Spring Chicken Adventures

Sometimes I read other people's farm / craft / kid raising / cooking blogs. Now that I have tried to write one, I am filled with a blend of admiration and doubt (both of the general skepticism of others variety- how do they do all they things they say they do and still find time to write about it all?- and also the overwhelming self directed sort-I barely remember to brush my hair, let alone write a timely and interesting blog! FAILURE!)  This evening, though, l went ahead and let my kids eat treats and watch a movie and VOILA! all these pictures from the early spring are off my camera and onto the interwebs, complete with anecdotes and captions. 

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Early on, life in the coop was pretty snug. It was cold outside so the heat lamp glowed constantly, spreading its soft red warmth over all our little birds, shielding them from the damp chill of February and March in Northern Illinois.

As the chicks grew, as they are apt to do, one began to set herself apart: 

This is Hoppy,  so named because she was the first to hop on the roosts and then on top of the wall of the partition. 

Shortly thereafter, other identical chickens began to hop on to the wall, making it very difficult to tell which chicken was our girl Hoppy. 

Obviously, the incentive for hopping was very great.

Once enough of the chickens were Hoppy (they were like Apollo shuttles: Hoppy I, Hoppy 2, Hoppy 13...) it was time to move the chicks outside. 

Farmer Josh and Farmer Henry spent Saturday morning lining the cow pasture with chicken wire (less to keep chickens in - though the time that one of my wildly free range chickens hopped to the top of the picnic table and tried to eat my Popsicle did sour me towards the practice of allowing my chickens open access to the yard - and more to keep the dogs out - more on that another time.).

Henry takes his job as a farmer very seriously and insists upon wearing a straw farming hat whenever the occasion arises.  

Fence fortified, we opened the door and let our chicks out into yard with the hope of eventual warmth afforded by the early April sun.

Hoppy, of course, led the charge. 

The other Hoppies were hesitant at first, but very quickly after they poured out of the coop in search of grass, sunshine, open space, and insects. What more could anyone desire from life?

Outside their coop, they were greeted by Farmer Jettie, (there, that completes a life! Grass, sunshine, open space, insects, and the Best Girl in the World screaming enthusiastically whenever you eat... ) 

And now, two stories:

In this early spring time, big fat robins, nearly the size of Hoppy 1-14, were everywhere. The poor things flew back up north early, as the winter had been relatively mild, only to find themselves shoveling 6" of April snow out of their nests.

One morning as we walked the sidewalk next to a great grassy yard, Jettie bolted away from me.  "Where are you going?" I called.

"Me go to catch a chicken!" was her yelled-over-the-shoulder response as she chased a robin across the yard.

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My great-grandfather Herman Johnson kept about 200 chickens.  (This, of course, is somewhat hearsay, told to me by my father's cousin Duane.  Not the chickens, those he definitely had, but the other part, because my dad said that his Grandpa Herman was the hardest working man he ever knew and he never saw him sit in his life.)  Anyhoo, my great-grandfather kept a couple hundred chickens and one thing he loved to do was to gather a basket of eggs, grab a chair, and then sit and watch his chickens while he polished eggs.

For what it's worth, watching chickens can actually be a very pleasant way to pass the time.