Living with loss on the homestead

Mr. Hatchery Man (on a Saturday)…Ring, Ring…“We got some extra chicks unexpectedly…would you be able to take your next batch early?”

Me, caught off guard…“Oh…uh…I guess…that should be fine.”

You know, there was a little red flag, a little…something…in my gut that said I should decline. I can hardly say what caused it. Why didn’t I ask why the chicks were unexpected? and if it was even a good idea to ship chicks over the weekend?

But, no, helpful Jen strikes again. “Sure, I’ll take them.” And it should have been fine. It really should have been. It’s a local hatchery…local in this case meaning only on the other side of Michigan, which is far, far better than shipping chicks across the country. No airplanes, no super long trip, just a couple trucks. Short trip. And I don’t blame the hatchery. They were nothing but helpful throughout, and only called me BECAUSE I’m “local,” and so I “should” have been a good person to take them!

IF everything had gone as expected. But life is full of the unexpected.

And, so, I got the brooder ready, laying down fresh litter, filling the feeders, and mixing up my “Magic Water,” a mixture to give energy and “pep” to chicks settling in after a journey.

And I waited.

And I waited.

And I lost.

And I learned.

In the first week after those chicks arrived, I lost a third of that flock. A third. The journey, since it happened over a weekend when the postal service is slow, was just too long. A few were “DOA,” but most died in the first three days after arrival.

Here’s where you ask, “Jen, why are you telling me this? This makes me sick.” Well, it’s sure not so you’ll feel sorry for me. If we’re talking money, anyway, there was no real loss to me…every hatchery has a “live hatch” guarantee, meaning that as long as you report early losses within a specified time frame, you get your money back or they’ll send you more chicks. But this isn’t about the money.

(Here’s a hint…it’s about stewardship.)

WHY am I telling you this? Folks, I’m just like you. When bad things happen, my brain searches for a way out, an escape. I felt sick. And then numb. You’d better bet that when I would walk out to that coop to find yet more chicks that hadn’t made it, or when I could see that they wouldn’t make it and I had to put them out of their misery, I asked myself why I was doing this. Don’t most people, NORMAL people, just let “somebody else” handle all this?

But almost in the same breath, I realize that to ask the question is to answer the question. It comes down to stewardship. What is the theme we come back to again and again? Why are YOU here, with The Cluckery? It’s because each of us, in our own way, is taking responsibility for our own health, our own food. What happened here, at The Cluckery, happens there, with “somebody else.” I just don’t have to see it. And how would “somebody else,” maybe a factory farm, handle it? I don’t know. I just don’t know.

But I do know this. “They” would NOT have handled it any more compassionately or conscientiously than I did. That’s not bragging. That’s fact. Most of the time, the chicks just “slipped away,” but I went out again and again and again during those first days, and I watched with eagle eyes. And every time it looked like one was struggling, I instantly put it out of its misery, as swiftly as possible. Would “somebody else” have done that? I don’t know. But a core value at The Collins Cluckery is the well-being, happiness, and comfort of the chickens, and that MUST include ending needless suffering.

So why AM I telling you this? Because for you, I am your “somebody else.” And so I take this “life ain’t always a bed of roses” opportunity to underscore to you that even though “death is a part of life,” we take that responsibility very seriously. It may make you uncomfortable that I even broached this topic, but again, I can guarantee you this: wherever you buy your meat, this is happening. Heck, if you’re vegetarian, it happens! If a potato plant looks blighted, you pull it so it doesn’t infect the others! Or you prune the apple tree so it’ll be productive. And there is more and more evidence that plants “feel” things (even if in a way we don’t fully understand) as well as animals and people! So we can’t avoid it. But we can be good stewards of it. I’m reminded of the verse in 1 Corinthians, “Moreover it is required in stewards, that a man be found faithful.”

And, if I’m going to raise and process animals for you, I have a responsibility to you. So many of you are here because and you aren’t comfortable eating meat that was raised inside an industrial building. You don’t like the quality, but even more important, you’re deeply concerned for the welfare of the animals. How can you trust me, if you don’t know how I act when times are good and when times are bad? Just know this: I am answerable to you, but more than that, I am answerable to God. The verse that guides me here is, “A merciful man regardeth the life of his beast, but the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.” That verse guides me when you’re watching and when you aren’t.

Well, life goes on. Thanks be to God, the awful part lasted only a few days. And then, boy howdy, did we ever turn a corner. For the rest of that cycle, the song that ran through my head every time I moved them onto fresh pasture, was, “What doesn’t kill ya makes ya stronger!” I’d sing it out as I pulled the tractor along. The surviving chicks may have had a slow start, and it took them a while to really start growing, but then bingo, bango, they sure made up for lost time. They were bright and clever, vigorous and active. I’ve got all sorts of thoughts in my head as to why that was…maybe the strongest survived while the weakest succumbed… but no matter the reason, it’s God I thank for blessing them to grow!

So, no…life isn’t always rosy, even (especially?) on the homestead. We often just “muddle through,” to quote an old friend. But through it all, may we be found faithful!

(And maybe, just maybe, what didn’t kill me made me stronger, too!)