Our Self-Powered Manure Wielding Lawnmowers

     Last month, the Mr. and I went to the Mother Earth News Fair in Somerset, Pennsylvania as an early anniversary trip.  Camping at a nearby state park in the brisk mountain air of Western Pennsylvania, we spent three days soaking in the sights, sounds and even smells of the farming and homesteading lifestyles.  While there we got to hear a lecture from the "most famous farmer in America" Joel Salatin on Salad Bar Beef.  His rousing Southern Baptist style lecture was a fabulous way to kick off Sunday morning as we learned how he raises beef cattle using rotational grazing in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley.  (More about his farm can be found on its website.)

    While my husband was dreaming about getting beef cattle, I was hurriedly taking notes while attempting to figure out how to scale his practices down for chickens.  Yup, you heard me right... chickens.  If you can use rotational grazing for cattle, why not implement the practice with some amendments for chickens?  After all, we were already halfway there.

As our Delawares grew we wanted to give them
more space, although even in their present pasture
they were more than content.

     Before leaving on our three-day getaway, we started construction on a chicken tractor that we planned to use in our garden to help rough it up a bit (and weed it!) for spring planting.  Our plan was to allow half of the flock of sixteen Delawares - all cockerels - to escape the confines of the coop and pasture runs before butcher.  Once we got back, we finished off the construction, and this Saturday set our plan to work.  

     Using these self-powered manure wielding lawnmowers (i.e. chickens), we intend to make the painful process of putting 8,400 square feet of garden to bed for the winter a little easier on us.  Fortunately, the Mr. moved the eight not so happy cockerels down to the garden  on Saturday morning while I got to man the doors to the run, coop and "animal transportation system."  (Okay, so the Mr. tied a large dog crate to my old red wooden wagon I had when I was a kid.  Unfortunately, we were so busy I neglected to get a picture of this spectacle, but it worked out wonderfully.)   

     Then, off into the chicken tractor they went, and were happy as could be until about mid-afternoon when they noisily demanded more ground to peck on.  Thus, the Mr. moved them down the row simple as could be.  Sunday morning, they were moved again, further down the row.  Then came this morning, when it was now my turn to move them.  

     The Mr. made it look and sound so easy, taking less than five minutes to move the chicken tractor.  Simply lift the axle for the tire, hold it up with your foot, and then slide the tire on.  Spin the nut onto the end.  Then repeat on the other side.  Grab the rope, and pull forward.  Do the reverse, and remove both tires.  Sounds like a breeze right?  

     If only... 

     With two farm cats in tow I grabbed a container of feed and headed towards the garden.  I tossed out the feed to the new area they would be moved to.  That was mistake number one as it sent the Delawares into a frenzy trying desperately to get the feed that was on the other side of the chicken tractor.  

     I lifted the axle, barely getting it two inches off the ground before I had to drop it.  There was no way this was going to work, and now the two farm cats that I had in tow were sitting where the tractor was going to be moved eating the feed!  I tried pulling the rope without tires on.  Surprisingly I made it eight inches while the cockerels continued to demand their new ground and scrambled for their eight inches of feed.  Finally I gave in and called my husband.  "Use a shovel to pry the side up and stick the wheel on.  You got this."

     Kicking myself for not thinking of this easy solution the whole way to the shed for the shovel and back to the garden, I jammed the shovel underneath and pried.  Seriously?  It came two inches off the ground... the same height I could have lifted it myself.  I pulled the shovel out and moved further down the bottom board.  Still not high enough.  Then I moved even further down.  FINALLY!  Four inches off the ground now, with me holding the shovel, would be enough for the tire.  If only I could reasonably reach that two feet away to put on the tire with those two hands that were holding the shovel... (Mistake two.)  

     Doing half a split in the garden, holding down the shovel with one foot in a shoe that bore no traction (mistake three), I begun to slide on the tire with my hands, just as my foot slipped and down four inches the chicken tractor came crashing.  Whack!  The shovel handle went flying straight against my shin, while the disgruntled Delawares flew and squawked about.  I jammed the shovel back in and tried again.  Success!  Now onto the next side.  

     The second side went a little better.  Finally, the chicken tractor was just shy of four inches off the ground in the back, so I went around front, grabbed the rope and yanked.  It slowly inched forward.  I GOT THIS!  That's when I became a little too ambitious (mistake four), and started to walk backwards as I yanked, slipping in the wet grass on the edge of the garden pathway which caused me to go sprawling, landing squarely on my butt.  

     For once in the morning luck was on my side as there were no cars passing at that moment, and the only living things to witness this was the eight Delawares who now were busily pecking at their new ground, the two farm cats who had made themselves comfortable on the lawn, and all the plants who fortunately didn't have eyes, and came out unscathed.  Well unscathed aside from those that I had landed on, and now sat on bewildered and frustrated.  

     At that point, I gave up and got up. I grabbed the rope, yanked it one more time to its final destination, situating the chicken tractor in a straight line.  I pulled the wheels off, and said firmly, "I hope you're happy," to the Delawares, before grabbing the feed bucket and heading up to the coop to do the rest of the morning chores with the two farm cats once again in tow.  

     All-in-all, everyone is only slightly worse for the wear.  I have a bruised shin and backside, along with slight rope burn on my hands and a sore wrist.  Additionally, the escapade only took an extra twenty minutes.  The eight Delaware cockerels are now once again happy, starting their morning thanks with adolescent crows that sound more like bleating goats than roosters.  Yet, the only thing I can fully consider is, "Darn.  I have to do this again tomorrow morning."

Our Self-Powered Manure Wielding Lawnmowers at work Saturday morning