Backyard Eggs Are Safer

It’s become cliche to write about how delicious fresh eggs from backyard hens are. By now you’ve also heard, (probably several times over) how the nutritional profile of eggs from free-ranging hens is better than that from chickens confined in factory-like facilities. It is also true that eggs from backyard flocks have more natural defenses against bacterial diseases, like salmonella, than eggs from the large production facilities. I’ve written about this before, and the details are in this FAQ.

There’s yet another reason why eggs from your own hens are safer, one that isn’t as well known. Eggs in the supermarket look clean, perfect and hygienic. Looks are deceiving. I read poultry industry newsletters. They’re eye-opening. One researcher, who is marketing a new system for cooling eggs, had this to say,

Traditionally, eggs are at more than 100 degrees when placed into a carton. (Eggs are put through a hot disinfectant bath before packing.)Thirty dozen eggs are then packed in a case, and 30 cases are stacked onto pallets and placed in refrigerated coolers. The eggs in the middle of the pallet can take up to 142 hours – nearly six days – to cool to 45 degrees.

He went on to state that a 2005 US government report showed that if eggs were cooled and stored at 45 degrees within 12 hours of laying, there would be about 100,000 fewer salmonella illnesses from eggs in the nation each year.

Think about that. Then, breathe a sigh of relief, go out to your coop, collect your eggs, and thank your girls.

At The Fair

When you think of a fair, do you imagine a two-week-long festival with country western concerts at night, grandstands and demolition derbies, tilt-a-whirl rides, cotton candy, and endless halls filled with animals and butter sculptures and fudge vendors? The sort of fair that you can’t possibly see in one day? New England has only one that is on the scale of the classic state fairs, the Big E, and although a huge amount of fun, I prefer a different type, like the one I went to last weekend.

At the turn of the 1900s, agricultural fairs were the place to learn new farming techniques, show off your skills, meet with your neighbors, and take a break from the hard labors of the farm. There were state fairs and county fairs. There were also small town fairs. A few of these still exist. One of them is in Bolton, MA.

It does have a midway and ferris wheel and monster trucks (and racing lawn mowers!), and fried food. But that’s not why I go.

I go because people bring their vegetables hoping to win a ribbon.

They show off their crafts,

and their canning skills.

I go because there are 4–H kids holding their rabbits in a tent, waiting to be judged.

In another tent there are more 4–H kids with their waterfowl and chickens.

There a few dewy-eyed dairy cows.

Rams waiting patiently with their handlers,

and not so patient sheep making a ruckus.

A few years ago, at the Fryeburg Fair, I fell in love with Nigerian Dwarf Dairy Goats, which is why I eventually got Pip and Caper. I fell in love at the Bolton Fair, too, but this animal is a tad too big to bring home.

This boy isn’t even two years old. Look at those ears! He is up for adoption. He was brought to the fair by the Save Your Ass Long Ear Rescue. Not only did they have my favorite animal at the fair, but also the best tee-shirt.

You can purchase one here and support a good cause.

Church Basement Egg Coffee

Swedish and Norwegian communities in the upper midwest are known for their deep nordic culinary roots and their food-focused church socials. In the days when inexpensive coffee was brewed up in big urns, the church ladies came up with a way to smooth the flavor, reduce the bitterness, and make sure that the grounds didn’t end up in the cup. What they did was to add raw eggs, ground up shells and all, to the pot. If you’ve ever clarified a consommé with egg, then you know that this makes sense. This egg coffee was also called Swedish Coffee, Hungarian Egg Coffee and Norwegian Coffee, but my favorite name for it is Lutheran Church Basement Coffee.

I found out about Egg Coffee because of this tin that I have in my collection (look closely and you can find it in Tillie Lays an Egg.)

I love the lettering in the yellow egg, the cheerful polka dots and that busy hen.

Here are the directions.

Does anyone have memories of Lutheran Church Basement Coffee?

And So Molting Season Begins

It’s summer. There are ripe tomatoes in the garden. The hens are hot and drink a lot of water.

One hen is broody and others are laying.

At first glance, all appears the same as it’s been all summer. But look again. There are long feathers on the floor of the coop, and there are downy feathers piling up in the corners. The molt begins.

Pearl, the Cochin, is still fluffy, but her feathers look loose, as if a passing breeze might blow them all off.

Her legs, usually hidden by feathers, are now visible.

There’s subtle signs of the molt in other hens, too. Amber, the Rhode Island Red, is usually sleek as can be, with nary a feather out of place.

Observe the feathers on her back. She’s molting.

Just like a forest doesn’t lose all of it’s leaves in one day in autumn, so too a flock doesn’t molt all at once. The girls will be shedding feathers for months. Laying will slow down and then stop. Right now I have a glut of eggs in the refrigerator, but know that the abundance won’t last. Even during a week when the weather seems constant, (hot and humid!) keeping hens makes me aware of the change of seasons and the passing of time.

For more about the molt, read my FAQ.

The Molt

The molt is a part of the chicken’s lifecycle. Once a year a hen drops her old feathers and replaces them with new ones. The first time a chicken molts will be somewhere around 18 months of age, so most first-time chicken keepers are surprised when their glossy, full-feathered hens suddenly have bare spots and stop laying. For new chicken keepers, the reaction is often panic. Surely, a scruffy, grumpy, non-laying hen can’t be normal! Even those of us with many years of experience put the molt out of mind, until one day we walk into the coop and seem to be wading through feathers.

The onset of the molt signals the end of the laying season. Molting hens stop laying because they need to put all of their energy into growing feathers. Then, by the time they’re back in full plumage, it’s winter when there’s less light, and it’s cold, and so they continue their break from laying until spring. Here in New England, egg production slows in late August and resumes again in February. Despite the molt, there’s always a hen or two who lays right through the molt, and some hens molt quickly and resume laying with barely a break. The eggs from those hens will be precious!

Molting is a messy, lengthy, disruptive event. Each chicken has about 8,500 feathers. Some birds will lose all of them, seemingly at once. It’s as if the hen is a cartoon character that sneezes and then finds herself embarrassingly naked. More often than not, it’s a patchy affair, with some bald spots and other areas looking raggedy. A few chickens never look scraggly and you can tell that they’re molting only by the evidence of their feathers on the ground. Like the leaves falling in autumn, the a flock doesn’t molt at the same time or pace. It can take a several months for everyone to lose their feathers and during that time the coop will look as if there’s been a pillow fight overnight. Every night.

Although books will tell you that all molts progress from neck to back, wing to tail, your own hens will likely be the exception to the rule. Lulu, who did everything more dramatically than the other hens, lost her tail feathers first, until all were gone but two. She looked like she was wearing one of those costume Indian headdresses that used to be sold at five and dime stores. That lasted for a couple of days, then more feathers dropped until she looked like a discarded, worn-out child’s toy. New feathers first appear as pointed quills. When Lulu’s feathers were growing back in, she looked like a crazed porcupine.

Some chickens don’t molt until it’s truly cold out, and their owners worry that they’ll literally freeze their butts off. This is not a cause for concern. There’s no need to hang a heat lamp in the barn. Somehow they’ll stay warm.

Your poorest layers will be the first to molt, and their molts will take the longest. In days past the birds that molted in the summer were the ones that went into the soup pot as only the best layers were kept through the winter. I take note of who molts first, but my hens get to stay around, grow new feathers and enjoy a break from laying. As much as I miss the eggs, it’s good for the hens to have a few months for renewal. For me, it’s a reminder that my hens are not egg laying machines, and that even a basic commodity like an egg is a product of a complex animal, linked to the cycles of the natural world.

Molting chickens act differently; they often become subdued and less active. Molting is probably uncomfortable and tiring for them. Again, there’s no need to worry – they’ll perk up when the molt ends.

Feathers are almost pure protein, so it’s good to add extra nutrients to the diet during the molt. In days past, farmers added bone and bits of meat. These were ground on site, and you can find antique tools for this task on eBay and at flea markets. Meat attracts vermin and predators, so if you do feed it, provide only as much as the chickens can eat up quickly. Also, bacteria and diseases can be transmitted through meat, so only use only that of good quality. Some people add dry cat kibble to their hens’ rations. Since most commercial pet food is made from meat of questionable sourcing, it’s not something that I do.

Bugs are a great source of protein, so if you allow your hens into the fallow fall garden, they’ll clean up pests hiding in the old vegetation and at the same time get the additional nutrition that they need. Hens limited to a small run can be fed any one of a variety of store-bought products. You can buy freeze-dried mealworms, (sold at at various stores packaged for different animals – pet lizards, wild birds, and chickens – but it’s all the same product.) They’re 50% protein and the hens love them, but too many can trigger kidney failure. A teaspoon a day per hen is plenty! Besides, mealworms are very pricey. Hulled sunflower seeds are an excellent source of protein and essential fats, but again, too many can cause kidney failure.  Another option is to purchase a supplement formulated for molting pet birds, like canaries. These products are high in protein and the other nutrients needed for feather growth. I gave some daily to Lulu when she was molting, and her feathers grew back beautifully, glossy and thick. Feed stores stock supplements made for chickens. Calf-manna is a brand that’s been around for decades. They make a 

 that looks like laying hen pellets, but it’s obviously “manna’ by the distinctive anise aroma. They say that the spice helps palatability. When I fed it to my flock, they certainly liked it and came through the molt with beautiful new plumage.

If your hen molts out of season, it could be due to stress. A hen kept from food (from bullying or an ailment) will molt. In fact, factory egg producers use that knowledge to implement an inhumane practice. The CAFOs hate molting, it’s not predictable, uniform or productive, and so they starve their birds so that they’ll all molt at one time. Since starvation has been outlawed in some countries, there are companies working to develop chemicals that will initiate and control the molt. Just thinking about that makes me more tolerant of my hens’ cycles.

As far as what to do with all of those feathers… I save the longest and prettiest ones for dried flower arrangements. Some I give to children during school visits. The feathers make good cat toys, too. All of the rest go into the compost.