Life will sometimes throw you for a loop. That’s what happened to us not long ago.
Suddenly, we had to move from our place in Tennessee back to our house in Maryland. After twenty-four years in the Army, one steadfast lesson I’ve learned is moving sucks. But it had to happen.
Except this move was even more challenging than any of my many moves in the military. Back then we didn’t have honeybees and chickens to take with us. Of course, we always had the option of selling or giving the chickens away, but really, that was unthinkable.
Our chickens had become almost like family. Despite all the advice we received, delivered with the best of intentions, we named each of our nearly 60 birds. Bumbles was the King of the Roosters. There was also Lenny and Squiggy, Betty (Elizabeth Bradford II), Cleo, Lucy, Goldie and the rest of the gang.
Parting with them and starting over in Maryland would have been the easiest option, maybe the smartest option. That’s not what we did. Nope, if we had to move, the chickens were coming with us.
It was the “how-to” that became a challenge. We’ve never moved chickens before, certainly not the 500 miles that lie between Tennessee and Maryland. To make matters worse, the weather became more and more questionable with each passing day as we moved deeper and deeper towards winter.
How do we keep them warm enough? Will they make it the 7+ hours with no food or water? On the other end of the spectrum, will they overheat stuffed into boxes? There were plenty of unknowns as we ventured into “Operation Cluck Relocation.”
After some brainstorming sessions and online inquiries, we decided to just put them into cardboard boxes with straw bedding and go for it. The chickens had ventilation holes cut into their containers for fresh air to make the trip as comfortable as possible.
It took seven large moving boxes to fit all of the chickens, but thankfully these all fit into the bed of our pickup truck. We were done packaging all the birds by mid-morning, and off we went!
It wasn’t easy keeping the terrible “what-ifs” at bay throughout the trip. What if there was an accident? We’d have 53 chickens hurled across the interstate at 70 miles an hour. What if the boxes caught wind and got flung out of the back of the truck? It was a harrowing first hour or so, until the birds and me, the driver, settled down and steeled our resolve to just get there.
500 miles and seven hours later, we pulled up the new house.
Our son had come up before to construct the chicken run so we would have someplace to put the chickens. The new coop, a modified shed, had been ordered, but hadn’t arrived yet.
The new place wasn’t anything that anyone would call luxurious. In fact, we called it the Poultry Refugee Camp.
But they all made it. Every one of them. 53 chickens left Tennessee. 53 chickens arrived in Maryland, safe and sound.
Another big change was the house in Maryland isn’t so far removed from our neighbors. I spent many a day and night in Tennessee watchful and worried about the dangers free-range chickens face: hungry coyotes, hawks that kill from above, raccoons that can dig under fences, and more.
In Maryland, these are somewhat alleviated because in the neighborhood, the birds can’t free range and are confined in their chicken runs (we call them “the zoos”).
Another challenge is topography. The land in Tennessee was much more open and conducive to free range chickens. Here in Maryland, we have to contend with land that is more or less completely wooded.
I’ll address the plan for the woods in a subsequent post.
At first, the stress of the move had dampened their enthusiasm for laying eggs. I think it was more out of spite. They quite enjoyed their free range life in the south. Now, they’re stuck in their runs.
They’ve since gotten over it and have also gotten settled into their new home. If the increasing number of eggs every morning is an indicator.
All in all, the 500 mile move from Tennessee to the new place in Maryland was a success. All of our chickens made it without incident and despite their time in the Poultry Refugee Camp (Betty was demanding to see a representative from the Red Cross), they’ve settled in and adapted well.
Not only that, but because they’re protected in their runs, I don’t have to worry about hawks and coyotes.
We’ve learned a lot about moving live adult chickens in the process. If we had to do it all over again, however, I think I’ll hand out bus tickets and meet them on the other side.
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