Every morning I walk up the long dirt drive to unlock the gate with Sadie (and sometimes William) at my heels. I pass by the chicken tractors and take a quick peek to see if they still have food. Usually they don't so I backtrack, fill the feeders partway and promise them I'll be back after breakfast and after the dew dries to move them to fresh grass and replenish their feeders. I'm such a sap, I know, because every morning I greet them with "good morning sweet babies!" and I always leave them with "I love you babies." I do this all, of course, knowing that the day is soon approaching that I will be faced with turning my loves into dinner. And yet that's one of the things I love about them. I love that I can give them a good life, that I can take care of them and that, in turn, they will take care of me. I confess that knowing their lifespan is quite time limited anyway absolves some of my guilt as I endeavor to give them a great life while they're here knowing that won't be for much longer anymore.
It has been so uncomfortably hot this past week (it registered 94 degrees in the shade on my upper porch) and that gentleman's warning to Kent about the Salatin style chicken tractors cooking his chickens in the summer became a reality for us on Wed. It was oppressively hot and I had propped open the corner of the tractor to encourage air flow, but apparently I didn't prop it enough. When I went out for what was probably my 4th check of the day, I found one big chicken that looked curiously lifeless. Well, bingo, he was. I was so disappointed. My first instinct was "poor bird!" but that was quickly followed with the realization that I just lost one of my largest chickens. A flickering of the possibility of using him to practice my processing skills flitted out of the realm of possibility as quickly as it flitted in. He was a bit stiff. No, I couldn't go there. I thanked him for his time of service and Hadley took him to the back pasture and offered him to the buzzards. The life cycle continues in its own odd and seemingly harsh way.
Yesterday we propped up the two corners of the tractor that are covered in sheet metal. We have been laying large pieces of cardboard, saved from "put it together yourself" IKEA furniture, on top of the sheet metal part of the roof too, in hopes of deflecting some of the heat. This morning we threw all caution to the wind and put a huge prop in the corner. Those chickens went wild! It was a sort of holiday for them and within a few minutes they went from cranky, lazy chickens to boisterous, exuberant ones. Freedom! About half of them made a break for it and waddled out from underneath the tractor. They scattered about the pasture but curiously they never wandered off more than a few yards. After a bit, they seemed to tire of their freedom and most of them made their way back into the tractor. A half a dozen others are still lounging about - half in and half out - of one side of the tractor. We reasoned that since they're too fat to fly that they aren't going anywhere. The tractor is in full sight so I can monitor what they're doing from where I'm sitting in the front room of the house. We will assume, then, they are giving us their parole and trust they won't go trotting over to the next farm.
In the meantime, we are already planning modifications for the next chicken tractor. That must mean we think we're going to do this again sometime. While I don't know that I'd want to raise chickens for a living (Hadley made it quite clear that he will do whatever he needs to do to assure that he will NOT be raising chickens for a living), I do rejoice in the idea that I might one day be raising my own meat on a more regular basis. Oh happy day!
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