The Idler

Country Diary 73: New Chickens, New Era

27 February 2008

LAST WEEK we brought home fifteen chickens. We want to get serious about egg production. Victoria had gone to get them from a big organic farm, for only one pound each. Organic they may have been, but elegant they were not, and rarely have you seen such a raggle-taggle band of scrawny brown hens. Two or three had the full complement of feathers, but the rest seemed to have lost all the feathers around their neck, or on their back, making for a distinctly unappealing look. It seems that these organic farms are still run on quasi-industrial lines: really these hens look like ex-battery farm inhabitants. I spent the afternoon in the chicken barn with a few planks, a saw, a hammer and nails, and managed to knock up a couple of reasonable looking long nesting boxes for the critters. I also arranged an old elder tree in there, with the intention of providing a roosting spot. I was quietly pleased with my work. The next day we opened the door at elevenish and found a few eggs, which was mighty satisfying. We’ve really missed having chickens over the winter. The next day we brought home a cockerel for them. Now the brood had been pretty noisy, but when Victoria let the cockerel, a mighty Dorking, into the barn, there was a sudden hush. Perhaps they’d never seen one before. Perhaps the effect could be compared to George Harrison walking into a room of giggling fifteen year old teenage girls in 1964. I don’t know.

After three days confinement in their barn, we opened the door. Most of them strangely, stayed inside. “They were terrified!” Victoria said. I suppose that they’d become accustomed to the lack of freedom on the organic farm. Scared of freedom. But with each day that passes, they seem to venture a little further from their front door, and it’s great to have the soothing clucking sounds of contented hens around the place once more. We worry about the fox, and so to that end we’ve contacted a local fox shooter. He is going to come and walk around the farm one evening with his shotgun and try to track down the fox. Of course, the fox may or not be there: the last time we saw him was last Autumn when he ate every single one of our chickens.

MORE PIG NEWS: after our visit from the local environmental health, and letter from the Food Standards Agency, both of which told us it was illegal to kill pigs at home, it appears that the legal situation is not clear. A local radio station called me to say that they’d contacted Defra, and Defra had told them that it is not illegal to kill and eat your own pigs at home. I’ve written to the press office at Defra in search of an authoritative answer, and in the meantime, you can check out my new website, www.thislittlepiggiestayedathome.org. I want it to be a repository of all things piggie, from legal situations to porcine poetry, literature and philosophy. I want to bring back the independent spirit of William Cobbett. Maybe we’ll even have a pig art gallery up there one day.

UP ON THE VEG PATCH all is not great. After the pony ate it, I confess I was little disheartened by the whole thing, with the result that I neglected it for a long while. It is now in rather a sorry state, grass everywhere, broken glass, bits of black plastic, orange peelings that have escaped the compost heap, brambles and weeds. My seed order came yesterday, though, so that will I hope motivate me to get tidying and sowing. This year I’m majoring on broad beans, French climbing beans and peas. Also I hope cabbages. I will do one bed of early potatoes, and a side bed of squashes of various kinds. Beetroot and carrot are never great so I may not bother. I will dig up the old strawberry plants to make room for more veg. And we are going to do a load of shallots again, as they were fairly easy last year. As far as fertility goes, I am continuing to stick to the idle gardener’s “no-dig” idea, and instead of strenuous spade-work, I am piling straw and horse manure onto the beds. Now we have the chickens, we will have a new source of excellent manure. Remember that Fukuoka’s method of retaining fertility in the soil is simply to lay down straw with a bit of poultry manure. The cold weather has slightly put me off going out there to sow seeds and plant things, I’m ashamed to say. But really I think I need to get the broad beans in there TODAY.

MORE ANIMALS are coming. My mother would be horrified: “why have you got all these animals?” she shrieked on her last visit—over a year ago—as a hen walked through the kitchen and shat on the floor. Next we are getting a dog for Arthur and a bunny for Delilah, for their birthdays. The dog is a well-bred black labrador, which I hope to take out hunting for pheasants and rabbits. Yes, I know they have a Sloaney reputation, but all things considered, we reckon they’re a good bet. They’re called shooting dogs. Arthur and I have started training ourselves to shoot with the .22 air rifle, by taking shots at tin cans which I hang in the trees. Soon we’ll go out and find pheasants, and the dog will retrieve. Apparently they can carry an egg in their mouths without breaking it. So the dog will have a practical purpose, unlike the pony, which we are told is too old to pull a cart around, so there goes that profit-making venture. Delilah will get a white bunny. She is still angry with Victoria for killing Rosie Blossom Brownpatch two years ago. She was a lovely bunny! The bunny I think will live in the house, at least at first. Maybe later it will join the hens.

ENDS