Real Name: David L. Norris Gender: male Member Since: June 17, 2007 Last Signed In: April 21, 2009 Profile Views: 411 Blog Views: 1526 Walking to the Library Mr. Barle and the Hearing Aid Trick-or-Treat The El Rancho Theater The Law of Supply and Demand The Contact Lense Locking your Doors Arvin's First Community Center The 500 yard Dash Accident Momma and the Pillsbury Poppin Biscuits July 07 August 07 September 07 October 07 November 07 December 07 January 08 February 08 March 08 April 08 May 08 June 08 July 08 August 08 September 08 October 08 November 08 December 08 January 09 February 09 March 09 April 09 May 09 June 09 July 09 August 09 September 09 October 09 November 09 
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Chicken Ranching vs. Chicken Farming
In 1954, when I was eight years old, I became a chicken rancher. My parents allowed me to have a small pen of chickens south of our garage at 301 Grove Street, where I grew up. We had bought a dozen mixed hen chicks and one red rooster chick from Canterbury’s Feed store on the south side of Bear Mountain Blvd. near “B” Street here in Arvin. They finally out grew the box that I kept them in and were put into a small pen. It was my job to go out each morning and collect the eggs from the nest boxes that my father had built from old fruit boxes that he had liberated from some ranchers orchard. The hens did not appreciate my trying to reach under them to collect the eggs that they had laid and I would get my hands pecked. They would then flap into my face, squawking as they flew off.
Now, as much trouble as the hens were, the rooster hated MY intrusions into HIS territory. There were days, he would not allow me through the gate to collect the eggs. He would challenge me at the gate, spurs bared, leaping and flapping at me. I found that if I took my water pistol when I collected the eggs, I could fend him off with a squirt here and a squirt there, but I would occasionally run out of water while I was still at the back of the pen. Now he was, FOREVER wet rooster mad. I would have to make a mad dash for the gate with the wet rooster in hot pursuit.
I finally went down to the Arvin Sprouse Reitz - 5 and 10 cent store and I bought six water pistols. I would put on my Hopilong Cassidy gun belt, two larger water pistols in the double holsters and four smaller ones tucked into the belt, two in the front and two pistols hidden in the back and I was ready for my daily face off at the OK Corral. My gawd, did that rooster ever hate me.
One Saturday morning, my mother went down to Canterbury’s feed store to get chicken feed. Marvin Canterbury, the owner had come up with a brilliant sales idea to increase his feed sales. He had bought 16 flats of day-old chicks and had a sign on the window. “Come buy a 100 pound sack of feed and get a free flat of chicks”. Now, each flat contained 100 day-old chicks and he figured that since the people would now have chickens, they would buy more feed and thus recoup his cost of giving away the chicks.
There were some unexpected glitches in his plan. First, he had not adequately advertised his sale. Except for the store sign, with a town of 1000 people, not that many people who are into raising chickens drive down the main street of Arvin each day. Secondly, buying chickens would probably be near the bottom of the impulse buying list, while you were waiting in line at the local feed store checkout line, since you would normally need to prepare yourself and you environment for such an addition. Thirdly, none of the chicks knew how to eat or drink and had no food or water in their boxes. Finally, think about how hot the summer days get, in a feed store in Arvin that only had one fan for circulation. The poor chicks were dying left and right and he had only gotten rid of two flats of chicks by early afternoon.
In walked my mother and I, to buy our customary 5 pounds of chicken feed that would normally last us two week or better. My mother was not one to let a good sale or bargain pass. Marvin, with a big smile on his face said, “Have I EVER got a deal for you!” He gave my mother FOUR flats of chicks for each 100 pound bag of feed. Before you knew it, he was loading out three 100 pound bags of chicken feed into the back of our station wagon along with all of the flats of chicks he had left. He threw in a couple extra flats – Just in case some of the chicks were dead. We were off to home with well over 1000 cheeping hungry chicks in our hot car. When we got home I thought Dad was going to have a cow. He huffed and he hollered, but finally settled down. He and my brother Leo, started building cages while mom and I tried to get the little chicks out of the car into the shade, fed and watered.
For several days, mom and I would have to push all of the chicks to one side of the cage with a 1 x 6 board, grab one chick at a time and dip its beak first into the water, then into the feed and release it on the far side of the cage. This kept up until the chicks either learned to eat or decided to die. Most figured out that the food and water was good for them. Eventually all of them were released in our original coup and started growing and laying eggs. My task of gathering eggs grew by leaps and bounds. The rooster was strutting around as King Cock of the World and had no time to bother me. The cage was totally wall to wall chickens. It was so full that you could not walk without kicking a chicken.
Eggs were anywhere that the chickens could squat for two moments. My egg gathering turned into a Easter egg hunt without coloring on the eggs. My mother was selling eggs and fryer chickens to all of the neighbors and friends as fast as she could. We had every chicken and egg dish for dinner known to mankind. Finally, they had all reached full fryer size and my dad checked the prices they paid for fryers in Bakersfield and he found that the market had gone down to the point that if you had them killed and cleaned by the wholesalers, you might wind up owing them money for the service rather than getting any return for your chickens to pay for the feed and time raising the chickens to maturity.
One Saturday Dad showed up with this great big boiling cauldron pot and started a wood fire beneath it in our back yard. He showed Leo and me how to ring the chicken’s necks and then let them run around without heads until they bled out. Occasionally the headless chickens would fly up and land in the English walnut tree in our backyard. My brother would either climb up and knock out the headless chickens or hit them with a football, thrown to get them to fall out. The dead chickens were then dropped into the boiling cauldron where dad and mom would hand pluck out all of their feathers before putting them into the freezer. Many neighbors came over and bought the cleaned chicken fryers right then. The rest were sold to the wholesaler on Monday. I think we at least recovered the cost of the feed for our efforts. I was back to my original 12 hens and one forever mad rooster.
Now, as you remember, I said I was a Chicken Rancher. I am guessing you are wondering what the difference is between a Chicken Rancher and a Chicken Farmer. There is this story I once heard about the ole country veterinarian who was downtown in the town feed store.
He ran into Clem, a farmer in the local community. The Vet went over to say “Hi!” Clem told him that he had decided, with the price of chickens so high, that he was going branch out and try his hand at farming chickens. The Vet wished him well and said he should have great success, since they were so easy to raise. About a month later, the Vet again ran into Clem in town and asked how his new venture was coming. Clem hung is head in shame and said, “Not too good Doc, they all died.” The Vet said, “What happened? Did you get some virus or disease?” Clem said, “I ain’t for sure what happened, but I think I either planted them too deep or too far apart”. THE END
9 comments from 8 users
1
posted by
tkozy
on Jul 31, 2007 at 10:58 PM
In North Dakota. We always figured the ranchers and cowboys all lived on the poor farm land in Montana, Wyoming and South Dakota. Cows are raised on dirt. Crops on soil.. The Rest of the Story...
posted by
shanparks
on Aug 1, 2007 at 07:15 AM
Loved your story! :) As the poultry leader for our 4-H I had to print out your story to share with the kids. We're gearing up for the fair and our meat pen chicks should be at the post office right now, so it's a very timely piece. Thank again.
posted by
NancyII
on Aug 1, 2007 at 07:30 AM
Great story Slo! Thanks for sharing. I had chickens when I was at the ranch and got a lot of pleasure out of them. I bought a grocery bag of chicks at an auction in Lancaster and they were all mixed breeds. Then I bought an incubator and had to build a brooder of sorts..one thing leads to another with those things. I related to the Easter eggs hunt as mine were "free range" chickens and laid wherever they chose. I had one Aracana (sp?) so I had a few actual colored Easter eggs and with two roosters, they guaranteed me new crops of chicks all the time. When I left I told my ex the only thing I missed was the ranch and my chickens. posted by
woofwoof
on Aug 1, 2007 at 09:37 AM
Great Story, I wish I could have chickens and fresh eggs. I think I can per my residential land designation, but I've always worried about what the neighbors would say. I'm not sure I'd like all that squawking either.... As a little girl, we would gather eggs, at some distant relatives house. It was the first time I saw a brown egg. posted by
Katatak
on Aug 1, 2007 at 09:44 AM
Your story is a treat to read. I used to work on a chicken farm when I was in grade school and it was an awful messy business. posted by
sagefever
on Aug 1, 2007 at 12:24 PM
I miss my chickens,your story brought it all back~always we had eggs,fresh good eggs(neighbors silence can be bought with eggs),I had no roster so the noise was minimal(my neighbor now has 2 parrots and a cockatoo~noisy!!!! and no eggs)but they were tons of work.Hand raising them(had two sets die~1 from a tunneling dog,1 from "b-b gun flu"),but they were worth all the trouble,now turkeys,there is a dumb bird.
posted by
msemilyh
on Aug 2, 2007 at 08:30 AM
my grandpa's 2 older brothers went to war, so he got a farm deferment and was able to stay home. the chickens were his job, and to this day, he still does not like eggs.
posted by
NancyII
on Aug 2, 2007 at 08:38 AM
msemilyh... My folks had a chicken ranch when I was growing up. Very mechanized for it's day I might add. Baby chicks went from the brooder house to pens and became pullets laying in nests built into the side of the shed with lids on the outside for gathering eggs. From there they went to the above ground wire laying pens with slanted bottoms for the eggs to roll down and be gathered. When you're dealing with eggs from 1000 chickens you begin to lose your taste for poultry. Washing poop off eggs in big buckets, candling, weighing, and boxing them gets old fast..especially for a kid. When the chickens stopped laying, they went into the pot or the frying pan. If you've never dipped a chicken in scalding water and plucking stinking wet feathers off, you just ain't lived. I stopped eating chicken for many many years and only started again in the last couple of years. I still will only eat the breast and will not eat chicken off the bone. I didn't eat eggs for a long time either but finally got over that. I have a great picture of my Mom holding one of her hens in front of the pens. I wish I had a way to post that picture here. All I know how to do it post links to photobucket. posted by
lealamalia
on Mar 27, 2009 at 08:20 AM
Loved your story, It remined me of my chicken coup. I hated that rooster that never let me take the morning eggs. Memories!
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