Set Free: The Broken Legged Hen Saga Continues

We had no release party.

But the sun was shining, the snow was melting, and temperatures were climbing into the 30's. Even our fair-weather Wyandottes chickens ventured outside the hen house.

Now in approximately week six of her confinement, the Broken Legged Hen was tired of her 8 by 8-foot stall, and I was tired of feeding her separately from the others.

"Be free," I said, opening her stall door.

Then I left the barn and took the Border collies on their morning dog walk. When I returned, the stall was empty.

From a distance, the Broken Legged Hen looks no different than the other Buckeye hens. Up close, her now-healed broken leg is thicker--and she walks with a limp.

She settled back into her routine of hanging out with the two Haflinger horses. Either she'd forgotten that a horse hoof broke her leg, or she didn't care.

At night, rather than joining the other hens in the hen house, she settled into the corner of the horse stall.

When the horses were fed, she was there to snatch up loose bits of grain.

I've given up arguing with her.

The horse stall is where she wants to be.

And I will let it be.

The Hen vs. the Human

The Buckeye hen senses that is is spring and time for chicks. Every day she lays an egg in a nest in the hen house.

When I realize she's gone broody, I give her a few extra eggs and let her sit.

She takes her job seriously and turns the eggs daily so that they chick doesn't stick to one side. Once a day, she leaves the nest to eat and drink.

I, too, sense it's spring and time to incubate chicks. I collect eggs and place them in a carton in the workshop. I elevate one side of the carton and turn it every day.

Until one day, when I'm not paying attention, and I drop several of the eggs.

But I am persistent and go about collecting eggs.

When I've collected 30 eggs, I add water to the incubator and plug it in. The perfect conditions are 100 degrees and 58-60 percent humidity.

It reaches 99 degrees. I put the eggs in and turn the temperature a little higher.

I planned to go back and check it again. But I'm distracted by the garden, the horses, the sheep, the lambs, the cats. Hours later, I go to bed, tired from an evening spent outdoors.

In the morning, I remember the incubator.

The temperature reads 104 degrees.

I fried my eggs.

I've resumed collecting more eggs for the incubator. Meanwhile, the hen sits, waiting for the peeps that indicate she has chicks.

The Roosters

I'm spending a lot of time walking backwards in the paddock and pastures these days, keeping my eye out for attacking roosters.

It is springtime, and the two Buckeye roosters have become quite territorial. While they're fine with the llama, sheep, horses and cats around the barn, they've decided I'm a threat, even though I feed them morning and night.

And yet, I keep them around, because I love hearing their crows morning, noon and evening; and I'd like chicks this spring.

And I keep them because, when I'm not fending them off, I find myself stopping to admire their feathers shimmering in the sunlight.

Finding Beauty in Hot & Soggy

We are caught in that weather pattern where hot, humid weather attracts thunderstorms--and then more heat and humidity, and then more thunderstorms.

It's too wet to mow and weed. So instead of sulking, which I've done, I captured some images from mid-June.

The first crop of strawberries is winding down.

The red raspberries are preparing to take over. Shhhh... don't tell the birds.

And, while mowing a bit of pasture--before another pop-up storm--I found a few wild raspberries and ate them.

In the garden, the weeds are growing, as is the dill.

As is the radish cover crop. Last week I said enough with planting and seeded the remaining garden space in cover crop. It's my first attempt at this, so we'll see how it goes.

It's my first attempt at growing popcorn, too.

I've grown garlic before--but had never eaten the scapes. I sauteed them in olive oil and butter, added some more fresh herbs and tossed it with linguine. It was so tasty, I might have to plant my garden in garlic next year.

Meanwhile, in the chicken yard, the chicks continue to capture my attention. The chicks are almost four weeks old. Buckeyes are a slow-maturing breed--but very hardy and great foragers.

The lambs, especially the Katahdin-Dorper crosses, are growing fast. These two aren't quite 3 months old.

In the flowerbed, the first daylily of the season bloomed today.

And the lilies are so beautiful, I want to bring them inside.

But I won't. Louise the cat ate the lilies last year.

My favorites, though, may be the alliums--wild, carefree and a peaceful blue.

Stop and Watch the...

It's easy to get caught up in the farm's endless "to-do" list. We spent the weekend, mowing, trimming, tilling the garden, weeding, removing thistles from the pastures, planting, cleaning stalls, vaccinating lambs...

But, every once in a while, I was reminded to stop and enjoy the farm. Mama Hen and her chicks were a constant source of entertainment.

Hatched six days ago in a lamb stall, they spend their days scratching and pecking. Here's Mama Hen giving a lesson.

Sometime another hen ventures into the stall.Mama Hen is quick to puff up, but then they settle into scratching and pecking again. Here's Mama Hen and the Intruder.

Never Underestimate a Determined Hen

In February, when temperatures stayed below zero and I pulled a bale of hay from the barn, I discovered the hen's first nest. Frozen eggs fell to the ground.

Undeterred, the hen moved to a new location--bales of hay closer to the ground.

But those bales disappeared as winter lingered and lambs were born.

The hen gave up on making nests in the hay bales and moved to a lamb pen.

The grass greened, and the lambs and ewes moved to pasture.

The hen sat and sat.

Most mornings, I felt sorry for her and offered her a bowl of grain and some water. She squawked at me, but accepted the food.

I calculated the days.

When it passed 21 days--the incubation period for eggs, I told her to give up.

She ignored me.

And, this morning, I discovered why. As I was feeding, I saw a chick peeking from her feathers, and then another.

This evening there are three chicks.

And I am leaving her alone.

The Roosters' New Home

"How'd you get all the bruises on your legs?" the husband asks.
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"Grrr..." I say. "Those roosters."

This year's roosters rank No. 3 on the Most-Aggressive-Roosters-Ever List -- behind Andy the Barred Rock who terrorized me as a child (had to carry a rolled newspaper with me when I fed the chickens. He met his demise days after attacking my father.); and then there was Uckhead, a Golden Comet, who arrived with our first batch of chickens on the farm. His spurs were so sharp that they cut my jeans.

But the problem with this year's roosters is that there are two--and they double team us. Many days I've found myself facing two roosters and fending off one with my left foot and the other with my right. And they're agile, moving through the pipe gates from one paddock to the other.

We keep sticks at the gate entrances, but sometimes I don't grab one if the roosters are off in another paddock. I regret it moments later, when they come attacking.

And, so after months of being terrorized by roosters, I moved them to their new homes.

"It's only temporary," I tell them, circling July 1 on the calendar.

Yet Another Herding Hazard

This morning I was focusing on Raven as she gathered the sheep and moved them from one pasture to the one where I was standing.

I gave her a down command and then a right flank.

Then pow! I had sharp pain in my left buttock.

Spinning around, I looked down at a 10-pound Buckeye rooster.

And, I forgot about the sheep, and about Raven -- and even forgot to tell her to cover her young ears.

The rooster lowered his head and puffed out his neck feathers.

I reached back three decades to those soccer skills I learned in high school.

After a few spurs from him and a few well placed kicks from me, he opted to rejoin his flock of hens.

And I asked Raven to gather the flock of sheep -- there was no gathering my dignity -- and proceeded with training.