Loretta Lynn almost died on me this spring.
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She got sick fast, the way chickens do, and by the time I knew something was wrong she was already in bad shape. I used antibiotics. It's the only time I've ever used them on my flock, and I'd like it to stay that way. Not because I'm against saving a life, obviously I'm not, but because I'd rather not need them in the first place. Loretta pulled through, and the whole thing left me asking a question I couldn't shake: what else can I do to keep these girls healthier so I don't end up back in that spot?
Chickens are going to get sick. Some of them are going to die. That's just part of keeping a flock and I've made my peace with it. But they give to me every single day and I feel like I owe them something back. Good stewardship means doing what I reasonably can to keep them strong. So I started looking, and fermented feed kept coming up.
The connection that sold me was gut health. If you've read the gut health Field Note, you already know how I feel about what the digestive system does for the rest of the body. The short version is: a lot. It affects immune function, nutrient absorption, inflammation, all of it. And that's just as true for a hen scratching around in a Texas yard as it is for the person watching her do it. Beneficial bacteria in the gut build a stronger immune system. A stronger immune system means a better shot at fighting off what comes at them. That's the whole reason I'm doing this.
My girls already have a good life by chicken standards. They free range from eight in the morning until eight at night, scratching and foraging and eating whatever they find out there. They've got a treadle feeder stocked with layer feed whenever they want it. But I kept thinking about what I could add that costs almost nothing, takes almost no time, and just quietly makes things better. Fermented feed checked every one of those boxes.
Now here's where it gets good, and if you know me at all, you know this part is my favorite: nothing in this process gets wasted.
I keep two half-gallon wide-mouth mason jars going at a time. One's ready to serve, one's working. The lids are the same screen mesh lids I use for sprouting seeds, which if you haven't tried yet, that's its own Field Note worth reading. One lid, two uses. That's the kind of thing that makes me unreasonably happy.
When I'm ready to start a fresh batch, I drain the liquid from the jar that's ready to serve straight into the clean empty jar through that screen lid. That liquid is alive. It's carrying the cultures from the batch that just fermented, and pouring it into the new jar means the next batch gets a head start the same way a sourdough starter carries forward from one loaf to the next. Then I top it off with whey from my weekly Greek yogurt, enough to cover the scratch grain by a couple of inches, and put the screen lid on. That's the whole setup. The order I do it in depends entirely on what I remember first.
I make Greek yogurt every week and every batch leaves me with more liquid whey than I know what to do with. Whey is what strains off when you thicken yogurt, and it's packed with protein and the live beneficial bacteria from the culturing process. For a long time I poured it down the drain, which felt wrong every single time. My grandmother would have found a use for it before I even thought to throw it away. Whey is a documented starter culture for fermented feed, so now instead of going down the drain it goes into the jar. In the Texas summer heat I'm seeing bubbles within twenty-four hours and it's ready to serve within forty-eight. Water works perfectly fine if you don't have whey. But if you're already making yogurt at home, you've got a better answer sitting right there in your refrigerator.
When it's time to serve, I drain that liquid off into the fresh jar, and what I'm left with is just the fermented scratch grain. That's when the herbs go in: rosemary, oregano, parsley, red pepper flakes, and a splash of apple cider vinegar. I mix it up and walk it out. The whole thing from jar to Grand Ole Cooprey is maybe three to five minutes, a little longer if I haven't had my coffee yet.
The feeder is an old nonstick pot that got retired when I switched my kitchen to cast iron. I didn't throw it out because I don't throw things out without a fight. I've got a shelf in my workshop where things go when they don't have a job yet but still have life left in them. That pot was sitting there the morning I walked out for the first time and realized I didn't want to dump the scratch straight on the ground. I grabbed it, flipped the glass lid upside down so they're eating off the glass and not the nonstick coating, and that's now the feeder. One glance at the shelf and it was the obvious choice. Nothing bought, nothing wasted.
I've been doing this a couple of weeks and I'm not making any big claims. What I can tell you is it's getting eaten, every time, by a flock that free ranges all day and has a full feeder of layer feed available whenever they want it. They're not losing their minds over it but they're not turning their beaks up either. Linda Ronstadt figured out what it was before anyone else did, which is the least surprising thing that's happened out there. Linda's the boss-lady, so she's first at most things she decides matter.
They're eating it because they want it, not because they're hungry. That tells me something. I'm not making any big claims yet, and I'm paying attention because I'm still learning as I go. But the logic is sound, it costs me almost nothing, and Loretta Lynn is out there right now healthy and ornery as ever. What else could I ask for?
From The Field: The best time to look after a flock is before there's a reason to.
This is what we use and what works for us. It's not medical advice, just lived experience. Start small, use good sense, and do what's right for you.