When I decided to start raising chickens, I didn’t expect to fall in love with them. I also didn’t expect to cry over them in the snow. But both are true. Chickens aren’t just funny little creatures pecking around the yard—they become part of the rhythm of your day, part of your routine, and part of your heart. That’s why I want to share what I really wish I knew before getting hens—not just the basics, but the kind of stuff that sinks in only after you’ve lived through a few seasons of caring for them.
If you’re just starting out, I hope this gives you a solid place to begin, a few things to think about, and maybe a bit of encouragement. You’re not alone—and you don’t need to figure it all out the hard way like I did.
Chickens Can Fly (Kind Of)
Let’s start here: chickens can fly. Not like geese or hawks, but high enough to make your fencing plans feel laughable. Our first chicken yard was enclosed with what I thought was a tall enough fence. It wasn’t. We were constantly chasing escapees out of the neighbor’s yard, apologizing, coaxing them back with scratch, and wondering how they kept getting over. Turns out, a motivated hen can clear a fence with about as much grace as a cat in a windstorm—but it still counts.
Wing clipping can help, but if your birds are healthy, curious, and free-spirited (which most are), they’ll find a way. That brings me to the next hard-earned lesson…
Free-Ranging Has Risks (Even If It Feels Right)
We didn’t set out to let our birds free-range. But once they started flying the coop, we gave in—and honestly, at first, it was lovely. They scratched in the grass, followed the ducks to the pond, and ate their fill of bugs. It felt like the right way to raise chickens. Natural. Ethical. Good for them.
And it was… for a while.
Then winter came, and with it, coyotes. One snowy morning, I walked out to check on the flock and found what I can only describe as a bloodbath. We lost 16 chickens in a single day. I cried. It wasn’t just the loss—it was the helplessness. We tried trapping the coyote, but it kept coming back. It even got a duck, goose, a small dog, and some cats. We knew we had predators, but we hadn’t fully grasped just how vulnerable our setup really was.
That experience changed everything for us. We’re still pro free-ranging in principle, but now we know: you have to build defenses before disaster hits—not after.
Start With a Secure Coop (And Yes, Wood Is Worth It)
We didn’t build our coop from scratch—we bought a solid wood one that came premade, with a window, ventilation, and space for us to customize. We added nesting boxes, roosts, and an automatic door. Honestly? I’d do it that way again.
Predators don’t just come from above or around. They dig. They claw. They test every inch of your setup when you’re not looking. A secure, raised wood coop gave us peace of mind at night and helped us learn the basics without worrying about total destruction. It’s easy to clean, too, which matters more than you think.
If you’re just starting out and feeling overwhelmed by building everything yourself, there’s no shame in buying a good-quality premade coop. You can always customize later.
Daily Chicken Life: Not Hard, Just Consistent
We’ve got chickens and guineas in a grow-out barn now, fully enclosed with cattle panels and heavy-duty chicken wire. Every morning and afternoon, I check their food and water. Once a week, we do a deep clean. In the evenings, I do a final check and lock everything down. It’s not glamorous, but it’s grounding.
That’s the thing about chickens: they bring you into rhythm with the day. You start noticing sunrises, temperatures, and routines differently. They tether you—in the best way.
What We’re Doing Differently Now
After losing our flock, we’re rebuilding, but with new strategies in place. We’re installing a 6-foot high tinsel wire fence around our open pasture. It’s a method we learned about from another homesteader who swears by it. Ryan did a ton of research, and this option struck the right balance between security and long-term sustainability.
We also brought in reinforcements—two livestock guardian dogs named Honey and Rome. They’re Anatolian Shepherd/Aussie mixes, and while they’re only five months old, they’re already part of the family.
We’re not tossing them into the pasture unsupervised just yet. Training LGDs takes time and intention. Right now, they spend their days near the birds, separated but close enough to bond and learn. We’re working on obedience, boundaries, and learning to ignore the fluttering chaos of poultry. It’s a process, but we’re committed.
Chickens Have Personalities (And Favorites Happen)
I didn’t expect to get attached to specific chickens, but I did. Bitty was my favorite—she’d come running when I called, eat out of my hand, and jump on the feed bucket like she owned the place. Betsy and Bonnie were rebels. They refused to sleep in the coop and opted for the grow-out barn instead. They didn’t like the rooster much, and honestly? I respected that.
You will have favorites. And losing them will hurt more than you think. But you’ll also laugh—because chickens are little comedians. They peck at your boots, chase leaves, and squabble like tiny feathered drama queens. They’re a joy.
What I’d Tell Every Beginner
If you’re just starting your chicken journey, here’s the one thing I want you to hear:
Take predators seriously.
It doesn’t matter if you live in the suburbs or on 40 acres—chickens attract raccoons, hawks, possums, coyotes, and sometimes even people. You don’t have to be afraid, but you do have to plan.
Secure your coop. Double-check your fencing. Watch the skies. Don’t wait until something goes wrong to start thinking about safety.
And don’t let setbacks stop you. We’ve lost birds. We’ve learned hard lessons. But we’re still here, still building, still feeding, and still showing up for the animals we love.
That’s the real heart of homesteading. Not just the fresh eggs or the Instagram-worthy coop—but the grit. The commitment. The willingness to get up after the snowstorm and try again.
