I have a few rules for property buying. It has to be big enough to have fruit trees and a large garden. I don’t want neighbors so close that I could reach out a window and shake their hand, which is a big reason for my previous move in the first place. I want to have chickens.
Finding the Big Muddy
I looked at dozens of houses. I looked at one house that went under a full price contract with a buyer while I was looking at the house. I looked at a house that was a potential death trap: I opened a door in the pantry to be met with about a foot of landing, no railing, and a large empty space showing the basement below. The stairs to the basement skirted the interior wall of the basement, leaving what I named “the pit of despair”. While I loved the property and the outbuilding that would’ve been converted into a rental cottage, I didn’t buy that one. Someone did and I still wonder if they’ve installed some safety measures there. My realtor rolled up on some houses that were crammed together only to have me refuse to go inside. I kept reminding them about the list of requirements stating, “I don’t want to shake hands through the window, remember?” Eventually, I was heard. I would’ve put an end to that business relationship but I’d already entered into an agreement that he was to be a buyer’s agent which is a pretty rare thing in this area. I digress.
Sweet Home Pennsylvania
When we rolled up on the Big Muddy I was a little hesitant. Upon entering it just felt like home. I mean, the paint colors and overall decor was hideous, the bones were fantastic. Better yet, the info sheet for the house stated that it was in the forest zone which meant I can have chickens! Directly following closing about 2 months later, I buy fruit trees to be delivered the following spring, removed the steel pipe clothesline that smelled awful (I have no idea why it smelled, but removing it made my landscaper gag). I planned the garden, ordered raised beds that I could assemble, and did a LOT of painting inside. Best part? Ordering chickens.
And then it went Horribly Wrong
The back yard has a shed that I converted into a chicken coop during the week or so of oddly warm weather we usually get in January or February. I hung nesting boxes, a perch, put down bedding, etc. Fencing would have to wait for the ground to thaw but a really decent start was made. In April of 2016 a dozen peeping chicks were delivered to my local post office and I set them up in my bedroom. All was grand. They grew quickly and started making forays outside, now being kept in the garage until the fence could be built.
I noticed that with the thaw, the door to the shed-coop would not close. Shortly after on a particularly warm day, the shed-coop was leaning at a precarious looking angle, a little too much like the Tower of Pisa. I can’t protect chickens from coyotes, foxes, fisher cats, or stray dogs if they can’t be locked away at night, so they remained in the garage while I attempted to “fix” the issue. The chickens were very happy to just free range in the yard all day and happily ran into the garage at dusk.
It Only Gets Worse from Here
I hear a knock at my door a few days later. I found out that the shed was built on a concrete slab directly on top of the soil, causing it to heave with the cycles of freezing and thawing. This renders it as basically unusable until the whole structure is lifted and a proper foundation is poured. Back to the knock. Imagine my surprise to greet the two police officers standing on my front steps. Our interaction went something like this:
“Do you have chickens?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t have chickens here. You’re zoned Residential.”
“No, I’m not. I’m zoned Forest. Let me get my binder.”
I showed them the binder containing the information sheet from the initial walk through; the one that the real estate company drew up. Pointing to “Forest” under the zoning information caused one of the police officers to call the town zoning office who informed me that I was indeed in Residential Zoning and the Forest zone ended at the property above me. So my neighbors just above my garden could have chickens, but I cannot.
“But you can have two horses on your property,” the zoning official stated. Wait, WHAT?! The police officers kindly informed me that I have a week to relocate my chickens or be fined per chicken each day after that.
The Aftermath
My lovely friend Corey helped me relocate the chickens to his neighbor’s house, already teeming with happy poultry. I was very sad to see them go, but I am also not willing to pay ridiculous fines to keep them. I still have the nesting boxes in the garage just in case the laws change.
I don’t have horses. I’m allergic to their hair.
If I ever move from here, I will be scrupulous about researching the zoning area based on the town’s zoning laws instead of the real estate information sheet. Sometimes you have to learn things the hard way.
The shed still stands for now. We keep sleds, tiki torches, and bags of earthworm compost in there. Occasionally, a skunk moves into the shed for the summer, which isn’t much of an inconvenience since it keeps the bears away for the most part.
All is not lost, however. I have three sources of free range backyard chicken eggs within a couple of miles from my house, two of which are in walking distance. Of course all of these chickens live in the forest zone, and I try to not be jealous of the happy chicken keepers but it’s difficult at times. I guess the bonus is that I can go on vacation and not have to worry about feeding the chickens.
I guess.
bigmuddyorchard.com 