Are Backyard Chickens for You?

After over a decade in Nashville, the constant insistence of my three girls, and the romanticizing of friends with chickens, we decided to get our first flock of backyard hens. We drove from Nashville to Smyrna with a dog crate to transport them and paid way too much for three beautiful, full-grown ladies from a chicken farmer named Doug. Despite being told NOT to name them (too many predators, they said) we named them after strong women — Amelia, Frida, and Dolly. We were smitten.

Our first task was to find a chicken coop. After researching all manner of coops online, we decided we could use our girls’ old playhouse which we had obtained for free several years earlier on our neighborhood app. Our girls helped me paint the playhouse while my husband installed nesting boxes and a generous run. We enlisted a “chicken mentor,” my dear friend Julie who has been raising backyard chickens for years. (I’m a big advocate of chicken mentors, especially in the beginning. It helps to have someone you can ask questions to when a google search doesn’t suffice.)

My chicken mentor proved especially helpful through this new endeavor as I quickly learned that raising backyard chickens isn't for the faint of heart. Two were snatched up within 6 months (by a possum, we think.) I called Julie and she explained that we needed to “tighten” up the coop. She also loaned me a small, humane animal trap to try and catch the guilty critter. We never caught anything. Then, Julie’s flock was attacked by a bobcat — all were eaten except for one. She gave her lone lady to us while she reworked her coop. She was a magical black chicken that in the sunlight, had shimmery green feathers. My youngest immediately named her Elphaba. Sadly, Elphaba ended up attacking Frida and then later died herself.

We took a short chicken break, tightened up the coop with extra fencing, repaired holes, and decided to start again. This time we started with chicks from our local Tractor Supply. I was nervous but this is definitely the way to go. Chicks are so much cheaper, irresistibly cute, and easy to care for. We kept them in our basement until they were big enough for the coop. They bonded with us and each other immediately. We invested in a heat lamp and they thrived in a wide metal bucket with constant daily visits from my girls and their friends.

Today, all of the new chickens still stand. Yes, they are all named (this time after Harry Potter characters and more strong women).

These days and during the pandemic, our backyard chickens have been a comforting constant. The girls each have two days a week of “hen zen” or “chicken chores,” and the eggs are amazing.

Sometimes they get a little loud and squawky — I was worried about our neighbors, but recently learned that one neighbor records them in the morning on her phone because she loves listening to them while sipping her coffee. Another neighbor comes to visit them regularly.

We deliver eggs to friends whenever we have a surplus and to make amends with neighbors who don’t sip coffee while listening to their squawks. We also share buckets of chicken poop for neighbors’ gardens. My middle daughter sewed a chicken apron to collect eggs and a chicken harness to walk the chickens around the neighborhood — we tried the harness once and she quickly escaped, so we’ve given up on chicken walking for now, but keep your eye out around town for the next attempt.