things I do.  Or maybe I just feel uncomfortable not knowing if I actually chose them in the first place.  It's not pleasant for me to realize I've let life push me along, even if it's pushed me to a beautiful place. Maybe.  Perhaps the lesson is to be present for the pushing. To watch, enjoy, and live during the journey.  Maybe.

For now I'll just wait here while another wave comes washing over me.

Spring!

It's spring in New England.  That means it's freezing outside, although not literally (most nights).  We have started some seeds indoors and they are looking not quite as weak as they have looked in the past.  Although I'm pretty sure that, as it is almost May, our tomato plants are supposed to be more tha three inches tall with only one set of true leaves.  But they look better than they did last year and that's the important part.  We haven't started too much more indoors.  We do have some things growing in the cold frames:  leeks, cabbage, lettuce, spinach.  We have planted some things in the ground already too: peas, kohlrabi, beets, sugar snap peas, snow peas, sorrel, chamomile, borage, and mallow.  We have things coming up, mostly flowers at this point, but also the strawberries look like they'll do well, the tarragon, oregano, chives, thyme, and savory are back.  The garlic is up and that's pretty exciting.

 Cilantro form the cold frame, this has been growing all winter

Blood root, these grow all by themselves in my back "wilderness"

Chives are up!

Strawberries

Leeks in the cold frame

Sugar Snap Pea Shoot

Lettuce coming up in the Cold Frame

Last fall's chard and some volunteer cilantro in the cold frame.

Garlic up!

Blue Bells

May Apple

Mint

Knotweed

Motherwort

Tarragon

What has also been exciting is the fact that this year we got to plant seeds into beds that were built last year.  We didn't even have to buy, cut, screw, dig, have loam delivered, or anything like that.  Not to say that that won't be necessary in a few weeks.  The garden I made last year of some native perennials will have to be dug up, transplanted to an area that will also have to be dug up. This area will then have its soil go through a sort of spa treatment over the course of the summer, have a winter cover planted on it and be left to be the vegetable garden for next year.  We have learned not to rush things (sort of).  This is an exciting lesson because we have a tendency to count our chickens before their hatched, buy our chickens before their home is built and order enough seeds to plant a few acres when all we have are four 4x4 foot raised beds. 

We're just excited. And incredibly, unbelievably, remarkably impatient.  I am so impatient for all the experience it takes decades to have that if I were to be magically zoomed there, I would have missed two or three decades of my life.  Like the whole middle.  Obviously this is not what I really want.  I don't actually want to miss my entire life.  But things do seem to drag on so.  However, when I look back, we've only been learning about this sort of thing for three years--this is our third year trying to grow and preserve to live--and we're doing alright.

The other thing that creeps up on me in the spring is the land we have.  Oh the land we have! It is a small patch, located perfectly for our current needs.  But it is small and it is covered in invasive species.  Most notably japansee knotweed and goutweed.  These are tricky ones because there isn't really a way to get them out other than patience (see above) or a back hoe and 50 yards of fill.  There is a creeping marital (ahem) conversation that happens about our locale.  It revolves politely around, money, needs of children, proximity to work, family, and friends, space, and our plans for the future.  This conversation is a fat spider and her web is spun in between a lot of scary and potentially volatile posts. Whenever it is brought up I feel like a helpless fly.  So it doesn't get brought up too often in earnest.  But in the spring, when the land looks promising and it isn't overgrown in all the areas we haven't gotten to yet I feel so hopeful.  But after a short walk around and I see all the plants coming up that will inevitably make it less possible for me to have as many gardens as I'd like, I think, "This place will not be able to do what we want it to do.  And then out loud to my Hubby I say, "This land can totally do what we need it to do, we just need to be patient, you know."  Recently I decided that two small pigs are the answer to my invasive woes.  We'll see how that goes.  That would be a project for next year, since this year I think we ordered like 4,000 chickens or something. 

All in all, it is clear that spring is here and we are better prepared for her arrival than we have been in years previous.  This shows that we do have the ability to learn and apply knowledge.  This was not clear at first so we're thrilled to see this evidence!