Auntie Annie's Fields

While researching different kinds of chicken coops, we found a structure constructed with a tarp that had once been a billboard. The farmer who built the tarp-covered coop crowed about how affordable, strong, long-lasting, and environmentally friendly it was. On a whim, I looked on Craigslist for billboard tarps and found that they’re sold by a company in Minneapolis, just a few minutes from where Ian’s parents live.

In order to use these tarps, one must agree to put the advertising side down, so the world sees the white backing. This only added to their appeal. The interior of the coop’s walls and ceilings would show the advertisement like bold, hip wallpaper. I was so excited. For several days, I found myself walking around in a cheerful mood, and when I asked myself what was making me feel so wonderful, I remembered the existence of billboard tarps.

The next time Ian’s mother came for a visit, she drove down with 2 billboard tarps, each of which weighed 65 pounds. The tarps were a mystery. We could see blotches of vivid colors but couldn’t see what they said because they were so tightly folded and were too heavy to unfurl just to satisfy my curiosity.

The first billboard tarp is fully in use now, and its mystery has been revealed. It advertises a credit card and makes reference to Los Angeles. Something about its vibrant purple color made me expect that it was talking about something more amazing than a credit card. I picture that tarp looming above over one of LA’s teaming freeways, and I imagine the thousands of people who glanced up at it and then continued on with their lives. None of them expected that that billboard would go on to live another life in the beautiful plains of Minnesota, covering a free-range chicken coop and a gravity-feed-wagon. It makes me wonder how many things I glance at without ever imagining their possibilities.

It’s official! We’ll be part of the Riverwalk Market Fair Farmers’ Market in Northfield this summer! We’ll be there every other Saturday, June 9 through October 27. Of course we’ll have frozen chicken, but we’ll also be able to sell homemade jellies. I’ve been looking forward to selling jellies for years, and today I’ve been working on some jelly made from lavender flowers. We’ll be planting some zinnias, snapdragons and sunflowers to sell at the stand, because we think strolling along the river will put people in the mood for buying a few flowers. In June or July, our laying hens should start their laying, and we’ll have multi-colored eggs. Like our broilers, the layers eat organic feed. In September or October, if all goes well, we’ll have a bunch of pumpkins and some amazing varieties of squash. This farmers’ market is also set up to accept SNAP cards, so we’ll be more accessible to people using food assistance. We hope to see you there!

The lively chickens entertain my six-month as I do morning chores. As the baby sits in his stroller, the birds scratch in the dirt, bob up and down in beak-to-beak dominance dances, and sometimes race across the lawn in a big group, wings flapping. My little son soberly takes it all in with his huge brown eyes. I fear that this is just a phase, and in a few months the chicken’s entertainment value may work against me because my little boy will want to get up out of the stroller to join the fun.

I’ve been concerned about how one of our outside cats would react to the laying hens once they had free range of our yard. Last year, he pounced into the midst of the guinea fowl that we had hoped would eat our ticks, and they all flew away never to be seen again. This morning, I watched as he approached one of our pullets. I have rarely seen a chicken behave with such majesty. She stood her ground, cocking her head to display the curve of her beak. Honestly, she looked more like an eagle than a chicken. The cat seemed to catch the resemblance, too, and tried to make it look like he had been just a casual observer all along. As much as I love chickens, I would rarely describe them as dignified, but this one deserved the label.

Mom was sitting outside watching the little pullets (young hens) last weekend. She reported that one of them found a worm and ran around with it so excitedly that several other little pullets chased after her. One took it from her, but she somehow retrieved it and scampered off. Something distracted the other chickens, and left the first one alone with her prize. Instead of eating it, she stood there, apparently puzzled, and then she darted into the middle of the group again to stir up a more excitement. The other birds obliged with much scampering around and chasing, until the worm was finally eaten. It seems to me that the little bird valued prestige more than a tasty treat.

I’m writing about sustainable farming and local foods for the Northfield News. My first column came out yesterday!

Today I picked up a big peeping cardboard box from post office, drove it home, and set it inside our brooder — the little structure my husband built for raising baby chicks. We ordered a different kind of meat breed this year, and as I peeked curiously through the holes of the box at the fluffy birds inside, I could see reddish down and shiny dark eyes. I blocked the bottom of the door with a piece of plywood so my baby boy could watch the proceedings from his stroller in the yard, but the chicks couldn’t hop out the door. Then I opened the box, admired the reddish balls of fluff for just a moment, and prepared to lift each bird out and dip its beak in sugar water. (This is supposed to encourage them to drink after their journey from the hatchery.)

Before I’d dipped the beaks of three of these “Freedom Rangers,” as they are called, a fourth had hopped out. This had never happened before when I raised the standard meat breed, the Cornish Cross. I dipped the escapee’s beak and it continued on its merry way. As I lifted more fluffy little wisps of birds out of the box, several pecked at my rings as though they were little hunters pouncing on prey. No bug could a chance against those little guys. The dipping of beaks started seeming more ceremonial than practical because the chicks all clustered around the waterers, drinking until little bubbles rose to the top of the jars. They didn’t need my encouragement at all.

After carefully dipping 102 beaks and assuring myself that the chicks were well settled, I turned around to care for my increasingly fussy baby. Behind the baby, two orange little chicks chased a cat across the grass and the cat retreated. About a dozen others were leisurely pecking new leaves like people at a holiday buffet. Tough as these guys are, we need them to stay warmer until their feathers come in, so I scooped some up and returned them to the brooder. I stalked around, discovering several little foraging parties, which were amazingly laid back about being scooped up and returned to the brooder. They must have hopped over the piece of wood I’d set across the bottom of the door. No Cornish Cross chick would’ve pulled a stunt like that.

Finally finished with the job, I pushed the stroller back to the house, thinking about the liveliness and verve of those little birds. I have a suspicion that these spirited chicks, like my spirited children, might find many unique ways of keeping me hopping this summer.

Ian’s (who’s a junior high English teacher) has been spending his spring break building our new chicken coop for the layers. His hammer is pounding outside at this very minute. Last year, it was snowy and cold at this time of year, but this year, we can’t wait to get those birds out of the brooder to enjoy the beautiful weather! Our next batch of peepers — the meat birds — will be arriving in just over a week. Things are really starting to happen for the season around here.

Minnesota Public Radio did a story about the “agripreneurs” that are going to be at our farm. This spring, some Latino farmers are going to be raising their own chickens at our place. (We’ll continue raising our own chickens, too.) It’s part of a project that helps them start their own farming businesses instead of working for other people for poor wages. Here’s a transcript of the story.