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The Toes Knows May 1, 2011
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By Chicken Law, prudent hens must be on their beds before the sun sets. This is a righteously reasonable law because a hen doesn’t see well in the dark, and in a practical sense, the early-to-bed, early-to-rise gets the morning worms.

Dusk gathered last Saturday and the inhabitants of the Hen House quietly settled their plump, feathered breasts upon feet which clamped tightly around various perches.  All was well in the official sleeping area, but chaos is routine in the nesting box area on the other side of the Hen House. Here sleep the hens apparently not welcome in the nocturnal resting area -- hens who must sleep near the work nests, out in the wind. Hens like Toesy, who is almost ostracized, through no fault of her own.

I firmly took hold of the lower of the two arty but wiggle-prone branches that angle from the nest boxes to the side wall of the Hen House, as Toesy nervously edged along it. She knew that she was on the wrong perch, and worse, in the way.
The plump immigrant, but too-big-to-be-messed-with, Ming Ming, complaining loudly from the ground, was disoriented as to how to fly up to her preferred spot on that very branch. The feed cans (trash cans really) that serve as launching pads had too much feed in them for the lids to close tightly. They’d rattled ominously when more lithe hens flew to the perches.

To complicate the situation, Coo Coo Maran, the French hen, had that very day abandoned her hopes of hatching chicks in one of the boxes, and crowded amongst other hens on the very spot (the very pillow) where Ming likes to sleep.

And then there was Toesy, nudged minutes before to the ground by the winners of the upper perch contest. These claimants were members of the “mean hens” who had delighted for the last year and a half in keeping Toesy out of the circle of their society. So much so that the Toe bonded more with us farmers (and especially me, her private person) and being the most diminutive hen in the flock, she was easily demoted to the ground by those who seem to gain satisfaction from the demeaning of sweet souls.

So I picked up the darling, devalued Toe (Larry’s favorite hen) and put her on the nest box rail, as I figured she could not by her history be as particular as were the others.  And I shifted more feed into the feed pans, so that the lids fit tightly, to give Ming Ming the confidence to try again.

Ming realized -- ending her incessant complaints -- that the error was corrected and she flew to the lower rail that is the landing platform for the nesting boxes. Unfortunately the Toe, also there, was an impediment in her journey towards the more fitting sleeping perch, the artful branches. Alas, I the human had erred. So I picked up the Toe and Ming Ming proceeded, foot after foot, and managed to nestle next to failed mom Coo Coo.

Finally everyone was happy. Toe was replaced, by herself, on the nest box rail, isolated from the clique of the other hens. I told her, in compensation, that she and not they would be permitted to be outside as normal the next day, mingling with Dai Due diners if she chose. She shook her head briskly, a communication from hen to human that acknowledges perhaps a special bond, or in this case that the Toes would be just as happy to scratch in the mulch with her toes minus one, and look at the diners from a safe distance. Unlike her personal tormentor Babette, and the opportunistic Spotty Dottie, she would not be in their face begging for treats, as they do, even in the farm stand.


Indeed, Toesy needs only me and my esteemed interns, Tom and Marissa, to allow her out of and into the Hen house. After that, she is content, having her own personal egg nest in the straw bale barn, above the root washing station, where she can lay her tiny gift, a wee prize amongst the more showy eggs of the other hens.


For the Toes, exiting and entering the Hen House requires not only us humans, but also perfect timing. If Babette, the super model, is near, then Toesy will not attempt passage. With good reason. The minute Babette sees Toesy she comes at the little hen, at a dead run, with the object of jumping on top of the Toe and performing an action that can only be termed outrageous!  Or, at the very least, if the Toe dodges her, Babette will deliver a hard peck on the Toes’ comb. Alas, it’s hard to watch. We scold the Babe but she says, in her soprano voice, her enmity for the tiny Toesy is firmly set and she will not give up her hostility.

After whatever kind of attack it is, Toesy shakes her feathers, and like a little hover craft, she floats away fast across the ground, her little toes minus one driving her as quickly as possible to the front of the farm house where she can hide herself in the Turk’s Cap and poison ivy and excavate the mulch. She emerges whenever I pass by on the tractor as she hopes I’ll head for the compost pile, her favorite solo dining spot.

And in the afternoon, she is usually the last to come in to the Hen House. Often I have to search for her, calling her name. (It’s a good thing sound is muffled on this farm by all the foliage....) She silently emerges from the shadows and gives me a shake of her head to say, the Toes knows ... that I also know ... the troubles she’s seen. It’s a bit sad knowing how things are sometimes for the troubled souls amongst us.

The Toes knows....

Carol Ann

For this week's produce, click here:  http://www.boggycreekfarm.com/
(Our Home page; just scroll past the photos to see the list of what we'll have at the farm stand.)

PS: Many thanks to all who attended the 2nd Annual East Austin Urban Farm Tours! Seems like everyone had a great time. Thanks also to the chefs and libation creators who generously donated their time and talents. Through the visitors’ donations, over $12,000 was raised to support Farm and Ranch Freedom Alliance, the non profit organization that strives to preserve our communal freedom to grow and eat the nutritious foods of our choice (like raw milk.)  The date is already set for the 3rd EAUF tours: April 15, 2012!

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