Growing my own fried chicken

Reader Contribution by Malisa Niles
Published on May 30, 2012
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I have raised chickens, actually laying hens, most of my life. Dad used to take me down to the local hatchery every Easter weekend for a couple of chicks (much to my mom’s dismay,) so when we moved to the country I naturally wanted chickens. I came into the spring of 2012 with 18 laying hens and 1 mean rooster. They were a mix of light Brahmas, White Leghorns, Rhode Island Reds, and Black Giants. The laying hens were no problem, but the broilers proved to be a bit more challenging.  

In early spring, I started scoping out the hatchery catalogs searching for the best selections and more affordable prices. I got my chicks ordered, and they came in the mail on March 3rd.  I ordered 100 broilers and 12 replacement layers and 2 new roosters. I had read that you should start small, but silly me I believed that if you go, go big. With chickens, there is a sharp learning curve. Broilers need a high protein feed at least 20%. By day 9, I had lost 6 to them eating themselves to death. They would just lay by the feeder and eat until they couldn’t move or breathe. I cut back to feeding twice a day instead of 4. I was still going through at least 140 lbs of feed a week.

After 4 weeks, I moved them to my chicken tractors.

Everything was going well for about a week, except the broiler chicks never climbed up the ramp to go inside the shelter. They slept outside, which worked until an ice/snow storm hit. I was crawling around in the chicken tractor in the storm rescuing chickens. I had lost 6 before it was all over. I later learned that a temporary light, even a little solar powered light would attract the birds to go into the shelter.

I kicked the laying hens out of the chicken coop and put the broilers in it. The hens were used to being free during the day; I just got in the habit of letting them in the coop at night. If I didn’t, they just kept circling the coop. After a week, I just let them all out. The broilers don’t venture far, but follow me everywhere. It was a little hard to do yard work with 80+ chickens following me, getting in front of me, untying my shoes, and constantly tripping me.  Trust me, flip flops were out of the question since they pecked at my toes.

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