Raindrops fell into the dewy grass and created a quiet hush in the early daylight. Or at least it was hushed until I brought my tired baby and rambunctious kiddo kicking and screaming out of the house to wrangle some birds before 7 am.

Our pastured poultry are raised in pens that we rotate over fresh grass at least once per day. These pens provide plenty of space to forage grasses and grubs, focus the nutrient-rich manure, and most importantly provide safety. Our birds live out their days happily without a care in the world. That’s usually what happens. After having cattle with these pens all summer, our docile mama cows decided they wanted to rip apart our pens, push around the frames and become chicken bullies. 

A few days prior to the general destruction we noticed the girls slightly rubbing and nudging the pens. We attributed it to curiosity and decided to keep an eye on it. Costly mistake.  After wrangling nearly 100 birds, two times before noon I decided the remedy was happening that afternoon once the hubby dearest came home with the pick up. We moved pens, chickens, ducks and kids back and forth across the road countless times.

Bed-time seems to be something normal families do for their children, but as a full-time mama dragging children around as I go about my lady-farmer business there seems to be a trend of working until dark and throwing multi-grain cheerios or Graham crackers at them for a snack. Hubby Dearest helps where he can, but often times that means we are working to dark as a family unit. 

Thus we were moving chickens, ducks, and pens at 8.30pm with kids starting to fuss (Cue more Graham crackers) and the sun starting to sink beneath the treeline. 

As I start to feel the season change from summer into fall I am anxious to see what the peak of our season will bring. I know we will have over 300 broilers, 8 pigs, our first sow, 13 cattle, an incredibly handsome horse and handful of laying lady ducks/hens in September into October. It may not seem like much, but it’s our biggest year yet and it has me giving pep-talks to myself and self high fives on the daily. So many unknown trials, adventures, tantrums, animal escapes, and special moments to come.

Getting pumped for the peak of our 2017 season. Bring it on fall. 

(Smiling instead of getting frustrated)

I grew up on a small farm in the Pacific Northwest.   It wasn’t a ranch the size of a small country.  My parents didn’t run 1000 head of cattle.  We didn’t muck out stalls from dusk until dawn. It was 10 acres backed up against timberland. It was beautiful.  It was perfect.
Now, my tiny little homestead is an exact acre, we’re attempting to increase our acreage, but who knows if or when that will ever happen. No matter though, I have been slowly but surely turning this abode into a working small farm.
Thankfully my parents have allowed me to raise a variety of animals on their farm (just down the road) as well as my own so I can follow all of the best management practices I preach on and on about in my day job -water quality this, soil integrity that, compost is the bee’s knees,  and so forth.  But, our acre is being put into production this year!
Part of our increased effort is expanding our layer chicken flock.  These birds have it good. They have the entire acre to literally range free and they even sneak over into the neighbor’s horse pasture to mix it up every so often. Yesterday morning however they took their ranging to a new level.
The ever faithful dog Ted likes to let himself back into our house when I forget to push the door shut all the way. Try as we might, he refuses to learn to shut the door after he comes in! Thus, when he came bounding in the house pleased as punch and I was changing sweet baby Q in the back room, the door was left wide open and those free range cluckers of mine let themselves into the house!  I came back out to the living room to find our lead hen drinking out of Ted’s water dish and Bertha the Wyandotte relaxing in our kitchen. Luckily the gals didn’t poo, but it was quite the ruckus as I attempted to shoo them out, Ted tried to help, and Q was laughing at us all.  Very lively start to our morning in Melville.

Later that day Q and I went to try out her new swing and as the flock came running towards us, she began giggling uncontrollably. Squealing.  Reaching for those pesky hens. So of course, like every good farming mama would do, we spent the next 20 minutes chasing the chickens around the yard.

There is no doubt in my mind that our chickens are spoiled rotten, beloved by babies, and range perhaps too freely. Expanding our flock will be an adventure!

(Welcome to the flock wee little Ameraucanas!!!)