Cage Free Vs Free Range - Demystifying Products Labels Part 2

posted on

October 14, 2017

Last time we discussed what the “natural” or “all natural” label meant. This time we are going to tackle the “cage free” vs. “free range” labels. First, some background. Most laying hens are kept in group cages while they lay their eggs. They are required to have ½ square foot of space per bird. For a mental image take a ruler and draw a six inch by six inch square on a piece of paper. That is the space requirement. Like all confinement houses, it gets quite dusty and ammonia (the smell of nitrogen in the manure with insufficient carbon to bond too {I’ll discuss this in a separate post} permeates the air. It also permeates the eggs, which are porous, which is why salmonella is such an issue with most confinement eggs. Also, the cages are stacked vertically to utilize space. This means when one hen needs to go “number 2” it falls down on the heads of the chickens below them. Talk about an unpleasant experience. Also, depending on the cage design, some houses have no way to remove expired hens from the cages (which means the dead hen decomposes next to its cell mates and then falls through the slatted floor onto the hens below it). Now that is a hard life. This system is justified through the argument that we need cheap eggs. These eggs are highly subsidized.  Even though we don’t pay much for these eggs in the grocery store, we actually do end up paying for these cheap eggs with our tax dollars.

So, if that is a caged hen, then cage free has to be way better right? Well …… not so much. You see, in a “cage free” concentration camp the industry would have us call a chicken house, the chickens are let out of the cages and given 1 square foot of space each (less than the screen of your laptop.) The house is still a dusty ammoniated mess. Now the birds can spook and flock into corners. Cool, right? Well, not when the ones on the bottom are smothered to death, which happens frequently in tight spaces. Also, because the birds are now contained exclusively on the floor they have to walk in, lie down in, and sleep on their manure that is piled on the floor. That manure is not cleaned up until all the birds are used up. Which means they’re nearly featherless (cramped conditions encourage the birds to peck each other incessantly) bodies are hauled to a processor and made into chicken soup. Sounds tasty, right?

Next, we’ll move onto the shining light of the label “free range.”  Now this is a cool label name. For me, it invokes images of massive herds of bison sweeping across the wide-open plains or a large herd of my own cows being rotated onto a large section of fresh grass. Naturally, (no pun intended) with chickens and eggs, the mental image should include happy hens joyously scratching in the grass and exhibiting the chickenness of the chicken (I’ll discuss that more in a minute.) For some eggs labeled “free range” that is indeed the case. Unfortunately, about 99% of the time it isn’t the case. You see, the “free range” label has kind of been hijacked. All a “cage free” house needs to do to qualify as free range is to allow some outdoor access to the birds. For most, this means a small access door is cut into the side of the house allowing  access to a small fenced “yard”. The yard is quickly denuded of vegetation (it’s what happens when any livestock is allowed continual access to any area; they eventually kill all the grass) and few of the hens ever leave the house. They are scared of the light and any change in their surroundings (after all, this concentration house is all they have ever known since they were a chick). Sadly, most free range eggs are really a bad buy. They can cost four to ten times as much as a “cage free” egg and there is almost never a difference in the quality of the egg. Both hens have in practice the same terrible environment and both are fed an exclusive diet of genetically modified, chemical soaked corn and soybeans. I attached an info graphic that helps make the point.

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Because the “free range” label has been hijacked by industrial systems, trying to make a fast buck on technicalities, we chose to not use the “free range” label on our eggs, even though our system is what most people picture when they think of “free range.” In our pasture system, we use biomimicry (imitating natural processes.) You see, the chickenness of the chicken is to scratch the earth, to eat a diversified diet of forage, insects, small mammals, seeds and grains (it is after all a omnivore), and like most birds, follow large herds of ruminants sanitizing the pasture by spreading the manure. While the chicken is quite removed from its ancestors of old, the glory of the chicken remains the same. That is to express its natural behavior while serving a greater purpose (sanitation, insect control, nutrient dense eggs).

As a Christian, I see the chickenness of the chicken as something to revere. I take my commission to steward the land as a call to utilize the chicken’s instinctual behaviors in a managed system that works with nature. If the chickenness of the chicken is to scratch, fertilize, sanitize, and nourish, then I believe my calling as a farmer is to allow the chicken to do just that.   By rotating the chickens to fresh pasture and following my grazing herds of sheep and cattle, I am able to jumpstart the ecological health of the land, sanitize, fertilize, and produce nutrient dense food for my family and my community. The rotation of the chickens onto fresh pasture  also ensures good sanitation for the hens and a healthy consumption of fresh forage and insects. This management also prevents the gift of the chicken from being abused by keeping them in one place therefore destroying the grass, causing ecological harm to the land, and physiological harm to the chickens (disease.)

I firmly believe that the chickenness of the chicken is not to be crammed into a cage or onto a fecal laden floor to repurpose genetically modified corn and soybeans into a mirage of an egg. To do so makes a mockery of the natural system and sets the stage for disaster (such as: food borne illness, pollution in our waterways, and an economy built on catch phrases instead of trust.)

That is why our pasture raised chicken system is different and why we encourage you to know your farmer and not to rely on marketing phrases that can be manipulated. Our hope is that this article has both empowered and inspired you.

Your Restoration Agriculturalists,

-David, Mariah, and Baby Judah

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A Template For Family Christmas Tree Cutting Success

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"There is nothing like a wild cut farm cedar tree for Christmas!

A hilarious tale from a farm Christmas long past. "There is nothing like a wild cut farm cedar tree for Christmas!Literally nothing like it. The smell is amazing the shape is always unique and the adventure that comes with it..... priceless. This year was no different. The first key to a good DIY farm Christmas Tree adventure is doing it last minute!Check! We decided to do it on a Saturday without any preparation (like figuring out ahead of time which tree - growing wild in the fence rows - we would cut. We also managed to start our adventure with less than an hour of daylight remaining in the day. So far so good. After gathering up the boys (3 of them now), I grabbed the chainsaw, Mariah grabbed the baby and we all hopped in the truck. After driving around the farm checking out various trees in all shapes and sizes we disembarked to take a closer look at a few. Judah informed us they were all too small. Mariah and I felt we had found a pretty good one. As we all hiked back to the truck we heard a howl from Judah "save me from the pokeys!"Then began the next phase of the adventure. Quill pulling......Thankfully not from a porcupine but Judah had managed to walk through some sort of plant with a lot of long barbs that really liked his pants! Well over 100 of them....As the sun slowly set things began to get quite chilly and the patience of the two older boys (one rather recently de-quilled) was waning. So we picked a compromise tree. It was time for the big moment. I grabbed the chainsaw, pulled the cord a few times and it roared to life. At least thats what it would have done in a normal story..... but our family and our stories are not very normal. Haha instead the chainsaw sputtered and died. I checked the fuel level and to my dismay it was completely empty. No problem just grab a little fuel right.......Well it was at home. I hadn't grabbed any to start because it would only take a second to cut the tree. Haha unfortunately I didn't have even a seconds worth of fuel. Needless to say there was some disappointment in the ranks. Murmurings of cold and poked legs was growing into open rebellion over a perceived shortage of food (it had after all been almost 4 hours since the older boys had eaten ;)But the mutiny was suppressed and we hopped back in the truck and raced home for fuel. After a lightning fast refill that would have put competitors in timber-sports competitions to shame (probably) we raced back to the farm where we had found a tree. Except now it was getting even darker... and upon further evaluation the previously picked tree was deemed unacceptable (at least we know where it is for next year ;). So another tree was selected. Though there was discussion about its shape, I made a quick decision and decided we would cut it while we still had light and then discuss the finer points of its shape.  Having cut the tree it was discovered that it lacked branches of any kind on one side (owing to the fact it was growing in a clump of 3 other trees). Always the problem solver, I suggested that we put the bald side in the corner at our house with the 3 good sides facing out. This compromise was quickly accepted owing in no small part to a lack of daylight, increasing cold, and a growing sense of hunger amongst those voting. As I called the boys over to pose next to me with our tree......  ....One last picture was accidentally snapped of the ground as my phone died. No other photographic devices had been brought along for the adventure so this moment of triumph remains photographically undocumented....After arriving home, warming up, getting new pants without any pokeys in them and eating some supper, we all gathered together and decorated our one of a kind tree. The smell of fresh cut cedar was amazing, the joy of telling stories about the ornaments as we placed them on the tree was heartwarming, and the memories of another family Christmas tree adventure are priceless. 

Down Came The Tree

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It had just rained and this time of year there is really not much to burn, but the only real reason I can give for it is that it's just us. I mean why shouldn't we get an unexpected call that there was an unexpected blaze miles from our house in the cold while were just getting ready to decorate the tree? Somehow it just fit us perfectly. I won't go into much detail here but thankfully the fire was not serious (a small grass fire in the fence line with the neighbor) and I and my father in law were able to put it out in about an hour (most of that time spent stomping out embers to prevent having to come back out in an hour to put out the same fire). Returning from my third unexpected trip outside in the cold, I entered our tranquil dwelling pretty much dead set on a shower and bed. Covered in soot, and generally smelling like a skunky ash tray (grass fires stink) I entered the house to see the tree had taken its first (note I said first) nosedive. The whole "come quick there's a fire adventure" had undermined my intention to immediately tie up the tree to the wall and apparently with a little help from our youngest son the tree had come tumbling down like it was felled by the axe of Paul Bunyan. It should be noted at this point that despite a lot of work I could never get the tree to really sit right or even kind of right in the tree stand again. The first tumble had made some irreparable changes to the structure of the tree and stand. Moved by the jumping exuberance of my children and rather haunted by the thought of what might come up tomorrow if we delayed decorating anymore, I aquiesced to their request to decorate it that very evening. And so, with the smell of fresh cut cedar and smoke wafting through the house, we decorated our tree and sat back to enjoy this year's special moment.  But the story doesn't end there. Oh no that was really just the beginning haha. You see, in all the excitement of decorating, it had somehow slipped my mind that our vertically challenged tree, was unbalanced, precariously resting in a bent tree stand, and had never received its support string that would have secured it to the wall. Thankfully I remembered just in time - right after Mariah called me the next day (extremely happy and overflowing with seasonal joy) to inform me the tree had come tumbling down (if your counting this is fall number two). Thankfully all of the glass ornaments survived (somehow) and after a good deal of sweeping up the little stickers that fall off of real cedar trees (socked feet are also extremely effective at gathering these little anti tank fortifications), the tree was back up and tied to the wall. Unfortunately at this point the tree and its relationship to the tree stand had been further altered such that it was now clear it would not and could not stand on its own without the rope tied to the hook on the wall (I did use a festive white and blue striped thick rope though just so everything would match with traditional Christmas themes :)It is at this time that our fourth child and general angelic being, Levi, enters the story.  Isn't that a precious photo? You see Levi loves tractors. I mean absolutely loves them. His first words every morning for months when he wakes up has been "wheres actor?". By which he wants to be told and preferably shown the relationship of our blue farm tractor to his location in the house. He is also of an age where remembering to not do the things he is told not to do is quite difficult. And so for reasons that I am sure will make us chuckle in years to come but remain somewhat of a mystery at this point, a small tractor ornament was placed on the tree at eye level to Levi, on the side of the tree that already had quite a lean to it. At this point I need you to use your imagination and applying the picture above as inspiration, imagine Levi in a passing instant, reaching out towards that tractor in the tree, touching it, and like a drowning man grasping the hand drawing him from the waves - giving it just a little tug. Now imagine Paul Bunyans axe smiting the base of a tree with one final blow and it falling, swift and sure, down to the ground. Now if that same tree was covered in lights and Christmas ornaments and narrowly missed the head of my youngest son - you have the right picture in your mind. Strike three, the tree was down. Levi was in tears, and somehow the charm of this year's tree had left Mariah. It was at this point she suggested perhaps the tree had served its purpose for the season and could be taken down now before Christmas? Feeling that would just not be right I dismissed her concerns of a reoccurrence of this gravitational incident, righted the tree and with a few deft knots (I am a renowned knotsmith - just ask anyone) assured her the tree was secure. She dutifully redecorated it, and it stood there like a beacon of joy for at least another 23 hours....Then came the fateful moment - strike four. This time I need you to imagine the exact same situation as before except as the tree falls imagine my small angelic son staring up at the tree as it smokes him in the head on the way down. Needless to say there were many more Levi tears. The tree was once again righted but Mariah looked at me and my knot tying abilities with more skepticism, but the real damage done was to the tree. This fall had done some structural damage, the branches no longer pointed the right way and the lights and ornaments could not have been more artfully arranged had we had hurled them at the tree from our upstairs balcony. With a resigned sigh, I began taking down the tree 6 days before Christmas. It had stood as a beacon of light and a monument of my dedication to my progeny's childhood memories for four memorable days. Haha I can hardly wait to see what fun next year's tree will be!