Why chickens and bees?
It's funny sometimes how the most ordinary things-- or, what seems ordinary to you in your day-to-day life can strike others as strange, exotic and interesting. So there I was, at the hairdresser with enough foil on my head to give me great cell reception when the conversation veered toward my chicken-keeping. My hairstylist's assistant, a twenty-something woman-- was floored that I kept birds in my backyard in Reno, that I collected their eggs and that I lived on the same planet as she does.
For the past three years, this has (commonly) been the reaction of those I come in contact to when I mention that Rich and I beekeep and tend chickens. (Or, more accurately: he is the resident bee-expert and I am their sometimes-photographer and documentarian; I am the crazy-chicken lady that he puts up with, in part, because it's funny to watch the bees chase the dark-colored chickens around the yard on lazy summer days.) Other peoples' reactions are often a mixture of awe, disbelief and curiosity. This day in the hairstylist's chair was no exception. "So, like... what are they like?" she asked.
This question and many others has inspired this blog. I'm a professional writer by trade, and started blogging in 2010 with what I called "The Miles and Pages Project"-- a blog that followed my attempt to qualify for the 2012 Olympic Trials in the marathon. When that journey ended, I started a new writing adventure-- in other words, I still blog, sometimes, about my athletic life, but recently I've found myself exploring this impulse "return to the basics"-- to keep chickens and bees, to grow an organic garden, to make homemade soap... to explore life from a more humble lens. (Interestingly, the word humble comes has its roots in word that means "close to the earth," which makes it an appropriate description.)
And yet, I don't live in a rural area. I live in a neighborhood that is concrete-bound with sidewalks and driveways. We have a limited amount of space. In many respects, Rich and I have turned ourselves into urban farmers-- people who bring the farm to the city as much as we can, ethically and legally.
But enough about me. Let's get back to the question at hand: what are chickens like?
I can't say why I decided, three years ago, to go to a local feed store and bring home three cheeping chicks. I lived in an apartment at the time with a small garden in the back-- nothing ideal for chicken-rearing. Maybe it was really Rich's idea and when I saw how cute baby chicks really are, I made the plunge into a farmer-girl life and I haven't looked back since.
Chickens are, essentially, dinosaurs. If you think I'm joking, go watch the movie Jurassic Park right now and then come over and watch the single ladies as they run across our backyard. They are miniature T-Rexes in every way: the way they have the shortened arms (wings), the way they tilt their heads forward to counter-balance those large legs that propel them forward. Close your eyes as our Alpha-female, named "Happy Feet" squawks.
I guarantee you'll see and hear it.
Yup, these are prehistoric creatures covered in feathers and a host of cultural associations that have made their exoticism and mystery seem quotidien and mundane. And that's where I have to begin when I start to tell you what chickens are "like." They are not like dogs and cats or other mammalian pets that commonly populate American households. Their social, familial and instinctual traits are different than other animals most people are around.
And yet, there is something endearing about them. They may not cuddle up with you to sit your lap (although I've seen YouTube videos of some chickens who do, in fact, exhibit that behavior) they do, nonetheless, know and appreciate their keepers. My chickens watch for me in the kitchen window and sliding glass door from their run in the backyard. They poke their heads through the wire if they see me, and make sounds of excitement if I walk outside. My flock prefers to eat scratch (a treat that consists of various grains -- primarily corn) from my hands rather than off the ground.
They have, also, in their own "language" (and scientists who study chickens-- yes, those people actually exist-- have proven that chickens do have a rudimentary language) "name" their keepers, just as mine have named me "RRRAAACK-RACK-RACK-RACK"-- they say, when I approach the run.
One single lady-- a heritage breed called a "Brahma"-- considers me her rooster. She comes near me and does a funny little squat. If I was a rooster, it would be a sign of submission- and time for mating. Since I'm not, though, I take the occasion to scratch her back and neck. I'd like to think she enjoys it, but I'm not a chicken, so it's hard to say. After these encounters, she wanders off to join the others in search of food or adventure, none the worse for wear.
Did you know that "Pecking Order" is a real thing? That chickens have a strict social strata that prevents you from introducing a new bird willy-nilly, unless you want her to be picked on relentlessly or-- worse case scenario if it's a young chick-- pecked to death. Last year, a work colleague graciously gave me a chick to add to my flock of seven who would lay green eggs. I was so excited-- I have always wanted to have multi-color eggs. But, it did present a problem: how were we going to keep this little one safe until she was large enough to fend for herself with all the other ladies?
Well, we built a small "home" for her in the kitchen... in other words, she lived with us in the house for a few months while she matured. This one-on-one interaction was fascinating-- I have never "bonded" with a bird, but I believe in the months we had her inside that she formed an attachment to her human keepers that other chickens usually don't. She perched on my shoulder as I wrote at my desk at night and, if I put her on my chest as I lay on the couch at night, she would snuggle into my neck and hair and fall asleep.
When she finally did go outside to join the other chickens (during the day), she still wandered to the back door at night, and "knocked" asking to come in. In so many ways, she had become a pet unlike any other bird we have had before or since. Ladyhawke (named so because I thought she looked like a hawk when she was a chick) did eventually "grow up" and integrate into the social strata of our outdoor girls. Today, she is laying green eggs (4-5 per week)-- but she still remembers us and shows an unusual ease and tenderness when either Rich or I are outside.
And yet, for all the ways that they are not pets like dogs or cats, they are nonetheless special. They bring a "spirit" to the yard by simply being there. I admit, I could spend hours watching them doing their "chicken things"--running from one side of the yard to the other, scratching for bugs and seeds, taking dirt baths, singing the "Egg Song."
Our first flock-- the one I bought from a feed store-- never laid a single egg. One morning, a raccoon broke into their coop and ripped their bodies apart. It was heartbreaking-- even though we had only shared a few short months with those girls, I was surprised by the extent of loss and grief I felt at not having them there-- at not hearing their clucks or squawks, at not having their presence in the garden with me. The feathers that stuck into our lawn, vines and trees, punctuated the silence of our yard.
So, whatever they are, chickens can become a part of your life, if you let them. Their little personalities (no two chickens are alike), their eggs and their beauty (there are so many breeds to choose from) have enhanced our life in ways that make the "negative" aspects of chicken-keeping-- the poop-- really not a big deal. I really look forward to writing more about our chickens and bees, exploring this humble life of urban homesteading Rich and I love so much.