Country Ingenuity Round II

On how I am slowly becoming a chicken lady…

I’ve been thinking about expanding my flock for the past few months now. I have 3 ½ free-loaders (the ½ chicken is a bantam and feels her adorableness is rent payment enough) and 2 laying hens, which is fine for a party of one, which I am. That said, I’m in the process of developing my mini-farmstand for the coming grow season and I’d like to offer fresh eggs alongside herbs and veg. Two butt nuggets a day may fill my belly, but they don’t fill a carton quick enough to cover a grain bill, so I’ve been prowling the NH Farm & Garden Facebook pages, keeping an eye out for someone waving the white flag of defeat in the midst of a typical NH winter. When a woman posted that she had year-old hens not only available but available right here in town, I was on it.

Fast forward 24-hours and you had me and a fellow Chesterite gabbing about flocks and critters as we caught hens from their perches and popped them into one of the animal crates I’d brought along for transit. I paid the woman what she was asking ($24 total for six) and returned home with just enough light left for me to locate the run and squeeze the new birds into the current coop. Garnet managed to peck my hand twice (that red devil) as I was loading them in, but all in all, it was an easy transition from crate to coop and I retired indoors feeling particularly satisfied with the freshly acquired gems I attached to my Crazy Chicken Lady crown.

As predicted, the next morning was sheer mayhem. One of the new Buffs had cornered an older Wyandotte whom I assumed was dead based on her crumpled form below the straddling strawberry blonde. The rest of the flock was like a scene from Jurassic Park at feeding time in the velociraptor habitat…birds were running, hopping, leaping, and crashing into one another while still others were perched on suspended branches hollering as though the world was coming to an end.

I scattered the oats I’d been grasping and beelined it to the ‘dotte who shocked me by leaping up and taking off the second her aggressor jetted away. Pearl, as it turned out to be, looked a bit haggard with her torn up cere (the spongey, red flesh where the beak meets the face) and bedraggled neck feathers, but appeared otherwise unscathed from her recent assault. In fact, she too began pecking at the oats I’d dropped in my haste and within moments, everyone was contently scrapping about for snacks.

It was blatantly obvious that my previously perfect enclosure was not going to comfortably accommodate the new additions. I had, after all, doubled the population, and eleven full-grown hens were not going to retire to the current coop without external influence (read: chasing, dodging, and artfully scooping agitated featherbutts).

The day was brisk but young, the hens were pacified for the time being, and I had 9 hours of February sunlight to both start and finish this project. Needless to say, if that isn’t motivation, I don’t know what is.

Poor Panda was completely neglected that Sunday as I quickly got to work measuring the space and coming up with some rough sketches. To clarify, I am in no way an architect, nor am I a carpenter. I am comfortable cutting square angles with my circular saw and rounded edges with my jigsaw, and while I’m competent with an electric screwdriver, non of the above equates to much if you aren’t adequately prepared to handle them.

I am excruciatingly aware of how dangerous these machines are so I take as many precautions as possible when operating them. That said, I am also a diehard independent warrior and, as such, have been known to cut corners in order to make things work when I don’t have a partner in crime available. In this instance, the ‘cut corner’ phrase was spot on and my sawhorse is pretty mangled from that, er, slip… insert raised eyebrows of shock plus relieved grin here… Be safe out there, kids; Power tools are no joke.

Anyways, I conspired a plan before that fateful sawhorse tragedy, and per usual, called my dad to see what kind of scrap lumber he had milling around his property. He didn’t disappoint and an hour later I was back at Sweet Birch unloading a 6′ high shelf and some panels of plywood and getting busy. I couldn’t have asked for better outdoor work conditions: the sun was strong and the ground bare. The high of 26 meant that the ground was frozen and thus, dry at the surface, so even though it was a bit brisk, I didn’t have to worry about my lumber absorbing moisture.

The first step in this renovation was the removal of two of the pre-existing shelves. I left the one on top to act as the roof and the one on the bottom for the floor. Then I took one of the shelves I’d removed and sawed it in half before reinstalling it on the rung above the the floor. This, I decided, would be a great platform to encourage the girls to go vertical and up to where the two perch rails would be going. The perch rails, by the way, were leftover batten beams from Panda’s shed last May. I cut them to size and sanded them smooth so the chickie lous would have a gentle edge under their dinosaur toes.

Platform, perches, now it was time to box this sucker in and turn it from random old shelf in Daddio’s basement to makeshift winter coop for the new mother cluckers. I measured and cut the plywood to size leaving space at the top for windows and ventilation. This sounds fancier than it was. In reality, the plywood I had swiped from Mom & Dad’s wasn’t large enough to cover the 42” opening of any side of the coop and I didn’t have enough materials to mix and match dimensions, I chose instead to leave a gap along the upper portion of the non-entry sides and close these in with chicken wire.

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Lastly I cut a chunk of plywood to a height of 30” and another to 12” and pieced them together so they completely covered the final side. I attached some old door hinges to both that lower panel and the floor of the coop and just like that, I had a door that swung up to close and down to open.

I didn’t have any latching hardware so I took a small chunk of discarded batten, drilled a long screw through its center and attached it so that, when turned vertical across the upright lower panel, it prevented the door from swinging open. Ba-da-bing…chicken coop made!

Because winter isn’t over yet, I wrapped the vented windows with poly sheeting, a product as useful as duct tape here in New England. I abhor plastic products of all kinds but I do use this stuff to waterproof items that require solar penetration (think greenhouses, cold frames, and in this case, a chicken coop).

After another fifty staples or so (“Hey Mom? Do you have staples for a staple gun? I am o-u-t.”) the coop just needed to be moved into place. As if the Universe could hear my thoughts, my father suddenly appeared around the corner (he was checking in to make sure I wasn’t facedown in a pool of my own blood, circular saw inserted in my thigh).

Between the two of us, we managed to move the now surprisingly heavy (plywood adds an impressive amount of weight) shelf-turned-chicken-abode so that it directly abutted the existing run. The newly created contraption was hardly level due to a bit of slope and unyielding frozen soil, but with some ingenuity, awkward shifting and one or two pinched fingers (sorry Dad!) we got it where it needed to be. I successfully secured the little house to the deck beams to prevent it from falling over in high winds and the coop was officially ready for hen admission.

I entered the run with scissors and my staple gun and carefully cut a hole in the chicken wire directly in front of the coop’s door. Then I attached that same chicken wire to the new coop so that the door could open and close without interference but the chicken fencing remained impermeable. For those of you familiar with cutting and bending chicken wire, you know what my hands looked like after this particular part of the remodel. For those of you who have not yet had the pleasure, imagine taking your uncovered hand, tucking it into a fist, and then repeatedly punching through the center of a robust rose bush. Now you know what working with chicken wire is like.

I took a step back to search for breaches in the altered run while rubbing my torn and tattered knuckles. Miraculously, I couldn’t find a single mistake; the whole thing was functional. The door opened and closed, the coop itself didn’t wobble, and there was plenty of light filtering in through the poly wrap as the day began to wane into evening. I tossed some chipped straw into the coop in an effort to entice my curious spectators to enter on their own and then lost my patience and grabbed Garnet who was stalking me per usual and predictably squatted when I reached for her. I coaxed the little hen in through the 12”x 30” doorway and smiled. ‘This is going to work,’ I thought. And it has.

The new girls got into the habit of turning in for the night after only two evenings of either relocating or corralling . Garnet and Galena and the ‘Dottes refused to adopt the new coop, relentlessly leaping out and making a run for it each time I got another one in. Our comedic bit would have been more entertaining had there not been a previously installed tree limb that intersected the corner by the new coop. I had no problem avoiding it on the way to the coop but could not for the life of me remember to duck out from below it after transferring a hen. As such, I repeatedly slammed my skull against it every time I stood to chase yet another escapee. Thirty minutes and one soft concussion later, I resolved to let the original feathered farts maintain their routine and praised the ease at which my new girls embraced their separate residence.

It’s been exactly one week since my flock of Tyrannosaurus pecks doubled in size and all is well again at Sweet Birch. In keeping with tradition, the new gals have also been named after gemstones. My morning greetings sound more like I’m taking inventory in a quarry or at a rock swap but I think it’s fun to have a theme, so there. I’ve got Opal, Jade, Carnelian, and Garnet, Galena, Covellite, Fluorite, Chalcedony, Quartz, Calcite, Topaz and my wild card, Phyllis (she’s the ringleader). I don’t say their names in that sequence aloud because I’d pass out from lack of oxygen after Fluorite. There are Buffs now, and Easter Eggers, and Americanas mixed in with the Wyandottes, RI Red, and Barred Rock, and I’m excited to see what my carton of eggs will look like when they are all laying at once. Fingers crossed for some greens and blues!

I am already sketching plans for spring’s remodel when the winter coop is left to rest, requiring me to construct a whole new coop and run. I’ve come to terms with the novel idea of having to actually buy lumber this time around too, since Dad’s place is getting a little scant from my frequent pillaging. Somehow I assume I will have both the time and finances, in addition to the skills necessary, to accomplish this… then again, I may or may not be concussed. For now though, winter may be waning but it is still time to dream and scheme while the ground is frozen stiff. The hens are content with their current arrangements, the days are growing longer, and this girl still has all ten fingers with which to tackle the next DIY chicken challenge. Until then- be well, dear readers!