April 13, 2011:

‘Automated’ Urban Chicken-Keeping

Kelly Lay

A little creativity can go a long way in backyard chicken-coop design. (Courtesy of www.backyardchickens.com)

“Food sovereignty” has become a buzzword—in Sedgwick, Maine, the concept was made into law—and it’s something I’ve embraced in my own home. I have found that taking the job of feeding my family out of the hands of corporate executives and into my own hands is more empowering than exhausting. And hen-keeping is part of that equation.

I fashioned a rather unusual henhouse/aviary out of upcycled roadside treasures and building materials (luckily, my husband is an Aquarian!), and had my chicks holding down Fort Knox in a month’s time. The henhouse was designed to allow them to hop out of the night-time roosting area and immediately begin their morning foraging without my assistance. This winter, that proved to be good planning, since I like to stay in bed when it is 29 degrees out, and chickens do not.

I’ve been told that some intrepid souls actually leave the bed, go outdoors, and open a door for the chickens at 5 a.m. then reverse this procedure at dusk, locking them away from night-time predators. My extra city planning and feats of engineering made the entire roost and run area impenetrable to raccoons, instead of just the tiny sleeping area (the roost). My chicks stay warm and dry, and so do I.

The Type A individuals are probably wondering about the technical details now, like the square root of scratching area per hen, divided by egg millimeters. Someone once asked me such a query, and I’ll tell you just what I told them. Make the aviary just big enough so a large man could lie down and make a compost angel, for every four hens. Then double that if you’re strong enough. Hens like to try to fly, so make sure that man can stand up and wave his arms as well. Then, quickly hand him the nail gun, zip ties, a roll of wire, etc.

To build the structure, you should have hunted for large old signs, doors, privacy fence pieces, 2-by-4 inch wire mesh, (not chicken wire, it is like tissue to a raccoon), a chain-link fence gate, lumber, and metal shelving from the Civil War era. Picking up said items from the side of the road not your thing? No problem. Visit your neighborhood “recycling enthusiast.” He’s the feller who never throws anything away, and he has your henhouse, assembly required.

I once read an ad on Craigslist, and had to laugh. Apparently, this kindred spirit went to the same design school as I did. She was seeking an enormous satellite dish, for a roof on her coop, which she’d already made from an old trampoline frame. Her large roof may be overkill, though, since the night roost and nesting boxes are truly the only spots that must be a dry enclosure with roof.

Chickens need 50-percent sunlight for good egg production. Just think large aviary, with a bit of shelter to start. And remember, raccoons can burrow, so be sure to use the same 2-by 4-inch wire mesh at ground level, and then cover it with soil and mulch.

The ultimate test to determine whether your henhouse is ready: Put your husband in the new henhouse/aviary. Lock the gate. Put the U.S. Open on television, just loud enough that the neighbors can hear. If your husband can figure out how to get out of the aviary in 4 minutes, a raccoon can get in it in three seconds. Back to the drawing board! If not, then it’s time to bring the chicks to their new home.

Feeding & Watering

Having solved that dilemma, I moved on to feed and water automation. My hens can peck at a 55-gallon rain barrel—with poultry watering nipples glued into pre-drilled holes underneath—for water, and enjoy similar technological breakthroughs for pecking at feed, all without any assistance from me. This affords me the evening-time indulgence of sitting on a milk crate sipping a glass of wine and watching the show, while, somewhere, other flock-keepers are toiling away, scrubbing manure out of water and feed pails and such.

I’m not sure why exactly, but when the hens run to greet me, or hop onto a barrel and rubberneck in unison to anticipate my next move, it warms me cockles. Nevermind that they know I’m bringing treats that I have foraged for them, it comes off like true affection.

Their diet can be amended easily enough—and the feed bill reduced—if you don’t mind being seen at the neighbors’ pond, seining for duckweed with your pool net, plucking an armload of fresh Spanish moss during your morning walk, or being the crazy seaweed lady at the beach. I have found there is little chickens won’t eat, and amazingly, that includes my leftovers.

Weeding the area my husband whimsically refers to as “the front lawn,” is done not out of ostentation, but rather, to add nutrients to my chickens’ diets. It’s their farmers market. The vegetable garden yields more of the same. Now that’s what I call symbiosis, turning our castoffs into food for healthy birds and gorgeous, enormous eggs.

I believe the advice to never send someone out in the morning to slop the chickens if they are not spry enough to outrun a hungry flock to be excellent advice. The trick is to keep the chickens well fed, or they will pick you clean in a matter of minutes. To get organic feed for my flock, I joined the co-op at Heart of the Garden Farms.

Another hobby associated with hen keeping, and far too often overlooked, is naming today’s eggs based on what the hens ate yesterday. But you will soon tire of writing silly things on egg cartons, like, that poor, poor toad, or split pea-tuna-bulgur-tempeh surprise. But you will not tire of thinking in these terms, instead of the alternative. (Just Google what goes into commercial chicken feed, and that poor, poor toad starts to sound tasty.)

Since chickens are naturally foragers, they spend most of the day roto-tilling. Now, I’ve tried roto-tilling, and will most likely not do it again. I’m so pleased to have found that these little darlings do it innately, of all things. I started out with a layer of free wood chips in their run area, and am continually adding leaves, pine needles, straw, and Spanish moss. They add the nitrogen (excrement), then comes the rain, and the resulting compost not only provides them with hours of entertainment, bugs, and other nutrients, but it provides me with perfect compost. And the best part: the compost simply “happens” while I’m sitting on that milk crate. Priceless.

Ask around to determine what breed is the best for your area.

Choosing a Breed

Often, I’m asked what breed one should procure. A few hours with an online search engine should satiate your lust for information  and provide you with a litany of breed names that may or may not be available in your town. The first criteria: ask for pullets (females). Your second criteria depends on what breed is available. I got Araucanas, Leghorns, and ISA browns from Circus Feed in North Sarasota.

They guaranteed them to be pullets, but if one crows in a few months, bring him back, they said. None have crowed, at this, their 10th month, and they all began laying eggs by six months. I got Cubalayas from a country friend; they are good layers, like the others.

If you want quiet hens, look for bantams. (I know this because I haven’t got any. I have taken a dozen eggs to any neighbors within honking range, and now find bags of freshly pulled weeds, or kitchen scraps at my gate, instead of hate mail.)

I hope I’ve inspired you to join us, the “poultry in motion” lovers. Happy chicken-keeping!

Tags: chicken keeping, CLUCK, sarasota chickens, urban chicken keeping

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