Ruthie the Rescue Hen
I know you have heard of cat ladies, but have you ever heard of chicken ladies? Chickens are one of the best farm animals that anyone can raise in their backyard with a little bit of space and a chicken coop. My chickens are friendly little ladies who come running to me as soon as they spot me heading their way. They greet me cheerily with soft cluck, clucking sounds and produce the biggest, yellowest, tastiest eggs on God's given earth (no bias intended).
Occasionally, I receive a special hen from a friend, egg customer or family member and they always have a unique story. Such is the case with our hen, Ruthie. Ruthie came to our farm the day after a large, blustery storm passed through our area. She was found wandering around the streets of a town close by and was discovered by the granddaughter of one of our egg customers. After knocking on doors with no success, they decided to bring her to our farm where they knew she would have a good home. When they dropped her off, the little girl held and petted her to say goodbye and informed me her name was Ruthie.
And so Ruthie came to stay. It was soon quite apparent that Ruthie was no ordinary chicken. When I would collect eggs in the afternoon, she would be the first hen to say hello and would allow me to pick her up, setting her on my shoulder. Shortly after she arrived, I noticed her hopping our fences and meandering her way around our front yard. It became a daily routine for Ruthie to join us in our gardens and to find her way at the end of the day to the ledge outside my kitchen window on our front porch. There she would sit on the handle of our egg basket or nestle in the corner to fall asleep at dusk. It became so frequent that we set a pillow out on the cupboard by the window for her to sleep on, which she insisted on laying beside. Some nights when it was too cold, I would go out at dusk and take her to the hen house to put her to bed. This became a daily routine. “I'm putting Ruthie to bed,” I would call to my husband as I walked out the door.
Several weeks after Ruthie arrived at our farm, I was collecting eggs and I found a beautiful, pale blue egg. Ruthie had laid her first egg! She began laying approximately an egg a day, so I was surprised one afternoon when I didn't find a Ruthie egg in the nests. Deciding she was taking a break for the day, I collected the eggs and continued my day. Later that afternoon, I noticed Ruthie making her way across our yard to the front porch and nestle herself into the emptied egg basket on the cupboard. After finishing working with the cattle, I watched as Ruthie made her way back to the hen house. Approaching the porch, I was exasperated to see the egg basket knocked over and wood shavings scattered across the floor. As I cleaned up her mess, I looked inside the egg basket and was shocked to see a perfect blue egg nestled inside. Ruthie decided I needed to collect her egg and laid it in my basket! What a special hen.
Ruthie became something of a mascot for our farm and our hens. Her coloring was brown with golden lacing on her feathers. Since she was so tame, she became a quick favorite with my nieces who would hold her on our porch and stroke her soft feathers. Every so often, Ruthie would receive a visit from her young rescuer who would talk to her and check in with her.
These kinds of connections between people and animals are inescapable and invaluable in the farming life. In our supermarket culture, it is so easy to forget where beautiful brown eggs come from. It is easy to view animals as a resource which produces a commodity instead of a living creature who deserves a full life. When people are connected with the animals who produce their food, it generates a feeling of gratitude. As a farmer, I am uniquely made aware daily how the animals on my farm contribute not only to my meals, but to my financial well-being. I express gratitude through creating a safe, humane environment for my animals, which capitalizes on allowing them to live in an environment as natural to them as possible. My cattle graze grass for as long as possible throughout the year. They live as a herd, calve on grass, and receive my full respect. The chickens on our farm have access to grass 365 days of the year and take advantage of their freedom on the coldest days of January and the hottest days of July. They scratch in the dirt, eat bugs, and cackle happily throughout the day. It is easy to see beauty in a hen making her way through grass as high as her, a veritable jungle of green full of insects and grains which she can enjoy.
My cat, Poe, watching Ruthie outside my kitchen window.
The Unpredictability of Calves and Lessons in Flexibility
Dealing with the unexpected is a way of life on the farm. You plan. You prepare. You predict. And the weather, the cattle, the people throw you a curve ball and you are off jogging across the pasture hoping to stop the 2000 lb. cow running towards the open gate. Lessons in flexibility, patience, and endurance are a daily practice.
And into this mix of the unexpected, you throw calves. Calves are unpredictable, unruly, and completely disrespectful. By disrespectful, I mean that calves are like water. They flow under fences, into new paddocks, and always find the one patch of shade in the midst of a grassy field. They are never where you want them and never go where you push them. In the afternoon, you will hear a mama bawling wildly for its young one to come and eventually, most likely hours later, the little one will wake up from its bed of sunshine and find mama.
Twilight is the best time to go calf watching. Calves that sleep in a pile of grass all day are feisty in the evening coolness. They find a patch of open field that can only be called a race track and fly back and forth, legs to their ears. It is too fun to just sit and watch. So secretly, at twilight, I'll sometimes go and run with the calves. It's especially fun with a whole herd of calves running like the dickens. They aren't quite sure what you are in the twilight, but they are ready for a rip-roaring time. Their little black legs fly into the air as they kick out with all the joy, trembling inside their little bodies. It almost looks like they are close to take off. To go jump over the moon perhaps? I wouldn't doubt it.
One such night, I had taken my camera to watch the calves and been sucked into the glee of the moment, whooping and running in my bare feet across the pasture with the calves chasing behind me. I stopped and watched as one of our calves ran to a small sapling that grew in the middle of the paddock with a trunk about two inches thick. As I watched, the calf backed up slowly and then with a flying leap head butted the trunk of the tree making the leaves and branches sway wildly. The calf skipped around the tree and proceeded to repeat the process: head butt, tree flying, head butt, tree flying until it skittered off to join its small herd of calves racing around the paddock. It would be difficult to watch that moment and not be filled with indescribable joy. Even the cows, Clyde the bull, and our other older cattle cannot resist the joy that a calf brings to the herd. I've watched a calf go flying, weaving between the legs of the much larger, heavier cows and watched the cows respond by running and kicking their feet in a comical, clumsy, heavy mimic of the calf.
And so, while life is unpredictable, chaotic, and unexpected, in these moments, it can also bring the purest, indescribable joy.