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written by

Michelle Sroka

posted on

March 9, 2023

When do you feel like it's actually spring?

On the farm, I feel like spring begins when we receive our first batch of chicks. And that's exactly what's happening! Our first broiler chicks hatched yesterday, and are on the way as I write this post.

It isn't the birth of the chicks that's necessarily symbolic for me, however. Rather, it's the kind of care that they require. Raising chickens is our most labor-intensive activity on the farm. And, if I'm being honest, our most emotionally intensive activity as well.

Every year, as we hand-scoop the chicks into the warm brooder, I reflect on why we're raising them this way.

Baby chicks are quite dependent. On the first day, we teach them how to drink water and find feed. We check their temperature multiple times a day, and add insulation if it's too cold. For those weak from the journey, we nurse them, one by one.

As they grow, so do the demands. At three weeks, we move them out onto pasture. It's a long, labor-intensive, and often hot process. We load and unload all 500 chicks by hand into crates, and transport them to the pasture. We move the shelters to fresh grass, clean and re-fill the waters and feeders. And then we repeat this process every morning for five weeks, until it's processing day.

And then, we clean out the brooder, re-fill the shavings, and start all over again with the next batch.

Let me be clear: I'm not telling you this to complain! We love raising chickens. It's one of the things we're most proud of on the farm.

I'm telling you this because I think the way we raise chickens exemplifies what you're looking for in a farmer.

You want food that's raised right. This means the individual life of each animal is important. It means sacrifices are made to ensure the highest quality of life. And it means all decisions on the farm center around what's best for them and their environment.

For us, raising chickens on pasture requires constant attentiveness and patience. On the hottest and stormiest days, we re-structure our schedule to make sure they're shaded, watered, and safe. On the weekends, we commit to 8-hour processing days on the farm to ensure they have the most humane lives, even in death.

So when I scoop out those first chickens by hand tomorrow, I'm not necessarily thinking about the important benefits they bring to the land, or the nutrition they can offer our customers, although those are important.

I'm remembering the kind of farmer that our customers are looking for, and how we can demonstrate that through the long, hot months ahead. And I'm hoping that doing so gives you peace of mind about what you're eating, and where it's coming from.

Want to see for yourself how we raise our chickens right? Click below for a virtual tour of the brooder our chicks will call home tomorrow.

chicken

food raised right

More from the blog

Can we care about animals - and still raise them for food?

I probably spend the most time with the pigs on our farm. Part of this is practical: since pigs can’t sweat, we spray them down twice a day to help them wallow in the mud and stay cool.  But part of it is emotional, too. I enjoy being around the pigs. When there’s a lot on my mind, or I’ve spent too much time on the computer and need to get outside, wandering over to that week’s pig paddock is one of the ways I can clear my mind.  Pigs are highly emotive and responsive. When I spray them down with the hose, they like to sit back on their haunches, prick back their ears, and snap playfully at the water as it showers down on them. And then joyfully roll around in the mud afterward, of course.  But they’re responsive to humans in general, too. They are naturally curious and, in the case of our heritage breed Red Wattles, gentle. They’ll come up and sniff you, rub their mud-streaked bellies over you, and let you scratch their ears.  And maybe this is the part where you start to wonder: But aren’t you raising them for food?  Why would you want an emotional connection to an animal that you are raising for food?  I understand where this question is coming from. I was a vegetarian for nearly a decade because I didn’t like the thought of killing animals, especially within the framework of our industrial food system.  But actually, it isn’t a problem or moral quandary for me. Yes, we grow fond of and attached to our animals, including our pigs.  Yes, we still send them to the butcher or process them on our farm for food. And yes, this still makes sense to me.  I would gently suggest that the idea that we shouldn’t have any emotional connection to our food - that we can only eat meat that comes from animals we withhold our emotions or affection from - is a sign of our disconnection to the way food is grown.  That is, after all, one of the premises of industrial agriculture. Designate animals with one sole purpose - “becoming food” - and then shut them away in buildings, cramped quarters, or far away from humans who might interact with them beyond the farmer.  And the farmer, too, should be as disconnected as possible. After all, this is an efficient machine.  The problem, from a regenerative perspective, is that growing food is never just about growing food. Food is the gift you receive at the end of your work, but it’s the work itself - and the consequences of the work beyond the food - that is the point.  The work, on our farm, is caring for the land. That means working alongside animals to nurture native plants, clear forest areas to make existing trees healthier, and create habitats for birds, pollinators, and wildlife.  And that means becoming attentive and thoughtful - to animals and to the land. Watching, learning, and yes, developing bonds with the habitats you’re nurturing and the animals that are helping you do so.  Is it sad to load up animals and take them to the butcher at the end of the season? Yes, it often can be. But I don’t feel guilty about it. I know that we’ve given them the best life possible, and that we’ve partnered with them to leave our farm better than we found it each year.  And if that doesn’t make sense, that’s okay. I’m not saying that everyone has to agree with me. I’d simply like to advocate for a way of farming and consuming meat that includes this experience - one of affection and bonding between animals and humans.  After all, this is one of the many ways we try to do things differently on our farm. We don’t want to just provide you with food that meets your standards - non-GMO, no vaccines, no antibiotics, grass-fed and pasture-raised.  We also want to help you reconnect with that food. And part of that is knowing the animals, hearing stories about them, and yes, maybe even having an emotional connection with them, despite the end goal of providing meat to you.