By Kelli Bowen
One of the reasons Hubby and I wanted to live in the country, was to grow our own food and teach our children where food comes from…because let’s be real: pretty sure I know adults who aren’t sure. I’m not talking about being completely self-sustainable (Mama and Daddy have to work), but I enjoy gardening and animals. I grew up on a small ranch and we had almost every type of critter at one time or another. I grew up very aware that livestock are work and food and not pets. I stood outside in negative temperatures breaking the ice that formed over the water tanks and digging out fences when snowdrifts overtook them. I’ve been chased by angry ganders and roosters. I’ve enjoyed the satisfaction of eating what I’ve harvested. I have experienced the pang of sadness when the animals I’ve become connected to have their turn at slaughter, but then realize home-grown meat is really superior. I wanted to pass some of that, maybe without all of the colorful adult-language I learned, onto my children.
Hubby and I both work full-time outside of the home, so the extent of our home-food operation is small. We have a garden, some berry trees, and a small flock of chickens. Hubby didn’t grow up on a farm, so a lot of my “ideas” are new experiences for him, but he’s always up for an adventure. We’ve butchered in the fall, incubated and hatched our own eggs, and the girls love going to collect eggs in the summer. They’re very aware of the life cycle of a chicken and have been involved in all of it.
Three summers ago we began our chicken hobby. We bought our first group of chicks. Our first summer of free-range chickens was packed with predators. We had a coyote, weasels, hawks and a skunk attack. Of all of our chickens, we had one hen survive: Toeless. We named her Toeless as she was missing part of a toe (I know: we are SUPER creative). When she was young, there was one night that we were missing a chicken. It turns out one hen had decided to roost on top of the coop, and managed to get stuck to the roof. She seemed to have been frozen. We managed to get her down, but when she came down, she was missing part of a toe…that’s when she earned her name: Toeless.
Toeless hatched out her own chicks each summer and also was the alpha of the flock. Even the roosters followed Toeless’ lead. When a predator was found lingering around the farm, Toeless would disappear, and then she’d resurface once the threat was gone. She was a smart old bird.
This summer, after we introduced some more chicks, Toeless must have felt inspired, because she and the other adult hens kicked egg production into overdrive. This also kicked the roosters into overdrive, and a rooster we named King Solomon frequently picked fights with Toeless. He apparently didn’t care for a lady in charge.
We always let the chickens out of the coop mid-day. Today when we let the chickens out, we didn’t see Toeless. This isn’t totally uncommon as she likes to hold down the egg nest and then ventures out after all the excitement of the door being thrown open is over. She was not on the nest. She was in a different area of the coop. It seems she and King Solomon had a throw-down and she did not survive. After disposing of her body, life on the little farm went back to normal fairly quickly. The girls know where food comes from. They also know there’s a hierarchy maintained in the chicken world and sometimes the pecking order does not favor a tough old bird.
Not all lessons on the farm are happy ones, but at least I know who’s hitting the chopping block first this fall. Spoiler Alert: it’s King Solomon.
Kelli makes her home in rural Cass County with her husband, two daughters (8 and 4), three dogs, and random poultry. She works for a regional seed company by day and tries to be an alright mom, wife, friend and writer by night.