Processing

We're hearing a distinct clamor in Irish Grove these days.

What began as a few appeals, inquiries, and an occasional nudge, perhaps, has steadily grown to what I might deem a racket, a ruckus, a downright cacophony.

Allright, so cacophony may be a slight exaggeration.

People want chickens. They want home-grown, cage-free, organically-fed, pastured chickens. And I can't say I blame them.

Most of you know how I feel about store-bought chickens. If not, go get enlightened here.

But raising a couple hundred chickens for these nice, chicken-loving souls who find themselves at the mercy of Tyson concentration camps....well this endeavor holds one very large, daunting, avoidance-inducing problem for your friendly Irish Grove farmers.

The problem is the processing. Butchering. Killing. There I said it. Yes, unfortunately we have to kill the birds to eat them. PETA followers be satisfied.

(An aside: Joe Salatin says PETA stands for People who Eat Tasty Animals. Which is funny for everyone except PETA members.)

(In full disclosure, I used to be a member of PETA.)

(And a vegetarian.)

The only USDA certified processing plant in Illinois is in Arthur, IL. Which is a 4.5 hour drive from here.

4.5 hour drive!!

This would be my day on processing day:

2:00 AM: Load chickens into crates.
3:00 AM: Leave for Arthur.
7:30 AM: Drop birds off for processing.
8:00 AM: Take truck to car wash for cleaning.
9:00 AM: Eat something.
10:00 AM: Try to nap.
2:00 PM: Pick up processed chickens, pack into coolers.
3:00 PM: Leave for home
7:30 PM: Arrive home.
8:00 PM: Move chickens to freezers.
9:00 PM: Shower!
10:00 PM: Collapse in bed.

How much fun is that!?!?!

Seriously, guys. When we talk about sustainable farming, we sometimes forget to take into account how sustainable the operation is for the farmer, as well as for the land and animals.

Can I do this once each summer? Sure, definitely. Would I do this more than once? Not so sure. Would it be worthwhile to invest time and money into the cages, coolers, moveable chicken pens, etc., for one trip to Arthur with 150 birds or so? Yeah, probably not.

And therein lies the problem. I want to raise chickens for ya. I really do. I know the demand is there. So I ask you:

Would you buy chickens that were processed on the farm?

Would you come on a pre-planned day, bring your own plastic bags, bag your own processed birds, and keep your committment to do so?

Most importantly, would you mind buying chickens that have been processed while on roller-skates.

I'm really asking the hard-hitting questions now, aren't I? But I ask for a reason:


We call this photo Roller Pluck.


Honestly, home processing is really the only way I can imagine raising chickens for ya. Let me know what you think.

Selling the Farm

If there is one thing that repeatedly upsets me, it's seeing a 'For Sale' sign in the middle of a corn field.

'For Sale' due to foreclosure. 'For Sale' because of a job transfer. 'For Sale' because of a death in the family. 'For Sale' because the kids have all moved away and there is no one left to run the farm. 'For Sale' because I'm just plain tired of working all the time.

There are a million and one reasons to sell the farm. And I, someday, may claim one of them as reason to sell my share of this farm, God forbid.

I think, though, that the most common reason to sell the farm is this: Mom and Dad are retiring, and it's time for us kids to cash in on the American Dream.

Is there anything wrong with that? Honestly, it's everyone's right to claim their inheritance and to transform that land into whatever currency most fits their lifestyle. And a lot of times, selling the farm is the most practical, obvious solution to the 'problem' of inheriting a farm.

So why does it bother me so much?

On an intellectual level, if I could be so bold to claim that I even have an intellectual level, it makes sense. I get it. But on an emotional level (which I definitely have), it kills me.

Especially because reality dictates that whoever purchases the farm will likely be a developer waiting to turn that farm into houses. Or they will be an absent landowner, renting your land out to the lowest bidder who doesn't much care if they degrade the soil. Or, if your farm is most unfortunate, it may go to a businessman who also has a dream, a dream that looks a lot like an industrial 'park' or ethanol plant or landfill.

From my point of view, land is constant. It is sustenance. It connects us to our past. It shapes us into who we are.

The land educates and humbles. It defines and enables. It inspires.

Our farmland provides for us. It is space to move about, to use or preserve. It permits us to be. It is our culture, our heritage, our rural treasure.

Farmland to a Midwesterner is home.

So you see, when that 'For Sale' sign goes up, we trade in our past, our culture and our heritage for a swollen bank account. And while land's value lies in its preservation, money's value lies in it's use. Land is worth something only when it is cared for and loved. Money is only useful when it is spent. And while the land will always be there, the money doesn't offer any guarantees.

Land is the loving spouse. Money is the love affair.

So, children of farmers, I want to remind you that the American Dream wasn't always a large bank account*. It used to be a parcel of land to call our own. A place to be and become.

The American Dream was a farm. May it be that way once more.

*If farm ownership isn't practical for you, or if you really do need the money, please look into a Farmland Conservation Easement. What usually happens with an easement is that you sell or donate the development rights of your farm to an easement holding company. While lowering the cash value of your property, you do receive tax incentives and your land can only be sold as farmland for perpetuity. Please check out your options at American Farmland Trust. Locally, the Natural Land Institute can help you discover your options.

*A second local option would be to contact The Land Connection. They work with would-be-farmers to help them find and purchase available farmland.

Winter Reprieve

February has given us a welcome winter reprieve. We realize that the warm weather isn't going to last long, so we made the most of it while we could.









This has gotta last us through April. Well, at least according to Punxsutawney Phil.

Thirsty Birdies

I have a part-time job where I work at an environmental center. One of the classes we teach is called Outdoor Living Skills. We use something we call "the Rule of 3's" to teach kids how to prioritize their survival needs in an emergency. Everyone needs food, water, air and shelter in order to survive.

Let's put those in order of importance:

You can survive 3 minutes without air. (Better get out of the water!)

You can survive 3 hours without shelter. (Weather dependent)

You can survive 3 days without water.

You can survive 3 weeks without food.

So assuming your lost and also assuming you're not submerged in water, you'd better start looking for some shelter ASAP. Once you can protect yourself from the elements, then you worry about water.

Should you worry about food? Well, maybe. But most likely you'll be found long before you'd starve to death.

So what does this have to do with farming?

Well, when you're a livestock farmer, you've gotta be prepared. The animals depend on us to provide them with food, water and shelter. I don't know if the Rule of 3's is exactly the same for animals--the time ratios likely change. But it does help me prioritize what needs to be done first.

Shelter in the winter is of utmost importance. Animals have no electric blankets, no heated barns, no tea kettles on the burner. We must provide them with a place to hide from the wind and snow, and a nice straw bed in which they can hunker down and keep warm.

But water is a close second. The animals rely on their metabolism to keep themselves warm. They ramp it up in the cold weather, and it won't "fire up" without lots of fresh water.

So when I walked into the chicken barn the other day, I immediately knew something was wrong.

First off, the chickens ran towards me, not away. Hmmn. The chickens and I have a pretty cool relationship. They don't fear me, yet I'm not their favorite person either. When things are running smoothly, they could take me or leave me.

But not today. Today these birdies were all over me.

In fact, they were fighting over the snow on my boots.

Next I saw this:

That's the heat lamp that keeps their water thawed out in the winter. You see, we have automatic waterers for the chickens. And we worked very hard developing our system. (I use the term we very loosely here.)

We have a heat lamp on the spigot where the pipe comes up from the well. We tied insulation around the pipe to keep it nice and warm. We connected a garden hose to this pipe, around which we have wound electric tape, around which we have added another layer of foam insulation.

(You might do well to substitute he for we in that whole paragraph, if you know what I'm saying.)

The insulated hose runs through a window into the interior of the barn here.....

...and to a water trough equipped with a float:

It works pretty similar to your toilet. When the water levels drop, the float opens a valve to let more water in.

We farmers are an ingenious lot. Cough.

You did notice the cat in the picture, right?

In Irish Grove, we believe in inter-specie-al harmony.

Anyways, someone put a chink in our system by knocking the light bulb out of the lamp. And the float froze to the trough.

Our chickens were so thirsty, that one of them had stuck her head out a little hole in the barn door to eat snow.....and got stuck. I didn't get a picture of her because I was so distressed.

Her head and one wing were outside in the elements, and the rest of her body was inside, smushed under the barn door. Poor birdy. If I hadn't checked on the chickens that morning, she would've died for sure. I gently slid open the barn door, trying not to break her wing, and set her free. She was OK. Whew!

I knew the birds were thirsty because they all ran outside into the snow and started to eat it.


Chickens normally don't like snow.

Then I spent the next 3 hours running back and forth from the house to the barn. I was boiling water on the stove to pour into the water trough. I was trying to melt the ice-jammed float.

Finally the ice melted, the water started flowing, and the birds got a drink of fresh water.


Disaster averted. Barely.

When you're a livestock farmer, you can never relax. If you do, you threaten the very lives of your animals. That's why I developed the Farmer's Rule of 3's:

Check your animals, 3 times a day.

South Pole, Illinois

The local newscaster informed us this morning that our -23 degrees outside was every bit as cold as the South Pole. The South Pole!! That's right. They woke up to -23 degrees, too.

Now that's cold.

We're warmer than the North Pole. Warmer! They woke up to a balmy -8 degrees.

P'shaw....that's nothin'.

This is what Lucero looked like this morning:


This is what Lucero's nose looked like this morning:

This is what Chip looked like this morning:

Look at his ears. He looks like a scooter.

I'm probably a bad farmer for thinking that's funny.

This is what one of our calves looked like this morning:

Smokin'.

This is what the farmer looked like this morning:

Yeah....not so smokin'.

Oh well. At least I didn't freeze.

What Happens When....

What happens when.....

the cows are hungry,

and they're really giving you the business for not bringing them hay any sooner,

and these are frozen to the ground?

A farmer temper-tantrum, that's what.

When You Live in the Country

When you live in the country, you can park your vehicle in the middle of the road.

You can leave the keys in the ignition in your vehicle in the middle of the road.

You can even leave the engine running with the keys in the ignition in your vehicle in the middle of the road.

And ain't nobody gonna come along and steal your vehicle.

I love living in the country.