One of the great pleasures of being employed here at Fraser Range is driving the quad
bike around this beautiful place. Riding solo or having your chick sitting behind you on a bike while
she is clamping on is one of the joys of
life. Feeling that wind blow through my semi-grey hair - it is the taste of pure freedom.
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| Amazing Fraser Range |
Other than evoking feelings of freedom we are using the bike
to do our work. Jules and I have dubbed this job here at Fraser Range station
as the “chicken run”. At 8am I hook a trailer to the quad and start the "garbo" round at the kitchen where a large bin full of food scraps is collected. After visiting the horse pens to
check if the overnight visiting horses and owners have left any rubbish in the
bins, I cruise with the airstream through my locks to the chicken pen. As
soon as the bike stops in front of the gate, 30 odd chickens scramble excitedly to
the entrance. At this stage I am not allowed to let the chickens become free-range. I push my way cautiously through the "great wall of chicken" into the
large enclosure, closing the door carefully behind me so as not to cause any "chicken
snitzel". I throw the contents into the pen
as far away as possible, but cannot help it if one or two of the excitable chickens get covered in a left-over stray strand of spaghetti.
A real frenzy for all these yummy snippets occurs. It is chicken pandemonium in the coop. Before I have time to fill the bucket with
the pellets from the disconnected freezer that serves as storage box or for
chickens to roost on, the hens are back on my trail ready to party some more.
After emptying the pellets in these cone-shaped feeding containers I am a free man, no longer haunted by the "crazy clucking crowd" (try say that fast a few times).
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| A safe enclosure with a freezer box |
Having never being interested in any episode of “talk to the
animals”, I suddenly realise that I have been chatting gibberish to the
feathered creatures all the way through. “Good morning ladies, how are we all today? My, my aren’t we in a hurry today. Oops, so
sorry. Here chooky, chooks. Oh, no, that is dirty, and leave her alone you
bully”.
At around 2pm the chicken run has a second phase. Again I am
required to wildly blow-dry the toupee on the bike and dodge the headless herd.
This time I encourage the ladies to escape their mundane surrounds and live it
up in the big world by throwing some of the pallets over the fence and opening
the two gates of the enclosure. In my mind this should be an easy task but
chickens do not appear to be putting as much value in freedom as us humans. They are more likely to demonstrate against liberation. I can see the
banners at the rally already - “freedom sucks” or “our cage, our home”.
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| A sit down protest at the gate |
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| The wedgies on top of the hill |
After the girls have tentatively flown the coop it is time
to collect the eggs. Some days there are three dozen of these "poop and allsorts"
covered chook embryos of breakfast bliss. I dutifully check all the roosting
spots and gather the unhatched offspring in the empty bucket even if I have to,
like a thief, gently push an overzealous chook off her treasured googies. Every
day the eggs are washed by hand, dried and placed in a box ready for sale or to
be used in the kitchen. They are big yellow-yoked and so fresh that they are
hard to peel after boiling them, but they taste great. Some days there are kids in the park and I
invite them over with a parent to help collect the eggs, wash them and in the
end see them walk off proud as punch with a dozen in their little hands.
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| Another happy customer (photo courtesy of the Fraser Range Facebook page) |
On one occasion, the chickens have been seen huddling up together
underneath a parked ute waiting to be run over. Why cross the road if you can
birdfully die in a driveway?
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| This chicken is strutting across the dirt road |
The last phase of the chicken run occurs at dusk. A brief walk to the pen shows that all the chickens are back inside the pen and in essence know where they belong? Their movements are slow and their “pooohks” sound relaxed. The chickens appear to unwind and crowd together on top of the freezer box and other favourite spots to keep warm from the sharp wind. I walk out, close the gates and through the safety mesh fence wish them ”goodnight”. Let’s hope the foxes won’t bite.
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| Night falls over Fraser Range |
Grey Bits
Julie has taken to driving the quad bike. Now I get to hold
on to her. We were explained by a bikie couple that stayed at Fraser Range that
a guy sitting behind a girl on a bike is called “bitching”.
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| Julie on the quad waiting to give me a ride |
The chook compound at Fraser Range is big enough to build a three bedroom
house on. When I open the small gate to the adjacent paddock there is enough
room for a retirement village but don't tell the chickens.
A dozen eggs will cost you $4.50. The chickens at this time
of the year can barely put up with the demands of the grey nomads and the cook
for their produce.
I am using the hand held, CB or walkie-talkie to involve the
chickens in the daily running of Fraser Range. This is when all the staff and
some customers will hear. “Copy chicken", the chicken answers with a "cluuuuck". Roger that!
Wikepedia states that there are more than 19 billion chickens
on earth. More than any other domesticated animal.
The facebook page of Fraser Range is https://www.facebook.com/search/top/?q=fraser%20range%20station
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| 100 km East of Norseman. You can't miss it |
1 comment:
Loved this Mars and Jules, nothing better than freshly laid eggs.nothing better than talking to the girls and they talking back.Waiting to hear about your Kokoda adventure.
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