The Lowcountry Farm Wife Blog

Some would argue that a farm is not a real farm without chickens.

Not true, Others would argue back.

Including my husband.

He has more experience in these things than me, but alas, I was not to be dissuaded.

Last January, when eggs were $7 a dozen, I made up my mind that we were going to have chickens. I was about to run out to Tractor Supply and bring home a brood of little chicks, convinced that the experience would be good for the human chicks I was already raising. I had already ordered a small, inexpensive hutch off Amazon that would provide a workable though, not fancy, house for the little brood of 2-3 chickens.

Said husband (wisely) dissuaded me, explaining that the type of chicken is everything…the kind I would find at Tractor Supply would not yield the results I wanted; and that if we were going to have chickens, I needed to order ISA Browns from a legit hatchery, build a sturdy coup that couldn’t be invaded by marauding bands of raccoons (or our own dog), and do it the right way.

I was not wholly convinced. It seemed to me that by the time I ordered ISA Browns from a legit hatchery, waited for him to build a coup, and then waited for the little minions to grow up, eggs would be $2 a dozen and all the other things he proceeded to tell me about what a pain they are and how they make no economic sense would come true.

We compromised and I ordered the ISA browns.

And so, evidently, did everyone else tired of paying $7 for a dozen eggs.

It was August before I finally got a call from the post office that my chicks had arrived. I had ordered 36 because some other friends wanted some as well; but, meanwhile, they had run out of patience and gone to Tractor Supply. In the end, we split them with one friend; and we had one casualty, resulting in a tub full of 11 peeping balls of fuzz. Yes, they were cute!

It didn’t take long for me to delegate my rightful place as chief chicken lady to my daughters who didn’t mind the task of feeding and watering the peeping masses.

At first.

Meanwhile, my husband had a structure built we know as the “Chickmahol” forever ensuring that his prediction that they would be uneconomical would never be challenged; but also ensuring the ladies could lay without fear of marauding raccoons or our dog.

I’m not sure where the notion that a creature needs to earn its keep to justify its existence on our property came from. If the same test was applied equally, it would disqualify all of the other animals and most of the people living here. Nonetheless, the pressure mounted with each bag of feed.

Thankfully, the tiny chicks quickly blossomed into a sassy, strutting group of hens and I was looking forward spring so we could start collecting the first fruit of our labor.

To our surprise, the first eggs arrived before Christmas–further proving my husband right. Isa Browns are unquestionably the way to go.

One egg a day turned into four turned into eleven at a rapid rate. By New Years, we were filling up containers we had begun hoarding for just this occasion.

Whichever, it turns out to be, at least I can say we have a real farm.