A Chicken Coop Adventure: DIY Trials and Triumphs with JH Woodworks
You know how in small towns, everyone’s got something quirky about them? Well, I’ve found myself tangled in a new love: building chicken coops. Yep, you heard that right. It might sound wild, but sit back and let me spill the beans over my morning coffee — because this little journey has been a roller coaster.
A couple of years ago, I stood in my backyard, watching my neighbor Mary troop into her yard with a couple of plump hens. Now, I always thought chickens were just a part of some country charm, something to make Instagram look cozy. Turns out, they’re a whole circus unto themselves. Anyway, Mary had these great little JH Woodworks coops that looked like mini castles for her feathered friends. I couldn’t shake the idea. Why not me? I mean, how hard could it be?
So, after a few weeks of all the chickens I could handle—watching them scratch and cluck, hopping around like they owned the place—I figured it was time. I went online and ordered a bunch of plans from JH Woodworks. I was so green I barely knew a 2×4 from a hole in the ground, but how hard could it really be?
First Steps and Big Mistakes
Alright, lesson number one: Measure twice, cut once. Or in my case, measure once, then eyeball it. I pulled out my trusty circular saw, a DeWalt because I figured hey, you can’t go wrong with yellow, right? Well, I went wrong. I hacked off three boards without double-checking my measurements, and they were all too short. I remember staring at that pile of wood, feeling my heart sink a little. Did I just waste a chunk of cash on lumber?
But here’s where it gets amusing. Instead of hauling everything back to the store and facing my—what do you call it—defeat, I thought, “Let’s get creative!” So, I crafted a makeshift raised flower bed with some of that wood instead, convinced I could channel my inner Bob Ross while planting marigolds. Spoiler alert: My flower bed looked more abstract than what I’d envisioned. Good ol’ “happy accidents,” right?
Wooden Smells and the Night Shift
After a few days of licking my wounds, I kicked things back into gear. I got serious with some plywood – the kind that has that sweet, cedar-y smell. Man, there’s something about the smell of fresh-cut wood that makes you feel alive. The sawdust caught in my hair, the fat feel of the hammer swinging in my palm; it all blended into this oddly satisfying symphony of construction. I’m telling you, there’s music in the sound of a hammer striking nails.
Oh, and I had to learn about ventilation—because chickens? They can stink the joint up. If I didn’t want my coop smelling like a high school locker room after gym class, I had to get the roof just right. I ended up spending more time leaning over my plans and figuring out vent placements than actually building. For someone who considers Wi-Fi a staple, let’s just say it was quite the eyeball workout.
But I’ll be honest, there was a night around week three where I was sitting there with my buddy Steve, enjoying a couple of beers as we tried to attach that roof. It’s funny how you think things are gonna go smoothly, and then real life gives you a quick slap in the face. We hammered that roof frame on, and I’ll never forget the moment we realized it was warped. I just sat back and laughed.
“Looks like a chicken shelter, but mostly for squirrels!” I said. We ended up tossing ideas around like we were in a design competition. Steve wanted to add a “serenity pond” (a basin!) and I just wanted a coop that wouldn’t collapse on itself. After some trial and error, we hammered something together that resembled an actual roof. Whew.
The Clucking Comedic Debut
Finally, after what felt like months (but was really like six weeks), my coop was ready. I can’t lie; I dressed it up to the nines. I painted it a bright blue with white trim — I mean, if I was going to do this, I might as well make it pop. The little touches made it feel like home, even if it was just for chickens.
So, the big moment arrives. I go to Mary’s, pick up my new feathered friends—a couple of Rhode Island Reds and, of course, a sassy little Leghorn who seemed to think she was too good for everything. Carrying them back to my house, I thought, “Well, here goes nothing!” I set them in the coop, and for a brief moment, silence ruled. Then, out of nowhere, the clucking began. It was like they had staged an impromptu concert.
I was almost overwhelmed. I leaned against the coop, a grin plastered on my face, and I inhaled the smell of fresh wood mixed with the earthy scents of chicken and hay. It felt like I’d built a small slice of paradise in my yard, a rustic abode not just for chickens but for my soul, too.
Closing Thoughts
So, what’s the takeaway from all of this? If you’re even remotely thinking about diving into a project like this — toss aside the doubts and just go for it. Sure, things will go wrong, probably more than once. But those little hiccups? They become the stories you share.
Like the night I nearly drew blood with a stapler when securing the roofing felt. Or how my “serenity pond” turned out to be a glorified mud puddle that the chickens declared their royal bathing grounds. All those moments add a sprinkle of character to your journey.
Life’s too short not to swing that hammer or fire up that saw. Just remember: it ain’t about the destination; it’s about enjoying the chaos along the way. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll end up with some cluckers who will appreciate your hard work. Now that’s a good morning coffee companion. Cheers!
