When Covid-19 reared its ugly head, my husband Nik foresaw the dramatic rise in the price of goods, both imported and local. This, along with an innate desire to be more self-sufficient, prompted him to concentrate on growing or raising more of the foods we consume. There’s a certain satisfaction in eating what you’ve worked hard to produce; everything seems to taste so much better when you know how and where it was grown, and I’ve come to enjoy and appreciate every bite.
In order to eat our own eggs Nik started off with 6 mature hens, a gift from a friend on the mainland. He added some younger hens shortly afterwards, knowing that it would take a while before they laid any eggs. The older ladies (not unlike the human variety!) would eventually stop laying eggs, and Nik wanted to ensure a steady supply. He then added a rooster to the coop, and had a small incubator sent from overseas. I figure I’m the only person on Bequia sharing an office with hatching chicks, but as I love watching the process it’s fine by me!
It took quite a while before the rooster was accepted by the hens – I now know where the term “hen-pecked” comes from! The poor fellow had a rough time of it when he was small, but now he’s able to strut about the coop doing his “thing”. Nik gathered the first dozen of what he hoped were fertilized eggs, and placed them in the prepared incubator. Following instructions, the temperature had been set at a steady 38 degrees celcius. The hatching process usually takes 20 – 21 days, and I waited with mounting anticipation! After the first 7 days Nik “candled” the eggs, meaning that he shone a light under the eggs when the room was dark, allowing him to see if an air bubble had formed, and if any veins were forming. Questionable eggs (those with no veins) were marked with a pen and they, along with the promising eggs, were returned to the incubator.
This candling process was performed again on day 14, and on this occasion a dark mass could be seen if the eggs contained chicks. Any eggs showing no growth were discarded (important, as they can explode and make a stinky mess!), and the ones with obvious masses were returned to the incubator. On day 18 the eggs were candled one last time to ensure that all were viable. At this point the eggs were no longer turned inside the incubator, and the temperature was decreased to 37 degrees. The relative humidity was raised to 65 percent, and ventilation within the incubator increased. On day 20 the first cracks were observed as the baby chicks began to peck their way out of the shells.
Our grand-children arrived from Canada in time to witness the birth of the baby chicks, such excitement! I’ll never forget their expressions of amazed awe as the first chick tumbled out of its shell, nor their joyful shouts of victory – it was a special family moment! Once born, Nik placed the chicks in a special box he had rigged with a warming lamp, which means they went from my office straight into my bedroom, but I didn’t mind – their cheeps were cheerful and in no way disturbing, plus they wouldn’t be there for long.
Once the chicks had spent a few days in the warm box they were transferred to a hanging cage outside, a safe place for them to grow a little more before being moved to a “nursery coop”. The incubator was immediately refilled with 12 more eggs; not all the eggs will produce chicks, plus there’s a 50% chance that some will be roosters. We only want to keep laying hens and just ONE rooster, so the males will eventually be eaten.
That’s why Coq au Vin was invented!
