In the middle of this, my second winter tending chickens, I've been reflecting on a few changes made since last year that have offered more happiness for myself and for our flock.
In late August I purchased fifty pounds of an organic, locally grown wheat from the Gianfortes (check them out because they are really wonderful). It had been a wetter and wilder growing season than anyone would have lked, and the wheat I bought hadn't dried properly. I stored 25 pounds in a bucket with a lid in our pantry, and froze the other 25. The 25 pounds in the bucket had too high a moisture content and slowly molded.
The upside is that the grains still have enough energy within them to sprout, so I've been transforming this loss into an ecstatic pleasure for the chickens. Those apples above are unfortunate victims of an overactive refrigerator that decided to blast everything one night while we slept. I had them frozen for months, thinking I would bake something and decided to get real the other day. The chickens decimated them gladly within minutes.
I've taken up the practice of scraping the roosts and the floor clear of poop when I enter the egg mobile. There is a long running argument in my head about whether or not this is a waste of my time. The clarity I've found is in the word agriculture. This little arrangement - this house, the birds, the feeding, the watering, the cleaning, the egg collecting - would not be happening were it not for me (we) and our human interest in this relationship. I don't poop on the floor, and I don't like walking in poop in the floor. So, I've become content to let this action be a reflection of my values and let the chickens keep theirs. It feels great to have a clean house, even if it is a chicken house. I collect most of the refuse into a 5 gallon bucket that I empty into a large feed bag when it's full. A few handfuls of saw dust keep the odors down, and we intend to compost it in the spring with the manure we collect in the barn from the cows.
These are the incredible tools for poop scraping.
The dance begins again.
Apparently I am not the only one who sees the value in chicken manure. A mouse (or rat?) has now found my stash and ripped into it. What a (un?)fortunate fellow.
Lastly, I hammered some long nails into the vertical posts of the egg mobile and cut their heads off with our bolt cutter. Now I can plunge the occasional mushy vegetable from our store onto this spear, and the chickens entertain themselves at length in the pecking.