Hello Reader,

If you've spent any time talking to people about hobby farming, homesteading, raising animals, or trying to begin any sort of adventures along these lines, you may have heard warnings like these:

Don't romanticize it.

It's a lot harder work than you think it is.

And my favorite:

You have no idea what you're getting into.

Isn't it annoying when people are right? That aside, there's one warning I really could have used and never got.

It's not like there wasn't an opportunity for it to be passed along. I am not exaggerating when I say I have spent weeks scouring the websites and blogs on all sorts of subjects more and less related to what we're doing here at the farm. My internet cache could sink a ship.

And yet no one passed on this shiny gem of wisdom:

Sometimes, animals are the meanest people you will ever meet.

If you've ever wanted to get a sense of how deeply societal norms have been implanted in your soul, may I suggest you spend some time watching farm animals sort themselves out?

A few weeks ago, we started escorting ewes to their respective rams for the beginning of breeding season. Now, I wasn't starry-eyed enough to expect Mr. Knightley to come up with some pretty pasture weeds to present to his ladies as a gentle welcome to his enclosure, or for there to be any delicacy about the ensuing activities we very much hoped he would pursue. But I admit to being a bit appalled when he rammed Lizzy and Emma into the fence at feeding time so they wouldn't deprive him of any of his nibbles.

Every day he pushes and shoves and tries to hog it all to himself. Every day they push back and nudge and avoid the horns.

And no, none of them have the excuse of being starved to a frazzle.

The Hooligans are much the same in the big stall at feeding time, though I tend to want to excuse them as they have no adult supervision with all the moms gone off on their "personal growth retreats."

I've sort of become used to the sheep version of rudeness, though Lizzy still shocks me when she decides a Babydoll needs to be forcibly and instantly relocated five yards distant. I'm also not terribly fond of the physical self-sorting they do to establish who has to give way for whom and who ends up lowest in the power rankings.

But I'm telling you, friends. When it comes to being Mean Girls, the sheep have nothing on chickens.

I'm watching the latest version of this with our two youngest groups of chicks.​

Barracks Three is complete (thanks, lambs), and the slightly older group was quickly outgrowing their temporary home, so it was time to move them in. The smaller group is two weeks younger and had been housed in a separate brooder, but we thought they were big enough not to get trampled by the big girls.

I thought it would be best to move them in together, rather than let the older girls get established and see the younger ones as intruders. That way, they'd all go into the new house fresh, not fighting for previously selected favorite spots.

Doesn't that sound like a great plan?

I put the younger ones in first just so they could figure out the space and find the food and water. So far, so good.

Then we added the bigger girls, a couple at a time. Everything still seemed fine. Groups mingled. Everyone explored. By the time we got everyone transferred and observed for a little while, it was late. We closed Barracks Three and went home.

The next morning, it was apparent there had been a meeting. And a sorting.

The younger recruits had been kicked out in the run. The older recruits were enjoying the house and all the benefits therein.

I pulled a feeder and waterer out into the run, and the little ones went at them like Mr. Knightley hearing Emma and Lizzy walking up behind him at his feeder. Before long, the older girls came out to see what all the happiness and joy was about.

Before this moment, my primary goal in studying these birds was to determine what breed of chicken each one is. It's been a great puzzle, and I'm still working on it. But now, along with looking at combs, leg color, and feather pattern development, I can tell which chickens are the Mean Girls.

I would guess that it's no different than the social sorting the sheep do, but somehow, it looks meaner when pecking and feather pulling are involved. Plus, the sheep are usually silent through it all. The chicks shriek.

This will shock exactly no one who knows me, but I tend toward anthropomorphizing the animals we care for. I can't help it. I blame the books I read as a child. Narnia. Charlotte's Web. The Trumpet of the Swan. The Cricket in Times Square. The Mouse and the Motorcycle. And on and on, up to and including Watership Down.

So, I'm watching what is probably perfectly normal chick social sorting behavior and struggling with the internal conflict between my rational, practical mind that says, "Step away and let them be chickens, Kiersten," and the other, louder part of my mind that wants to lecture them all about kindness and manners and societal norms.

This is hazing, for pity's sake! These are your flock mates! You will be near neighbors for the remainder of your feathered lives, depending on one another for warmth, warnings, and news bulletins about discovered treats! Quit with the bullying, already!

No one warned me about Mean Girls on the farm.

Heaven help us all when we turn them out to free range and the rest of the Regiment gets hold of them.

Greg's Got Questions

Thank you to all who participated in the poll last week!

Last Week's Winning Question: What’s the difference between sheep manure and that produced by other animals like our chickens and the donkeys? Will we be mixing all of what’s being produced by our Pemberley Farm poop factories into Compost Mountain? How does all of this affect the compost that we’re creating?

Well, dear, one comes from sheep...(Sorry, couldn't help it.)

Actually, this is a very good question, and one great place to look for more detailed information on several types of animal manure is here.

Different animals contribute different amounts of nitrogen and organic matter in their poo.

Some folks simplify the differences by talking about "hot" and "cold" manure. Some think that cold manure, which is usually pelleted and from sheep, rabbits, and goats, is safe to put directly on plants, while hot manure, such as that from chickens, pigs, cows, and donkeys, needs to be composted before it is safe to put on plants.

If temperatures reach where they should in the composting process, then weed seeds die and there's a lower risk of illness from pathogens.

Since I do not have any plans to become a poop sorter, I think we'll toss it all in the pile and let it compost before putting it directly on anything living.

This Week's Questions:

(As a matter of procedure, the poll function takes you to another page to submit your vote, so if that happens to you, you’re on the right track!)

Question 1: How and when will we know if the sheep moms’ "personal growth retreats" were successful? I’m eager to know how production is going at our lamb factories.

Question 2: Of all those children’s books that you listed with animals as the star characters, what are your top 5? In ranked order please.

Question 3: Does establishing a “pecking order” provide some sort of benefit for the individual hens or the flock overall?

Happy knitting!

Kiersten J

P.S. Pemberley Correspondence is ongoing! Each month I tuck a letter and a few small pieces of Pemberley into an envelope and send them your way. Would you like to have something to look forward to in the mail?

If that sounds lovely, I’d love to have you join us.

P.P.S. You can find this and more of my knitting journal entries at KierstenJ.com.

If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to reply to this email! I read every one!