On Chickens

It is Monday night, and we arrived at Northern Lights Farm Sunday afternoon. As we pulled into the farm, we were greeted first by the chickens - all 50 or so of them - and I realized my pseudo-bird phobia was going to be challenged even sooner than expected. As we stepped out of the car amongst squawking fowl, we began to search for where we might find our hosts. A heavily bearded and half balding man with long wiry grey hair popped his head over the tall grass just beyond the dirt drive.

Paul, the one who spends most of the family's time in the garden, gave us a tour of his 160 acres of beautiful Minnesota country, starting first....with the chickens. After some discussion about not killing enough roosters and finding hatchlings walk out from behind hidden trees with their mamas, we moved on to see the cattle. The farm raises Highland Cattle, which are a breed originally from Scotland who withstand the cold well and are relatively mild tempered and small animals. They've got somewhere around 30 cattle I'd say, 8 calves this year already (!) and unlike the chickens....only one bull (Ruby).

After the pasture (and some chit-chatting about the management-intensive grazing method Michael Pollan talks about in Omivore's Dilemma) we moved on to the garden, where Paul really spends the bulk of his time. It's split into two sections, an extensive (low-maintenance) level with corn, potatoes and winter squash. And an intensive (high-maintenance) field where they grow their lettuce, beans, parsnip, herbs, tomatoes, summer squash, garlic and more.

Lastly, Paul showed us the busiest part of the farm (though the chickens are a close second)...the honeybees. About an hour and a half after we arrived, we were out working in the upper garden on the tomato rows and Daniel and I were ready to get our hands dirty and fill our lungs with the fresh air.

Today, we continued our work in the upper garden, but on my breaks I would actually find myself wandering toward the chickens. They are really an amazingly beautiful bird, and it's sad to me that I never fully had an appreciation for the animal, nor an understanding of it's beauty until now. "Chicken" to me has meant mostly "lean meat," and unfortunately I'm not the only woman so far removed from these curious creatures who has lost such a sense of the animal.

This morning as I followed Paul on some morning rounds of the animals, he came upon one of his younger heritage chicks (Chanticleer) laying sick in the pen. He scooped it up and she was barely breathing, but opened her eyes briefly to see where she was. We brought her inside under a heat lamp and fed her sugar water, but Paul didn't have high expectations. He said chickens don't usually show any sign of illness or injury until they're about to go ker-plunk. We came in later to check on her, and she did die shortly after.

These are the two (yellow) Chanticleer chicks (roosters...again) left

Thinking about these chickens and trying my hardest to not spase when they come running toward me to peck my feet, I thought about Paul's comment about chickens not showing any signs of weakness until they're about to break. Now that I'm out in open space and can actually see the sky, I can only help but see myself and so many people I know as these frantic chickens mowing down each other non-stop, ignoring any pain or weariness until they finally go ker-plunk.

I've come a long way in 24 hours, from fowl-phobia to imagining myself with a backyard somewhere stocked with a few chickens, not only for the fresh eggs, but for the laughter they spontaneously inspire and the reminder to slow down before I find myself ker-plunked.