The Great Chicken Escape

For three days this past week Joe and I were in charge of what we jokingly call the Finnriver Chicken Farm. Janet and Jeff were out of town, and we were to see to the two, and then three, groups of chickens. There are the two-year old laying hens in the upper orchard. And the two-month old pullets, which will start laying in June, that live on the hill above the blueberry field. And on the morning of the third day, we rose at 6:30am with a phone call from the Chimacum Post Office informing us that our shipment of 250 chicks had arrived.



We worked quickly in the morning light to unpack the noisy boxes. Janet and Jeff had left their shelter all set up and ready for them. All we had to do was settle them in with food and water and turn on their heat lamp. After just a few delays of keys to the grain room, resetting the electrical outlet, double checking what color the written instructions said the feed label was, and fixing one heat lamp bulb, we were happy to welcome these adorable little peepers to their new home. It almost made me reconsider eating them in 12 weeks.



But before I had the pleasure of holding the little fuzz balls, we had two days of wild chicken escapes.

Bright and early on our first morning as chicken keepers I stumbled into one of the laying hens at the barn. It was one of the types that are known for sneaking their way into fenced off areas of the orchard. But this little lady was quite a ways away from the orchard. Now, until the day before, I had never in my memory picked up a chicken. In recent years I’ve even developed a bit of a phobia of chickens. But here I was, keeper of the chickens. Running into one in the driveway. Luckily, this expert escapist knew the route back to the orchard and all I had to do was follow her and help her find a hole in the fence to squeeze back through. No touching required, phew.

That same morning when we arrived to feed the pullets we were greeted with young birds that had learned they had wings. As we threw one back over the fence, another took flight at our heads. It was quite a battle to get them all back on the right side of the fence. And the rest of the morning was spent rebuilding a taller fence.

On the second morning I was once again greeted at the barn by a chicken. My frustration level with the chickens was running high and I actually chased this one at a run back to the orchard. I thought maybe I could scare it enough to discourage it from exploring too far again.

I must admit, after these past four weeks, I’m no longer afraid of chickens. I happily feed and collect eggs each evening. And over the course of our first month here, I’ve even begun to develop my sense of protection for them. You see, as a chicken farmer, your enemies become red tailed haws, bald eagles and coyotes. When we take pause from pruning blueberries to admire the soaring juvenile eagle, we have to balance our awe with reality. Farming is one of the best ways to connect with land and nature. But it is a very different connection than you are provided on a day hike. In the past several years I’ve been working to develop my eye to spot hawks, eagles, vultures to know which birds to pull the car over for as the passenger dives for the binoculars. Now I must learn to use my knowledge of the wild to protect the domesticated. This even requires encouraging the farm dog to bark at hawks overhead or coyotes by the creek.

So while the chickens and I will continue to learn to work together, I will also continue to find the balance of a farming nestled among wild woods.