A cock, two weaners and a Dick

There seems to be a theme running through Occidental Acres this spring, but I can't quite put my finger on it... 

Well, it's been a busy month here at Occidental Acres, Nova Scotia, my homestead, out there on Fundy Bay.  OA has a new rooster for our girls as Flink was WAY too hard on them. The new roo is a Buff Orpington (we have three BO hens and they are far and away  Laur's favourites), a bit more mature and has been really good for the girls. They all LOVE him - particularly our two small Golden Comets who were getting picked on by the other hens.  He has restored the pecking order and those two Comets will not venture far from his side. The three BO hens we have also adore him and together, those five snuggle at night. It's quite funny actually.   He is a big dood, and we call him Big Chicken - he has an amazing vocabulary and the hens hang on every word he says. Except when a duck flies by, then they tell him that he's over-reacting.

 He's missing a few tail feathers from altercations at his previous home, but they are growing out nicely and he'll present a rather majestic picture once he's all back together again!

We've noticed a marked drop in ticks this year, probably owing to the chickens and particularly the Guinea hens. They seem to have really eaten a lot!  Of course, I had three crawling up my neck saying Happy Mother's Day on Sunday, but that was because I was waaaaay out in the field finishing up my fencing and the birds don't go that far from home.

The most exciting news is that we've brought a giant Percheron home.  I'm super excited and a bit scared as this is my first horse! I love the big breeds and have been jonesing for a Percheron but never in a million years thought one would come my way.  He's 18hh and his name is Dick  As you can imagine, ribald jokes abound.  I'm pretty sure we'll be changing it! We're thinking Little Dan, but we'll see what sticks.

We've also been fencing like crazy for the two little piggies that came home last week (yeah man, weaners. Say it with me now! Weaners!), Berkshire/Tamworth crosses. One is red with big ears, the other is black with smaller ears - they are cute, but they are also food and so far I've managed to keep an emotional distance from them.  So, we put an electric fence energizer out in the field which required approx 500' of hand trenching to bury the wire... then we strung the wire (three strands because I just copied my friend Gerard's set-up, not realizing his was originally fenced for lambs.  Pigs only really require one strand... but live and learn!).

Two weanling pigs (weaners) - both Berkshire/Tamworth crosses, both female.  I call them Pigger Dhu and Pigger Roo

The top portion of my pasture has now been completely fenced. I divided it in two because the top dries before the bottom and it makes sense to rotate the fields, particularly with a big guy eating all the fresh grasses. I now have 2 three-acre pastures for Little Dan.  Next big project is a run-in shelter/barn for him for the winter. Once that is completed I'm sure there is a cow on the horizon. I'd love to see a miniature Belted Galloway, but that's just me. They are so gorgeous.  Highland might also be a decent choice for us.

The third project requiring hard work has been a new coop for the chickens. We will be getting some meat birds at the end of the month and want to keep them in the current coop and run. Our laying hens will then be moved to the new coop.  The new coop will have a winter-proof run for the girls so they can go out during the winter and not have to face 17 feet of snow.

We currently have seven laying hens and get a half dozen eggs (on average) per day. We sell two dozen a week for $3/doz, paying for their own feed, specially since they don't eat much during the summer as they are free-ranging for bugs and seeds. We're trying a different meat bird this year (Meat Kings were last year's bird) as the genetic mutants we had last year freaked us out. They grew like monsters and could barely walk by the time they reached a good processing weight. This year's birds are called Sasso and they are originally from France. They are a meat bird, but grow a bit slower and can actually walk around and free-range for a good portion of their diet (rather than laying down, panting with their heads in the feeder).

My understanding and appreciation of farming continues to deepen - lots of work for little money, but you do it because it's what you like to do.  It's also often quite dangerous (yes, we've done some stupid YouTube moment-type things).  We've been running since the weather turned (only a couple weeks ago.... sheesh what a hideous winter!) and there will be no break until the weather turns again late fall.  Lots of landscaping to do, run-in/barn building, more fencing (the bottom pasture and along the brook), then moving the pigs to new pasture a few times during the summer, of course haying and gathering this winter's wood (Little Dan will help me get to the places I can't reach with the tractor) and a whole slew of things I can't yet imagine!

Aaaaaand of course there will be lots of horseback riding!

... and that's the news from Occidental Acres, where all the women are strong, the male things are good-looking and the child is above average.

The journey towards "Opt out" continues.

The past few weeks have been learning-laden for me.

First and foremost I had been sidelined for a few days by a kidney infection which literally crippled me with pain. That Wednesday afternoon I had some shooting pains in my back which made me wince and took me down to my knees. I couldn't sleep that evening for the pain and by morning I could not even move.  Thank goodness for apple cider vinegar, honey and a shot of lemon. I took that with a warm water and drank it down by the gallon. Couple that with some cranberry pills 6x day, and I was right as rain by Sunday.  There is a place for western medicine, but how great is it to kick something using natural medicine instead of an antibiotic?

On Friday during that whole ordeal, I did some chicken processing for one of our neighbours.  I had planned to have some photos of the processing, and had taken some that day, but it would seem that I am unable to locate them.  For those who are disappointed, there will be a next time - I have 10 (and possibly more) to do for my neighbour.

It wasn't a very long day for me - started around 10 and got the last rooster done just before 2pm.  The roos were all done into skinless breasts as per request.  I've come a long way from that first day, with my jaw set, trying not to throw up, but it's not something which is fun nor that to which I look forward. But I asked and received a small fee. Plus, I was able to put the rest of the meat into our freezer. We got thighs and legs, with backs for the stock pot.  Not too many jobs will pay you with cold, hard cash plus food for the family!

I was completely knackered and my hands cut to ribbons from sticking them past small, razor sharp bones, but well satisfied with the day's work and had a great night's sleep!

I've been giving a lot of thought to our future barn. Trying to be thrift-minded, and with quotes from builders coming in the tens of thousands ($40-50k!), it's been quite a daunting undertaking. That is, until I saw a video of a guy in Arkansas, who built his barn with his own two hands. Building a barn by one's self is nothing new, I know. I had already planned to do much of the work myself with a conventional barn.   But until I'd seen the video, it never occurred to me that I could do absolutely all of it on my own - with my own tools, my own supplies and my own ingenuity. 

I've done a bit of researching about permits and if the building is less than 225sf, a permit is not necessary. Because I want to do it on my own, I will keep the square footage under the required amount and thereby avoid the county's approval process.  My barn will initially be 11 feet wide by 20 feet long, for a total square footage of 220.  With two generously proportioned side sheds, this will be more than enough room for a large stall and space for feed and tack.  There will also be a small loft upstairs, again, room for more storage and possibly hay (although I have been advised that hay sometimes goes bad if kept in a loft).

One side shed will house Bertie (my tractor) and the other will either be used for hay storage, a sheltered turn-out or a pig sty.  I'll be able to drive the tractor into the barn for stall cleaning and there is enough room to use the bucket for lifting heavier items into the loft.  There is also enough room so that we can lift the canopy off the truck and safely store up in the roof, safely away from damage.

Another really great thing about Nova Scotia is that so many people are willing to share, trade or barter for stuff.  Case in point -  I recently answered an advertisement from a fellow selling scab wood. Scabs are the slabs of wood cut from round trunks in order to make them square or rectangular. These squared pieces are then turned into dimensional lumber - 2x  or 4x or 6x whatever you need. Because wood is so plentiful and thrift and ingenuity are qualities much admired in farming communities, many people mill their own lumber by buying, hiring or borrowing a saw mill.

One of my other neighbours has offered me the use of his saw mill to cut the lumber for my barn.  I've been stock piling some nice soft wood for next winter, but I think most of what I've piled will be better put to use with the barn. There is a lot of smaller diameter wood cut down and just waiting for me to drag it off of the hills for for firewood.  I did not feel good about just using his mill, so I offered to trade some hard wood in exchange for it's use.

While I was out purchasing the scabs, the fellow from whom I bought them noticed my trimming kit. I explained that I've been trimming and shoeing for friends as I've been out of the business for some time.  He then asked me how much I'd charge to trim his seven horses!  I reiterated that it had been a long time since I charged anyone, but that I'd find out the going rate - neither wanting to undercut another farrier, nor over-charge the fellow.

During the course of our conversation, the fellow had mentioned he had telephone poles and dimensional lumber also for sale (hence the reason the scabs were piled at his place).  I offered to trade him the trims on his horses for the telephone poles and he agreed. So, I will trade my labour for the foundation poles to my barn. 

This makes me feel great - not only will mine be the labour put into construction of the barn, but it will also be my labour traded for the materials with which to build it.   It already feels good to know that I have a skill which is valued and desired!

All of this brings me to my adventures with cutting and skidding wood yesterday. The temperature was cold but the sun was shining and I figured that it was a good day to try and get some of the hardwood laying at the back of my property.  There is a pile of approximately 40 hardwood logs laying in a difficult to reach spot and it has been bothering me for the year and a half that we've been living here. With temps so cold I figured much of the ground would be frozen enough to try and get to it.

Bertie and I set off with high hopes, down the sun-dappled logging lane. I wished I'd had a video camera with me as the day was absolutely brilliant!  The tractor and I made slow and deliberate progress along the soggy brook-bottom of our property where we have so many springs and run-offs that it never truly ever freezes.

I had a couple harrowing experiences and managed to get Bertie stuck twice. But we made short work of the deep muck by using the logging winch to drag ourselves out.  There were a few slippery places and before we reached our intended destination, I decided that I should not push my luck any further.  I stopped right where I was and turned around. 

It was during this turn around that I saw a beautiful piece of popple (poplar) laying exactly where it had fallen during one of our wicked storms.  Luckily, I was prepared for this situation and had the chainsaw with me in the bucket of the tractor. I jumped off Bertie to retrieve the saw.... and fell into snow that was waist deep!

Not wanting to return home empty-handed, I soldiered on - 200 feet away was the prized poplar.  About four inches under the snow there was a decent crust which supported me ever second or third step. When I did break through the snow however, I was up to my waist. 

Have you ever seen a rhinoceros making snow angels? Me neither, but I bet that's what I looked like, struggling to get out of the deep, granular snow.

I finally gave up and started crawling.  I remembered that it's best to disperse weight on thin ice, and that this was the principle behind snow shoes (which would have been useless in the brush and around the tractor) I figured it wouldn't hurt to try moving along on all fours.   I am sure that I now appeared to be a drunken rhinoceros making snow angels.

As I was snow-swimming, dragging forty pounds of logging chains around my neck with the twenty pound chainsaw in one hand, pulling the logging cable hook in the other, I couldn't help but think that this was farmer cross-fit. I mean, I was getting a fantastic abs workout!

Anyways, it was a tough day.  A chore which is normally rather dangerous and labour intensive was made doubly so by deep snow, slippery ground from open springs and hidden obstacles. I managed to make it back to the log landing  with all my appendages and a complete tractor. That I was dragging two (practically) worthless popple logs was a small bonus.

I will not try to get wood from that area of the property by tractor, alone, again.

My log landing. 

Two popple (poplar) logs partially obscured by snow on the left.

Heavy work occupies the body and allows the mind to wander at liberty - providing both an opportunity to philosophize and a dangerous distraction. But for all that, I think I'm starting to understand farming:

Toil long, labourious hours, allowing ample opportunities to become severely wounded, and possibly killed, for that which will be infinitely more concrete, real and rewarding than pimping yourself to the highest bidder whilst slaving away at a soul-deadening, unfulfilling and completely useless job for an insulting hourly wage.

But really, what's important? Is growing food worthwhile? What about providing heat in the winter? Is it helpful to tread a bit more lightly upon the earth?  And the feeling that comes from having a direct effect on the day to day life of you and your family? Is self-esteem and the health of your body really worth it?

The answer to all of those questions, and so many more, is a resounding, "YES!"

 Eggs from our farm, beef from our friends, bread made at Marie Et Guy's from organic wheat grown and milled in New Brunswick.  Don't look at the sriracha behind the curtain!

 
In other news, Penny has given up being broody. In an interview, she cited lack of stimulation as the basis for her recent decision. "It was boring and I found that it was holding me back from the morning porridge," she explained.

Blanche

Sadly, we have another chicken requiring a bit of treatment. I think having Flink (the roo) in the coop with the girls is proving hard on everyone. None of the chickens want to go outside in the snow, consequently everyone has been stuck inside for a month and a half already.  Flink wants to have his way with the girls, but they are tired of him and inevitably a battle ensues. 

Poor Blanche has had the short end of this stick, being one of Flink's favourites. If you've never seen a chicken mate, it can be a bit of a violent experience if the female isn't receptive.  Poor Blanche is not open to his advances and has suffered a bit of a gash on the top of her head. 

We first put some Blu-Kote on the wound, but it would seem that she's now got a bit of infection - swollen, red, oozing and hot.  Because the topical anti-bacterial medication was not helping her (in fact, the swelling had even pulled her eye lids back a bit), we decided to take more potent action.

While I consulted the Maritime Fowl Facebook group, Laur went down to Annavale Co-op to see what they had available for chicken medications.  Luckily, Phil was there (who knows a considerable amount about poultry) to help Laur with some recommendations.

She decided a penicillin injections were the way to go and we sprung into action.

 Whilst Laur put the finishing touches on our Home for Convalescent Chickens, Blanche and I entertained ourselves by checking out some fish tv.

Blanche came surprisingly easily. Sometimes the chickens struggle a bit when you pick them up, and not being one of our favourites, Blanche hadn't been handled quite much as some others.  I'm not sure if it was because she was feeling quite crummy, or if she simply realized we were going to help her but she came with me quite willingly and was interested in the household goings-on.  She sat in my lap as Laur constructed a wide catch-all to prevent wood shavings from being scratched out of the cage and on to the floor.  She took an avid interest in the fish for a bit, occasionally trying to peck at the small rocks lining the bottom of the aquarium.

The fish were also interested in her, too, often swimming in circles right in front of her.  Both species seemed to find a pleasant diversion in one another and it was a rather amusing sight.  

After the cage was ready, Laur bravely gave Blanche her first penicillin shot - 0.5cc injected into her breast.  As neither of us had ever given a chicken a needle before, we weren't sure what would happen. Would she struggle and flap? Would she try to wriggle free? Would she scream?  We were both tentative and curious.

I flipped Blanche gently on to her back, where she settled nicely and relaxed (apparently this is the "put the chicken to sleep" position). Laur drew 0.5cc into the 20ga syringe and quickly, confidently, injected it into her breast.

She didn't bat an eyelash! What a champ!

Blanche checking our her new pad.

This morning has dawned with a gray drizzle lightly falling.  After checking her a few times last night, it seems that she has passed in relative comfort. The swelling has gone down considerably, the wound has stopped weeping, both eyes are now looking symmetrical and she appears to be bright and perky.  She's had a nice big drink of water and eaten her breakfast. Laur even found an egg!

This afternoon we'll give her another injection, but for now she's resting comfortably and quietly.

She's such a good girl!

Houston, we have an "animal" problem.

Those of you with spouses or mothers will know exactly what I'm talking about when I mention the "something's wrong" voice.  In the past, I have heard it too often for comfort. Thus, when I hear it now it strikes fear into my heart - when I hear the "something's wrong" voice, I immediately get irritated.

This morning, when Laur came in from checking the birds she called to me.  "Please come here. We have a bit of an issue - an animal issue."  I'd checked the birds not 2 hours ago and knew there was nothing serious, and yet there was a tone in her voice, verging on panic, that irritated me immediately.

I sighed heavily and plodded down the stairs, certain that whatever was the matter was going to be neither fun nor clean.

Laur motioned towards the coops. "There," she said, "it's in there. There's a squirrel in the feed bin."

I sighed again, grabbed my rubbers and continued plodding out the door and down the hill.  This is what awaited me.

The hatches are battened.

Seems we have a bit of a blow comin' in. As usual, Laur has the chickens, ducks and particularly the Guineas best interest in mind and we set out for the back to make sure everyone was comfortable.

Laur has been making a warm porridge for the girls every morning. Although today isn't as cold as yesterday, will be around zero by day's end, she likes to make sure everyone is well-fed and healthy. Laur is worried that with winter temperatures the Guineas (named The Kabuki Twins) will become quite weak and has decided to move them into the chicken coop. To that end, I hung the heat lamp in the coop. When the temp warms a bit I'll be back to make a few changes in order to accommodate them - a higher perch will enable them to stay away from the hens, lest they be picked on.  The ducks seem to be quite content with the little duck-house-inside-a-duck-house that we made for them.

It would also seem that the porridge breakfast and extra protein has paid off, as today we had our first chicken eggs!  We need to start keeping a sharper eye on those girls as the two we found this morning were frozen, but now that we know they're coming we'll be paying close attention!

Clockwise from top left:  jugs to take water to the birds; food for the stray kitty;

a spare chicken toy; our first, albeit frozen, eggs; and an empty porridge dish/spoon.

And so, with the fire blazing merrily, a bottle of mulled wine in reserve, meat in the crock, dogs happily chewing on some stinky hooves, a tall stack of books to tuck into and a few crafts on the itinerary, we are going to sit back and enjoy the season's first Maritime storm!

A couple of chicken vids for your enjoyment....

Flinker Ban Crows his wee heart out.
(...aaaaand it looks like I forgot to delete the credits bit... oh well. It's probably the same on the vid below.)

Hillary and Penny hop up for some treats.

Chickens and chicken accessories.

Well, we finally got some snow and it looks like it's here to stay - at least for a couple of weeks anyway.  The current temp is hovering around -5 which means that snow is melting in the sun and making the roads a bit  slick. But the sun is shining, the birds are singing and I can't help but feel upbeat. 

Yesterday I processed the last three of our male chickens.  We had to put one down a few weeks ago as he looked unhealthy and we managed to rehome one of the Silver Laced Wyandottes.  But the two Black Australorp x Golden Laced Wyandotte crosses and the Chantecler were too much for our small flock.  When the testosterone starts to flow, the flock hierarchy changes. They started by trying to out-crow one another and moved on to chest bumping. One of the BAxGLW was absolutely gorgeous, but was itching to get into a full-on fight with one of the other males, started to chase people around and tearing feathers out of the hens.

Oddly enough, we'd chosen Flinker Ban many weeks ago to be our flock roo. He matured faster than the others, has been crowing the longest and seems to be the most docile whilst doing a good job looking after the girls.  What does "looking after" mean? Well, he makes sure no-one has wandered too far, sounds the alarm when something looks threatening, generally struts around looking good without being aggressive and the hens listen to him.  He's also been really good with the females, and I think if we do hatch some babies in the spring they'll be a decent looking mix.

We've still got all three Buff Orpingtons  - Blanche, Penny and Hillary (with Hillary being my favourite of the favourites); one BAxSLW - Poe; and one Chantecler (Shorty - who seems to be at the bottom of the pecking order).  I think we're going to add one Red Comet from Mooshum's house, just to round out our hens to six.

Laur saw an interesting post on making a toy for the chickens and I think I'll put that together this afternoon.  Might help to relieve their boredom come winter - they've already decided to blockade themselves in a tiny chicken snow-protest.  Although, Penny and Hillary will hop up on the door barrier to receive some treats and evaluate the weather on a day-by-day basis.

 The beginnings of our own chicken toy.

Lucy wondering what I'm doing.

Skiffin and Poppy with the view from the stoop.

 Some new Nova Scotia product to try - Stutz cider made from 100% Nova Scotia apples; Glowine, a mulled wine from Jost; and Smuggler's Cove dark rum, distilled on Cape Breton Island.  I asked Laur why she had such a broad smile walking out of the liquor store this morning. She replied, "How can you not feel good about getting Air Miles from NSLC?"

"Pardon me, but have you heard the good news about our Lord and Saviour, Jésus Polito?"
Berwyn might no longer be with us, but his Chickengelical legacy lives on.

Back with a vengeance!

Hello again my dears! I do apologize for the lapse in blogging, but it's been a busy couple of months. What with guests and my brain exploding, I've been rather preoccupied.  That said, Occidental Acres is back with a vengeance!

I've had a rather creative bug up my arse lately. I've completed a couple of projects and have another on the go.  To that end, I whipped up a set of saddle bags for Brandy.  And I just realized I should probably get a photo of that before I start talking too much about it. Once the weather clears a bit, I'll get over there and take some snaps of the ol' Brandster - her feet are looking fantastic and we've been putting on a few miles together. 

Because it's hunting season, we've been taking it easy on the backwoods stuff.  Sticking to the roads has been a bit of a bore, but it's only a couple more weeks before we can start wandering over hill and dale once again.

In the meantime, I finally busted out the forge this afternoon and pounded out a primitive hoof-pick.  It felt pretty good to pound some hot metal although I am incredibly rusty!  Shaping keg shoes is nothing compared to using your imagination and creating something with a bit of artistic flair. That said, this simple hoof pick will be serviceable, if lacking in panache

 Forge, blasting away.

Farrier's anvil and Grandpa's ball-peen hammer. I do have Grandpa's Peter Wright, but want to get my skills back up to snuff before busting it out. I know... it's an anvil, right? I'm only going to make hammer and anvil sandwiches, but there is a bit of ceremony and respect to be paid to those who've gone before me.

And of course, the chickens had to come over and check out what was going on.  Some really crappy snapshots of the girls and their curiosity.

 Blanche

 Attila and Hillary (she's my favourite!)

Penny

Poe

Did you know that a chicken's right eye is near sighted and left eye is far sighted?  You can tell in the photos of Penny and Blanche that I was quite far away when snapping the shot (well, you can tell because it's a really blurry/grainy snap, but also because they are looking at me with their left eye). Whereas the photo of Hillary tells you that I was quite close and that I had something interesting on my boot!  I recently read an interesting article on how chicken's see the world - check it out on Fresh Eggs Daily.

Glad to see you back, hearties! Come back soon and I'll be sure to get back on track with regular blog updates!

Oh yeah and your dose of From the Mouths of Babes:

"Momma, do you wiggle a little bit if your butt itches?"

Roasted Chicken Dinner

It's been a couple weeks since I processed the last of our meat birds and I now have a bit of distance from the entire affair. The whole process - from chicks to table - has been quite an education for me.  I'm not sure I'm ready to put it into words quite yet, but perhaps some conversations with others will help me nail down and explore some of my ruminations.

That said, last night's dinner was quite delicious. We had corn/potato/cauliflower fritters; beautiful, plump, sweet Valley corn on the cob and our roasted chicken.

This was is a 7.5lb hen.  Quite large by supermarket standards, but not so by farm standards.  Kookum and Mooshum have some hens which are well over 8lbs, and roos which were approaching 10!

The finished bird. I put some fresh herbs and butter under the breast skin, then bathed with olive oil, salt and pepper and roasted.

It was a truly delicious meal - the skin was salty and crispy, the meat was juicy, tender and plentiful. We have a large tupperware container full of meat left over and the carcass is in the freezer for winter broth making.

All of that said, I didn't eat very much last night.  And as I write I find it somewhat disconcerting to refer to the crispy, delicious skin of an animal which once sat on my lap.

Perhaps I'm not as far away from the process as I thought...

Fowl!

A few photos of the chickens, by request.

 Attila, el stundo, the Hen.

 Flink! Eater of worms! Herder of hens! Possessor of fabulous gams!

Penny, Berwyn and Blanche. Gossips.

The new Muscovy clan.

Mr. M. Hathaway earned himself a time out - i.e. out of the coop - by being a jerk to the girls.  The girls had a fabulous time in the downpour without him.

Found him up on this stump. Seems he couldn't figure out how to get down.  Serves him right!  Left him there.

The Homestead - Part 2 of 3 - The Animals

If you missed Part 1, click here.

What's a farm without animals?  Sure, there are a lot of grain operations in southern Saskatchewan, but everyone has two or three chickens, a few head of cattle, or at least a horse or two.

My grandfather primarily grew grain, but everyone in the family knew about his chickens!  I can remember being quite young and going to the chicken coop to gather some eggs.  This memory is a bit of a mystery to me as I know that he mostly kept meat birds - birds which are slaughtered well before egg-laying age...

While Dad conducted business with Grandpa, I would tear around the farm-yard on an itty-bitty mini-bike.  Around and around and around I'd ride, by myself all day, left to my own devices. I'm not even sure what Dad was doing on those visits and rarely were there cousins with whom I could get into trouble - my cousins were all boys at that time, and either much older or much younger than myself.   

Now that I'm older and have listened to a few stories, I realize that my days were quite tame compared to the rest of my cousins.  I never went into dilapidated barn or the precarious old homestead house.  I never went up to the nuisance ground nor to the gravel pit, both of which were across the road from the farm.  Neither did I start fires nor beat up my siblings.  Listening to stories of my brother and cousins, it's a wonder that any of them survived childhood!

A day on the farm always ended with a big evening dinner - fried or roasted chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy to die for, creamed peas and carrots.  Everything from the farm. I know Grandpa took a tremendous amount of pride in providing food for his family.  As I place my chickens into the freezer, I get a small sense of this satisfaction, too.

Going back there with my Dad was such a good experience. There are so many reasons why I didn't have much of a relationship with Grandpa, but walking through the homestead and listening to my Dad tell stories about each building, each place, each item, each person, was a very special experience.

 This receipt was stapled to the wall of the chicken house.  It's not terribly old (heck I still remember 1981!), but those seem like pretty good prices. It's also interesting to note the address of the poultry supply - corner of Dewdney and Albert, Regina.  I know there is a car wash and battery place on the east side of Albert and some empty lots on the west - I think the business still exists, but that location is long gone.

This is actually a photo of a photo.  Although these are likely not the chickens from the receipt, it does shine a bit of understanding on Grandpa's chicken operation.  I see he has only a few nest boxes for this many chickens, so that tells me these aren't laying birds.  I count at least 60 birds in this photo.

The chicken coop now.  I see that he raised the five boxes from the previous photo and added more at some point.  I didn't get a snap of it, but the roosting dowels from the previous photo were mounted on hinges and had been raised to the roof in order to clean the coop.  The triangular box on the left (and partially cropped on the right) were feed trays - I bet he could fit a 40kg bag of chicken grower in each of those hoppers.  The brooder light still hangs from the ceiling and oddly enough the long-empty room still smelled of chickens.

Certainly at the time, but more poignantly as I look through these photos now, it occurs to me that each item on the farm, save for a few, has been placed in it's spot by a person who is no longer with us.  I suppose most of us have experienced loss, and it's true I was not close to Grandpa, but as I walked through the farmstead I couldn't help but think about all the remnants, collections and detritus of one person's life.  I took this photo of field coats because all of them have hung there for as long as I can remember.  The milk cans and milk bottle rack are the remains of Grandpa's side business of delivering milk to the town's folk.  I can remember a large barn on the property, which housed the draft horses and milk cows, as well as a large pig barn.  Both of these buildings are now gone, with only a small garden marking where the pig barn once stood.

Walking through the tall grass on the south end of the yard, one must be careful - the remains of implements, fencing and miscellaneous dips and holes will greet the unwary visitor.  My dad said he can remember the drafts pulling this manure spreader, he may have even driven it himself.   In the yard there was also some sort of horse-drawn processing equipment (possibly for potatoes) as well as the "flat deck".  Dad says he can remember Grandpa harnessing up the horses and taking all the kids in town for a ride.  Hidden in the grass is a seed drill and several types of harrows. It's remarkable that anyone was able to work that amount of land with this equipment.  Aside from the horse-drawn equipment like the spreader above, it is all in very good shape and very usable, on a small scale.  In fact, Grandpa still used the "one way" (a two bottom plow) and the disk harrow on his 1 acre garden.

Using horses meant feeding and watering horses.  With the chicken house in the background, these two enormous water troughs are the tires from an even older steam tractor.   It's too bad the story of their beginnings and arrival is long-gone, as I'm sure it was quite an event to see these big wheels arriving.  Can you imagine the machine from whence these came?  It's difficult to get an idea of their size, but they are at least 24" wide and probably 8' diameter!  Grandpa placed these next to one of the well houses and filled the bottom with concrete in order to provide water for the horses.  Dad says he can remember playing in the troughs, paddling around with his siblings on hot summer days!  Inside the closest trough is a spike/drag harrow and a roll of snow fencing.

It's hard not to feel a sense of sadness, walking about the property.  The old tractor sitting out in front of the shed. The shop, contents placed with care and attention to function, sits slowly sagging.  The chicken coop, once full of noise and business of chickens, is emptily tidy.  Implements left in the field according to a lost rhyme and reason. The big barn is gone. The big pig shed is gone.  All of the life and lives which once filled this farm slowly dwindled away...

I'm not sure that the family would have consented had I asked, but knowing what I do now, I can't help but wonder if we couldn't have made a go of it on Grandpa's old farm.

 

To be continued...

Alouette, gentille alouette, Alouette, je te plumerai.

I have a solution to the growing obesity epidemic.  Provide people with means to acquire and house food animals,  then provide instruction and guidance to kill and eat their own meat.  If someone really likes McChicken sandwiches or KFC, it might be worthwhile to grow, kill, prepare and eat your own chicken to really appreciate what's on the plate in front of you.

I am not being facetious.

Warning: details about 'processing' animals after the jump.

It is done.

With Mooshum by my side and Laur in tow, today I set about the business of processing meat birds.

I have inserted a jump here in case you do not wish to read any further.

My Brilliant Chickens

Because the laying hens are getting to an age where they can start going outside, I've been forced to reconsider the Meat King's access to the outside.

Behold, the meaties leaving their coop.

While they were at play in the big yard, I used the chainsaw to punch a hole in the west wall of their coop. I fixed it up with a nice guillotine-style door, moved the ramp from the stairs to the new door and gave the door a few test drives before letting loose the fowl.

Laying hen run to the right, behind gate; meat bird run to the left, by rain barrel.

I lured the birds back into their coop with false promises of grain. When they see me come into the run, they literally flock to me. I'll twirl their food bucket to spin the last dregs of mash to the edge of the bowl and stand back. They will run over one another to get to their food bucket. If I do this in their coop, they'll all come at a chicken trot - up the stairs and ramp.

With all of them in the coop, I gave a bit of food reward and opened the new door.  You could have heard a pin drop.

Maybe even two or three.

I could almost hear the machinations in their t-i-n-y brains slowly grind into motion.

"Baaaaawk, bawk, bawkbawkbaaaaaaaaawk," Speedy said hesitantly as she carefully moved towards freedom.   She's always the first to do anything, which is one reason why she's going to be kept.  A relatively intelligent smart bird, insofar as chickens are concerned, and she regularly figures solutions and demonstrates for the others. Anyways, she came hesitantly out onto the ramp, as if it was suspended over flaming hot lava.  Soon the others came forward - four males gallantly strutted out as if they'd had the best idea ever - and then it was pandemonium as chickens shoved one another out of the way and off the ramp.

Great! They'd made the mental leap from ramp in main doorway to ramp in new chicken doorway!

I gave them some vegetable trimmings after supper and they were all bawking. scratching and meditating contentedly in their new digs.  Because it was time for everyone to bed down for the night, I gave the food bucket a swish, put my safety glasses on and waited for the riot to begin.

Speedy, as usual, came trotting in to receive her nightly ration. I shook the bucket again and stood back.

Again I waited.  Speedy was super happy to have the entire kilo of food to herself and pecked excitedly.

Shake, shake.

Nuthin'.

I peeked out the door.

Thirteen pairs of eyes hungrily watched my every move.  I could see a couple of the chickens calculating the jump from ground, past ramp and into doorway, but no one moved. Not one feather, not one eyelid. They were all, ALL, squished under the ramp, under the door. Packed together like wee hungry sardines. As if they had been teleported from inside the coop to the new run, not one was able to negotiate the ramp.

This is a problem because earlier in the day I did not install a gate for humans in the four foot fence which prevents chickens from wandering off into the wild beyond.  There is no way for me to get into the chicken run.

I called them again.
I shook the food near the doorway.
I thew a few bits of food onto the ramp.
I stuck my head through the chicken door and cooed softly.

Nothin' but a few blinky stares.

I sighed, got the ladder, placed it over the fence and attempted a descent into the chicken abyss.  Ever notice that ladders only have rungs on one side?  Yeah, well they do.  Why, you ask? Probably so someone can't use it to get in and out of their chickeny Alcatraz, that's why.

As I jumped from the third-most top rung on the eight foot ladder and into the run, I contemplated building a stile in case this happens again (and it will). But with my luck, the chickens will completely ignore the terrifying ramp and use the stile.

None the less, first thing on the to-do tomorrow is to build a gate, because you know this is going to happen again, and again, and again. And possibly two or three more times until they ALL figure it out.

Busy Beavers

Yesterday was a busy day in the rain.  I rented the wood splitter and made a big dent in all those logs at the top of the logging road.

This pile represents five front-end loader loads of wood.

Chickee Lickee Chooks

Baby Buff Orpington - Hillary - named after Sir Edmond Hillary because (s)he likes to be the one on top of the rock in the water dish.  I wasn't able to get a decent shot of the bigger Buff Orp.

Sunday Drivers Interupted

We interrupt this regularly scheduled Sunday Drivers broadcast to bring you an important development at Occidental Acres.

Chook, chook, chookie!

We picked up our meat birds on Tuesday. Despite my trepidation, all of them have made through the first couple of days with resounding success.

Springing forward!

I've never really understood the whole time-change thing. Perhaps it's because I grew up in Saskatchewan, where we don't change the time for love nor money.  Perhaps it's because you get the same amount of daylight whether it's 5 am or 6am. Or maybe it's because it seems to screw up your circadian rhythm just a little bit.  But, it's never made sense to me.