those good girls

What an odd little boy I must have been.
One of those quirky children in the class. 'Bless him, he's a real funnyossity'.

Hoy: legbar hybrid

Had this fascination with birds since the beginning. Any kind. And have loved hens. Mum promised me that one day I would be able to have some: got 'em now..

And you can imagine my sense of satisfaction as my half dozen hens forage in the mulches in the Woodland Garden or sandbathe in a freshly prepared seed bed in the vegetable garden.

And each with their own distinctive personalities.
Jess, a great big, voluble galleon of a hen. The rest named after Scottish Isles. So Eigg is the inquisitive one, Canna nice but dim, Rhum the looker, Hoy slender and smart and as sharp as a tack. And Moussa, the baby. Like some kind of free spirited hippy.

We added Hoy (white eggs) and Moussa (Greenish blue eggs) to our little flock in March. It was a tempestuous time as the others felt their place in the rigid pecking order of the hen coop was threatened by new arrivals. And both pullets were too young for egg laying at that time. We've been waiting....

Moussa: legbar hybrid

Now you probably know that Jill has got the best smile in Britain. Well, it was as wide as Maid Marion Way when she went to collect the eggs and, for the first time ever, saw that Hoy's white pullet eggs had joined those of the brown egg layers. 

There are four nest boxes in the hen house, each similar. Why then do all the hens lay in the same box? Each sitting on the other? That's just one of the a mysteries of the chicken mind.

And doesn't apply to flippertygibbert Moussa. She will lay in her own time...

hen fun

Down in the chicken run, our three new hens have settled in well. As is now 'our' tradition, they have been named after Western Scottish Isles so three new hens should be named after the three islands off the coast of Skye: Eigg, Rhum and Muck. But any hen called 'Muck' would clearly have self esteem issues, so we choose 'Canna' as a better alternative.
And Eigg, Rhum and Canna have established themselves within the family. Those first turbulent days when our little bantam hen Iona took on the spirit of Billy Bremner and bullied the new, bigger hens have passed. And we now regularly collect four eggs a day with the occasional double-yolker in there as a surprise.
But it's not cheap this hen keeping malarkey with a bag of layers' pellets costing nearly nine quid and lasting less than a month. Add to that the de-wormer meds, grit and shell, anti-mite treatment, ground sanitising powder and it starts to look cheaper having a crack habit.
But crack wouldn't get you into your boiler suit with your scrubbing brushes, gloves, bucket and dilute Jeyes Fluid to hand on a Sunday afternoon cleaning out the hen house. It's gotta be done at the end of the summer.

a double-yolker!

Our deluxe hen house has bottom boards that slide out for easy cleaning. But this one doesn't slide out. It's stuck fast and I can shift it, no matter how hard I pull.  Hang on, I'll climb inside and push, - well, kick - it with my feet until it moves. It's moving at last. It's coming. Hang on. This obstinate board is right behind the run door and if I kick it out too far I'll be trapped. I won't be able to open the run door.
Oh, I have kicked it too far and I AM trapped. There's no way out. Neither is there a wife around.
Jill.... Jill....

fresh eggs

What better way to begin the day than with freshly laid, free range boiled eggs and home baked organic bread? In eggcups made by little Albert and Rowan.

And then, on arriving at Cordwood to find on lifting the lid of 'The Eggery' that the hens have obligingly laid another six eggs?

Our Light Sussex bantams (5) and large fowl (1) are certainly back in the zone now that we've resolved the persistent broodiness that had locked three of the bantams into clucky and pecky grumpiness for weeks. So, back into the laying swing they go.

Their reward is lovely fluffy hay in the nesting boxes and a refinement to each box to give more privacy.

This is in addition to the free range they have of the orchard and the beautifully built hen palace they call home.

Free range hens that feed on grass lay eggs with a full flavour and intense, almost orange yolk.

The satisfaction of having our healthy hens produce fresh eggs is matched by the simple site of them foraging freely beneath the elderly apple trees. I could watch them for hours.

And as if five eggs a day were not enough, we're seriously looking at adding some new hens to the little flock.

new arrivals in the poultry palace

Comings and goings in the poultry palace (oh, the trials of poultry keeping...).

When we settled our new chickens into the hen palace and eggery, we looked forward to a period in which we'd get to know them and enjoy them enjoying the orchard.

Within less than a week, our neighbours were complaining that Lewis, our beautiful cockerel was waking them at 3am. As we weren't on site to lock the chickens away at night he was coming out for his morning constitutional and greeting the day in the way cockerels traditionally do.

Friends were indignant - 'This is the countryside.....'. But there was little choice for us other than to find him a new home, which was desperately sad for us. He'd already won our hearts with his gentle and kind nature. We loved to watch him looking out for his ladies and holding food gently in his bill so that they could feed from him. An absolute sweetie.

But luckily, Kim scrambled her hen keeping contacts and like a pullet out of a gun was able to offer our lovely Lewis a new home with six Light Sussex hens in Newark, Nottinghamshire. So, Saturday came, I caught him up and away he went and he is apparently as happy as a cockerel can be with the new arrangement.

 But 'The bed's too big without you'... and our hen coop seemed empty without our boy... but not for long!

Scramble the eggphone the following day but this time call  from Kim to say another friend had two hens that needed rehousing urgently - one a Light Sussex large fowl (not bantam) and the other a white Leghorn. Kim had helped us, we couldn't now not help back.

So we now have two full-sized hens who look in scale to our little bantams what HMS Belfast looks like to the tiny pleasure craft passing on the Thames - absolutely huge! Big Jessie (the Light Sussex) and Olive (the White Leghorn) seem like the ugly sisters next to the dainty and nimble little bantams who can sprint under the beaks of the big birds and snatch the tasty treats I toss before the bigger birds have had chance to think.

There's squabbling, but they'll settle into the new arrangement quickly. It has hastened my plans to fence the orchard so that the hens can have a little more space during the day.

And today our first egg from Olive.

Light Sussex bantams

I was an odd sort of child.
No good at football or fighting, I was happiest hunting for birds nests or catching frogs. I was fascinated by all things avian and one of my cherished childhood memories was being taken to Barton Lodge by our neighbour where they kept pheasants, guinea fowl and chickens within the ancient and crumbling walled garden.

When we left our home in Clifton my mum promised this little boy that one day she would buy me chickens. Half a century later she's honoured that promise. Let me tell you the story....

When our aging bantams steadily succumbed, leaving us with Emmy, our lonely little old hen and a palatial hen palace it was time for new birds.

I trawled the internet without luck, searching for Light Sussex bantam pullets. Light Sussex are believed to have been introduced by the Romans. The birds have black and white plumage against which the red comb makes a striking contrast. Pullets are young hens. Bantams are a dwarf form of the large fowl. There were older hens and there were large fowl. There were varieties other than Light Sussex. Sad face.

In the end, after many hours and after midnight on Sunday I discovered 'Preloved' website where Light Sussex bantam pullets were advertised for sale in nearby Belper. And hurrah! Made contact with the breeder and ...discovered he lived over two hours car drive away. Boo. But he could bring them over and meet me half way (near Ripley) where the deal would be done. Hurrah and clapping! And he'd give me a free cockerel to go with the three pullets. Hats in the air. Then text to say he'd let me have four bantam pullets and a young cockerel for fifty quid (£50). Fanfares. Women faint.
Which is why I found myself in the car park of The Excavator pub, seemingly in receipt of 'under the counter' chickens, waiting for the chicken police to sweep in in unmarked vehicles with me being the centre of a carefully constructed 'sting'.

I got out of Ripley without obviously being tailed. And a crowd had assembled by Rogers Hen Palace to witness the arrival...
Friends and family named them on a Scottish Western Isles theme - I like there to be a challenge. So welcome Islay named by Jill, Iona named by dad because he paid for her, May* named by Judith and Tess (?) named by mum. You too may question what Tess has to do with the Outer Hebrides. Put it this way, I could imagine saying to visitors 'This is my Tess or this is my Islay' - mum's suggestion for our new cockerel was 'Cocky': neither appropriate nor gaelic.Trev & Linda chose Lewis as the name for our new cockerel.

So our new community of fowls is installed in Rogers Hen Palace under the watchful eye of Emmy, the matriarch.

And mum's promise came true: she and dad paid for Tess and Iona.

Here we are gathered to welcome them to their new home....

Photos by Linda.

* I know, I know - an island off the East coast of Scotland

a beautiful weekend

A beautiful, dry weekend.

The hen house Roger is building is shaping up nicely. We only have two little bantams - I just hope they don't suffer from agoraphobia in the interior that rivals the O2: there's enough room in here for a mega-flock! Hmmm - there's an idea!!

Mum, dad and Judith built this informal cordwood wall to further separate the vegetable garden and the orchard. The gaps between the logs are great places for wrens to explore.

The orchard is a fine place for a picnic - as you can see. 

new home for the hens...

Our Light Sussex bantam hens have had a traumatic time recently when the local fox killed our cockerel and two of the hens.

So, our temporary hen coop needs replacing and who better to do this than ........Roger?!

The coop will be raised up on legs so that vermin can't hide beneath. It'll also make the coop a little warmer in winter, being away from the cold ground.

Inside there will be perches and removable trays so that we can clean them out with minimum disturbance. The roof will be corrugated sheeting and there will also be corrugated sheeting covering part of the run.

Here he is on Sunday, putting the finishing touches to the frame - all made from recycled materials. He's working on the nestboxes where the hens will snuggle down into straw and lay. Dad's dubbed the nestboxes 'The Eggery'. That'll be its name forever.

The hens will be able to run in the orchard when we can watch them but will have a spacious 3m X 3m run for every day.

Here's a photo of Emmy having a lovely sandbath in the polytunnel.

chickens' tears

Our chickens were distressed today. I could hear their anguished cries as soon as I pushed open the gate to Cordwood and mistakenly, at first, took it for the agitated cries of a hen about to lay. I was surprised though, when I opened the run to find that it was Emmy, one of our oldest and quietest hens who was the vocal one.

Our small 'flock' of Light Sussex bantams began when my cousin bought a few for her orchard. When they produced chicks she insinuated them into our hearts and we became back garden hen keepers too.

Twists and turns along the way saw the bantam family of six reunited last year.

The cockerel, Edison, stands above the hens and their squabbles, shaking his wattles and comb and occasionally administering discipline to this aging group of ladies, all too old for regular egg laying..

But the real social story lies with his wives/sisters.

And it is interesting to watch this society in action.

The matriarch is Curly, a grizzled old fowl with arthritic toes and shrunken comb. She is evidently in her cantankerous dotage but brooks no argument from her younger daughter/sisters. She has a strong bond with Edison. In the photo, taken on Saturday, Curly is the hen on the front right of the picture.

Emmy is the next oldest and is reserved and quiet.

Skye is in stark contrast to the quiet Emmy. Frequently agitated, pacing and as close to hen nervous exhaustion as it is possible to be. She was the dominant hen when she and her two sisters lived in our former garden and carries the scarlet and enlarged comb of the dominant hen.

Bonny is the largest of the hens and is a creature of comfort. She eats voraciously, adores sand baths and sun bathing.

Holly is the tiny one, eased out of her shell by my cousin when it looked as though she wouldn't hatch, she is small, reserved and faints when caught up. Her breathing is shallow and comes in quick stabs. She is at the bottom of the hen pecking order.

Recently, big Bonny has asserted herself over Skye. Skye paces and twitches more as a consequence.

So, yesterday, the hens were in a subdued state when released into the garden, with the exception, as I say,  of Emmy who wailed all day.

But only four hens emerged. When I opened the sleeping coop I discovered the source of the chickens distress: Curly the matriarch had died in the night. We cleaned out the coop and removed the dead hen. But the hens continued to behave differently throughout the day. This continued until roost, when they showed a real reluctance to retire.

In the wild, jungle fowl do operate as social groups. They have a matriarch and a male bird and clearly, from our evidence, form strong bonds. It was so sad to see Emmy's distress at Curly's death.

Curly had had a privileged  life for a hen, dying of natural causes after a life of seven years. I buried her in the orchard and planted an apple tree on her grave.

Edison Cockerel

A man can't do all of this gardening himself. He needs help. This week, I hope to compete our work in the orchard.

One of the jobs is to clear beneath each apple tree so that I can lay a good mulch of manure beneath each tree. By clearing grass, roots and perennial weeds I hope to ensure that the trees have a generous fertility boost to aid their new growth, their blossom and fruiting.


It can be slow and lonely work.

Praise the Lord I'm not alone ...  here's my   crack team of gardening assistants, thoroughly inspecting my work in the orchard and giving it a good peckover.


But a team is only as good as its leader, so today, I introduce Edison, our fine Light Sussex bantam cockerel, to you.


And what a fine figure he cuts.

He's popular with his wives, with us ...and now he's even on Facebook!!

hens return

When we moved house our aging bantams moved in with my cousins hens. It was really a return home for them  because our hens were chicks from Jen's birds in 2005.
Sorted.
But not really because my cousin then decided to move home and before we knew it we had to rehome 'our girls' again ... but this time with two of their elderly aunts and also their aging father.

But rehomed they were and we breathed a sigh of relief. Until last week when we got the news that they had to move again.
What to do, especially now that our three hens had become five hens and a cockeral?
We were uncomfortable leaving the hens at Cordwood because we wouldn't see them everyday and we know that there are foxes on site.
So, reluctantly we made arrangements for them to be taken to an an animal rescue centre for rehoming.
But poor Jill was crestfallen at the thought of the hens that are our responsibility going to a recue centre.
So, in the wind and the rain we built a run from old fence panels, reassembled the roosting house and now they have a new home. They are the first official residents at Cordwood. Five superannuated hens and a retired old gentleman of a cockeral.

There's snow in the air today. The lane to Cordwood is not gritted and becomes impassable in snowy weather. I am visualising myseld as a latter day Good King Wenceslas trudging the mile up the lane in deep snow with a sack of corn on my back to feed the chickens.

Perhaps this won't be permanent.

orchard hens

When we moved house, our hens went on an extended holiday back where they they came from - my cousin Jen's orchard. They had hatched from her Light Sussex bantams and Jenny worked unscrupulously to insinuate them into our hearts. The consequence is that we are now convinced poultry keepers - but without our hens!!


We make visits to them, but they have no recollection of who we are. Jill calls their names plaintively ... but she gets a disdainful response, rather like that of adolescents embarrassed by their parents. Here they are, with the rescue battery hens and proud Edison - the cockerel all having great fun tucking into flowering broccoli we had brought from the allotment.

Not wishing to puncture Edison's balloon , but he makes a great cockerel shape, with head high .. and then emits a pathetic dribble of a crow. It is rather like the shy cough of a vicar at a tea party who wants another cup.

Jen's bantie hens are past laying, but ours still lay and have been presenting eggs regularly.


The good news is that one of the bantams is sitting on a mixed clutch of battery hen eggs and bantam eggs from our hens. And we think that the the maligned Edison has fertilised them! They may hatch this week!!!


You'll be among the first to know if they do!!

Ahem....

garden hens

Man has been managing the land on these islands for at least three and a half thousand years.

During that time we have moulded the landscape into what it is today. Only in the past few years have we not taken nature with us.

Earlier, gradual changes have created niches for many different plant and animal species. We have created heaths by grazing our livestock, our mixed thorn hedgerows and hay meadows have become unique and diverse habitats and a wide range of birds have flourished because of our management of woodland. Our use of the countryside was in sympathy with nature.

In the second half of the twentieth century mechanisation, intensification, drainage and the use of pesticides, weedkillers and fertilisers has changed our landscape again. This time, the changes have not been gradual and the impact on biodiversity has been swift.

For a time too, we were wooed by the same siren voices so that weedkillers, chemical fertilisers and pesticides were the close companions of gardeners. Is it time for us to learn the lessons of our ancestors: we should manage our gardens and plots in harmony with wildlife and can look to the practices of the past that have been so successful for us and for wildlife.

This came to mind for me recently when we were chatting about our three aging pet bantams! I had always wanted to keep hens and persuaded my wife that they would be no problem in our small back garden. I built a run and bought a large roll of wire mesh so that I could allow them out onto the lawn for exercise.

Very quickly we dispensed with the wire mesh. 'The girls' would free range all over the garden and potter back to their run following us for a handful of corn or treats from the kitchen. We got used to their sandbathing, pecking and scratching. The garden began to benefit too. Our lawn became greener due to their natural fertilisation. Damage from snails and slugs was reduced as the hens sought out this natural food. There are no pests on our fruit bushes due to three pairs of very keen eyes checking frequently! Weeds too reduced as they pecked and scratched in the mulch under bushes and shrubs. The surplus seed cast onto the ground by greenfinches and tits from our bird feeders was greedily snaffled by our hens. Other unexpected benefits followed. Our snowdrops had formerly been in clumps but were now more widely dispersed. The same with our anemones. The same greening of the lawn happened with shrubs too. Where in the past borders had struggled on our sandy soil, there was no longer a problem probably due to increased fertility.

Of course, they brought challenges too. Salad crops had to be netted and one of the hens took a perverse pleasure in eating rhubarb leaves. Another became obsessed with scrumping ripe tomatoes from the greenhouse. Tolerance was needed too as they shuffled down into the sandy soil at the edge of flower beds to make sand baths. Or shifted the mulches onto the paths. And no matter how I explained, they could not understand that the patio was out of bounds.

In managing our ancient woodlands, pigs were used in a similar way to our banties. Use of pigs was termed 'panage'. Through panage our forebears controlled bracken and briars which are the woodland equivalents of our garden weeds. Surpluses like acorns and windfall apples were chomped up. Woodland flowers were distributed in the way that our hens moved snowdrops and anemones around. Pigs fertilised the ground.

And of course, the garden is much more interesting to look at with our three banties wandering around.

My wife has been persuaded of their value to such an extent that she is trying to persuade me that we should bring in some younger hens as our three reach pensionable age. I would never dream of saying 'I told you so'.

Husband, wife - and garden in agreement!

cold weather for hens

Brrr - hard frost this morning. My poor bantams haven't been able to get out into the garden for ages and their run is still snowy. When we opened them up last week Holly (the adventurer) flew across the garden and spent the time standing on a small area of paving stones from which the snow had thawed. the others just couldn't be bothered. hens have sensitive feet and hate getting them cold. They don't really like muddy either!

But, here's a surprise, they are laying their little eggs. We are getting one a day at the moment. I would have predicted that this freezing weather would have slowed down their egg laying.

My theory is that their egg laying is triggered by day length.

Whatever it is , I am grateful. I used two fresh laid bantam eggs to make delicious scrambled egg on the toast featured on the other side.

Here's a picture of the hens as little girls in 2007.

a holiday for hens.....

This blog doesn't get many complaints, but I had one recently. Sue said 'Not enough pictures of hens'. That stung I can tell you!

So here they are, on holiday for the day on the allotment. The asparagus is at its fullest now and I wanted the hens to scratch about underneath to pick up grubs and eggs of asparagus beetle.
After the first frost, the asparagus tops will be taken away and burnt as a further attempt to stop asparagus beetle taking hold.

Well done girls!

fair feather friends

The assistant gardeners got another page in their record of achievement portfolio when we took them to help down at the allotment. Their beady eyes, insatiable appetites and relentless scratching and pecking were harnessed to prepare some of the beds that will be planted with brassicas.

They really are highly effective in removing weed seeds and anything that moves.

They also drew several visitors to see just what whacky exploits we were up to next.

There is a rule that says that livestock cannot be kept at the allotments. I gave our vice chair a bantam egg to keep him sweet!

terror in paradise

Readers of this blog will know that a piece of poultry paradise has been created on this earth in my garden for our three pet bantams.

Our three pampered princesses lead a life of privilege. They eat the best organic food, roam around our garden and live under the benign management of two vegetarians.

What can enter this hen heaven and spoil it?

The answer came early Sunday morning when I was woken by a commotion.

There was flapping and squarking out in the run - and down there was Britains largest fox (easily German Shepherd size) with fangs as long as carving knives. The birds were terrified.

I have been a passionate opponent of fox hunting all my life, but, if at that moment, a fat red-coated upper class twit blowing a cheap trumpet astride a horse with more brains than its rider had soared over next doors fence with a posse of hounds -I would have kissed him.

As it was I was just in time to see my enemy disappear behind the shed and be gone. I would have fought and killed it with my bare hands if I could.

The hens and their owner were very quiet that day, I can tell you.

There is an unacceptable face of wildlife gardening.

No-one told me that hen keeping would be quite so traumatic.

help around the garden

A garden is a big commitment. Add to that a busy life and an allotment - and a man can use all of the help he can get.

Enter my crack team of assistant gardeners (although that adjective is considered bad language to their ears).

Their strengths are boundless energy and persistence - here they give the newly-filled raised bed a thorough inspection before passing it as being ready for planting. They get into very tight corners and love wood lice. Mmm - tasty!

Their main areas for improvement are tidiness and discrimination. Still at the training stage, they have not yet grasped the concept of tidying up after themselves and still need help in this important attribute. They must also learn where and when fertiliser needs applying. Never on the patio is a good rule to remember.

Whilst full marks for zeal can be awarded, they must work harder to discriminate between weeds and other plants. Completely destroying anything green in the hope that this is helpful, isn't.

A promising start.

the broody blues

Spring is in the air, and our little bantams are laying well. This always come with a price: the natural urge of the hens to 'sit' the eggs and hatch them.
The symptoms are easy to spot:
a distinct pong
grumbling and complaining
clucking like an unexploded bomb
the impersonation of a tiny turkey with wings held out and a a crouching posture
a 'sit down strike' in the nest box.

The best thing is to give them a bit of rest and recuperation - enter 'the broody coop' (pictured in August). This brilliant little design comes from 'Poultry House Construction' by Michael Roberts published by Gold Cockerel and was dead easy to knock together.
The little house has a wire floor to aerate the hen and a removable lid.
She will take three days to get back to normal and will be laying again within a week.

I do have plans one day to buy some grey partridge eggs and hatch and release the partridges to bolster ailing local populations.

One day.

shrove tuesday - pancake day!!!!!!!!

Traditionally pancake day, it's Shrove Tuesday and the day when, as kids, we would all brag about the number of pancakes we'd eaten.
Oooh.. I'm stuffed!
So, if its bragging on a very small scale that is wanted have a look at the picture. The three little princesses who rule over the back garden took a break from laying for a couple of months. Two months buying eggs from the supermarket and wondering how they can sell free range eggs when the natural cycle of hens gives them a rest around the solstice. Whatever!
January 15th came and there was our first egg of 2008 and since then another fifteen.
And what better way to celebrate pancake day than with eggs from our own bantams.

I'm giving up shop eggs, not just for Lent but until the end of November.

january salads

The new salad bed was established in the summer and is still going strong. Rocket has flourished during the mild winter and salad leaves and spring onions are doing well. Herbs and salads like a regular trim to keep them bushy and to encourage new growth. If you look carefully, you can spot one of my trained team of garden assistants who is pecking the tops off the rocket to ensure that we get the bushy growth we need.
We will leave to one side the tell tale muddy footprints that stretch across the paved area from a planter that has been thoroughly 'checked' during routine maintenance!