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I once read an article in Mary Jane's Farm magazine called "Zen and the Chi of Chickens." The author observed that chickens have the Zen of meditation, and remind us to slow down and stay in the present. She suggested using chicken watching as a form of therapy. Whenever I think of chickens, this article immediately comes to mind and resonates with truth. If you have ever sat outside on a sunny day and watched hens methodically scratch at the soil clucking softly, you are sure to know what I'm talking about.
When I think of chickens, I am flooded with all these comforting feelings of home, abundance, happy childhood memories, and peace. When I was a little girl, our chickens were by far my favorite animals. I would go out on sunny spring days and play with the little chicks in the bright green grass amongst the dandelions. On rainy winter days, I would go visit them in their chicken house where they were content and dry with the smell of straw and the sun streaming in through the diamond shaped stained glass rooster window my mother had made. I loved the little contented clucking sounds they made. I remember one spring I caught pneumonia, and was on bed rest in my parents bed tucked in under the big patchwork quilt my mom made. I was feeling like I was missing out on things, when my father cheered me up by bringing in one of the little newly hatched chicks to show me. I still recall to this day how wonderfully soft that little chick felt in my hand and how it made me smile.
When I went away to college and moved out on my own. I started to really think about wanting chickens. This was not possible in the life of a student renter, moving at least once a year. So, I created a chicken theme in my kitchen. I painted my spice racks with stencils of red roosters. I found some chicken prints at second hand stores. Once I let the cat out of the bag to the relatives and friends, chicken towels, mugs, and knick-knacks began coming my way on birthdays and holidays. Before long, my kitchen was decked out in country chicken style. However, something was missing...the real chickens.
When my husband and I rented our first place out of college, the landlords with whom we shared the property already had a chicken coop, so we found some free hens posted on a permaculture email group, and the fun began. I loved looking out my kitchen window at the happy hens clucking and scratching for bugs. My children were delighted to help me gather the eggs, and help me go on searches for secret nests made by rogue hens in the hay loft. We had those hens for a few years, running around in the yard with the kids until we made another move into town where the landlady was worried about avian flu, so we gave our hens and coop supplies to some good friends and bid them farewell. We missed those chickens.
While we adjusted to our new town life, I began reading about urban chicken raising, and when me made our next move, we found a place where the renters were fellow chicken lovers and already kept chickens. They sold us the coop to raise our own urban flock. When we got chicks that spring, my kids spent hours out in the garage teaching "chickie school" with a pointer and a map about how to reduce pollution in the water cycle. One chick turned out to be a white crested black polish, who looked like a Jim Henson creation with a mop of feathers on his head. This little chicken quickly became my son's best friend and was named Squeaky. Unfortunately, Squeaky began to crow, and violated the urban chicken laws against roosters, so we found a good home for him with some folks by a community garden. Somewhere during this time, my son became a chicken fanatic. We figured, some kids are into sports, some kids are into superheroes, ours loves chickens. So we went with it. We got him chicken encyclopedias, guides to raising chickens, and sent for some free chicken catalogues in the mail. He was in bliss hanging out in the backyard with his sister and his chicken buddies.
When we bought our farm, the promise of more room for chickens was definitely a motivating factor. We ordered chicks to double our flock in the spring in anticipation. We did get another white crested black polish who also turned out to be a rooster, but it didn't matter since we were moving to the country! One of the first projects we did before moving was to convert an old horse stall barn into the super deluxe chicken coop of our dreams. We built nesting boxes along the outside wall by the door with hinges that opened so we could reach in and get the eggs from outside the coop. We put in an old wood framed window from Bring Recycling so they could look outside from their perch. We built an enormous open chicken yard around an old oak tree along one side of the coop building, and buried the 6 foot tall chicken wire a foot into the ground with concrete all the way around to keep critters out. Our friend made them a little drawbridge to get in and out of the chicken yard that we could close up at night. I hung some prayer flags across the front of the coop in honor of their Zen nature. Once they were all moved into their new coop, they were the happiest chickens I had ever seen.
I encourage anyone who has ever dreamed of having chickens to make it happen! If you live an urban lifestyle, you may be surprised by what your city allows under their chicken keeping ordinances. You also may be surprised at how supportive your neighbors will be when you offer them some farm fresh eggs now and again. For those with smaller spaces, there are great options out there like chicken tractors, little compact coops that can be moved around the yard. I suggest reading Keep Chickens! Tending Small Flocks in Cities, Suburbs, and Other Small Spaces by Barbara Kilarski. Also check out City Chicks: Keeping Micro-Flocks of Laying Hens as Garden Helpers, Compost Makers, Bio-Recyclers, and Local Food Producers by Patricia Foreman, and Storey's Guide to Raising Chickens by Gail Demerow. The work involved in keeping chickens is not great, and the rewards are bountiful. Eggs aside, at the end of a hectic day, your mind will be at ease knowing you can sit out in your back yard for a little chicken watching therapy and find some peace.
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