(HOST) With a nod to the farmers near her Windham County home, author Deborah Lee Luskin contemplates the joys of raising some of her own food.
(LUSKIN) Last month the Post Office called to say my chicks had arrived. Receiving day-old chicks through the mail has been an annual ritual in our home for the past 25 years. But this year, as I placed the chicks in the brooder, I wondered why I signed up for this chore yet again. These days, I can buy organically raised, grass-fed chickens from a nearby farmer for less than it costs me to raise them, and without the hassle. I could plunk down my money and skip all the work involved in raising poultry – and there’s a lot of work, even for just a couple dozen birds.
To start with, there’s the brooder, a cage with lights, to keep the new birds warm. The baby chicks are adorable, and, like all newborns, they are a bit fragile, so I find myself checking them frequently. By the time the fluffy birds grow into their feathers and move into their outdoor pens, I’m as programmed to take care of them as they are to eat, drink, and scratch. First thing in the morning, I check to make sure they’ve survived another night, I move their portable housing to fresh pasture, and I feed and water them. At noontime, I move them again, and again after dinner. On hot days, I make sure they have ample shade; during inclement weather, I make sure they’re out of the rain. This year, one of the chicks arrived sickly and died; another died the day after. The remaining two dozen are hearty and growing. But I’m acutely aware of how the health of each bird affects what I can bring to the table. If these twenty-four birds make it to the freezer, we’ll roast a chicken every other week. Meanwhile, I also have a small laying flock, which roams across the landscape, scratching for bugs. One recent evening, the dog barked her intruder alarm. I was out the door in time to see a young fox skulking across the drive. The dog and I chased it off, but not before it killed three of my hens. So I’ll have fewer eggs this summer. Meanwhile, we had lovely peach blossoms in our budding orchard this spring; but we also had a late frost, and it will be at least another year before we harvest fruit from these trees.
This doesn’t mean I’ll go a season without peaches. I’ll buy them from an orchard nearby. And I’ll be grateful to the family that has been tending that orchard for several generations. If nothing else, trying to produce some of my own food has taught me enormous respect for farmers, for whom raising crops is a livelihood, not a hobby. And of course I depend on farmers for what I don’t or can’t grow.
Yet I persist in raising a portion of my own food. The truth is: growing food teaches me repeated lessons in humility and constantly reminds me of my connection and indebtedness to the earth.