The Permission to Fail

One of the first projects I decided to tackle after we moved into our new house was getting my quail outside. Now, if I’m being honest, this decision was not entirely motivated by a desire to improve their quality of life. The indoor quail were loud…and they were stinky, and after months of sharing a house with them, I was more than ready for them to enjoy some fresh air. 

So, I did what most aspiring homesteaders do: I watched videos, looked at pictures online, gathered materials, and convinced myself I knew what I was doing. Then I spent the next week or two building. 

The first coop wasn’t bad. It was raised off the ground, had hardware cloth flooring, trays underneath to catch waste, and seemed perfectly practical. When I finally moved the quail in, I expected to feel accomplished. 

Instead, I felt uncertain. The quail weren’t thriving the way I had hoped. To be fair, moving from an indoor environment to an outdoor one is stressful, so I gave them time to adjust. Some of that stress improved, but something still felt off. They seemed more nervous, more restless. 

I kept finding myself watching them and thinking, “This works…but I don’t think it’s what they need.” and that realization sent me back to the drawing board. 

As I researched more, I discovered quail aviaries. Instead of living on wire flooring, the birds lived on the ground with sand, hiding places, room to explore, and opportunities to behave more naturally. I loved the idea. 

I did not love the idea of buying all new materials after I had just built something else, though, so I started looking around the property. There were two large tree branches left behind by the previous owner. There were scraps of lumber. There were two unused shelving units my husband wasn’t using, and there was a stubborn little voice in my head saying, “Let’s see if we can make this work.”

Those branches became the frame, the shelving units became support pillars and a roof. Chicken wire (yeah I had to buy that) wrapped around everything, and an absolutely unreasonable number of zip ties held the whole thing together. Was it elegant? Not particularly. Did it work? Amazingly, yes. 

Of course, no homestead project would be complete without a little chaos. During construction, one of my hens escaped. I chased her. She flew directly into a thorny patch of brambles that made rescue nearly impossible. After searching and searching, I finally accepted that she was probably gone. 

Then, hours later, I heard my elderly neighbor yelling at her dog. “DROP IT!!!” 

To this day, I don’t know who was more surprised when my neighbor walked over holding my missing quail. The quail was ruffled, offended and missing a few feathers, but somehow, completely unharmed. Because there were no visible injuries I guessed that the best place for her would be back in her coop so I put her in there, wished her luck, but honestly, I expected to find her dead the next morning. 

Instead, she carried on as if being kidnapped by a dog was a minor inconvenience! Around the same time, two other quails ended up with injuries from various squabbles and accidents. It only reinforced my growing suspicion that the birds needed a less stressful environment. 

Then came the final push and a rainstorm rolled in. I hauled fifteen bags of sand into the aviary. Food went in, water went in, shelters went in, and finally, all twenty-four quails moved into their new home. As I sat outside their new home, a rain jacket on while my legs still got soaked, I watched and hoped that there was some inclination that this was a good choice, that all this work over the last month had been worth it. 

The moment that made every splinter, every zip tie, and every redesign worth it happened almost immediately. Dust baths…everywhere. Quail throwing sand over their backs. Quail stretching out in the dirt. Quail running from hiding spot to hiding spot. For the first time since moving them outside, they looked content. Not surviving, not adjusting, just content. 

It’s hard to explain the difference unless you’ve spent hours watching birds, but the difference was obvious. Even within the first week, egg production increased dramatically. The fighting decreased. The birds are relaxed, and everytime I walk outside now, they simply look happy. 

The funny thing is that this project wasn’t supposed to teach me anything. It was supposed to be a quail coop, but instead, it reminded me of something I’ve been trying very hard to learn lately. Sometimes your first attempt won’t be the right one. That doesn’t mean it was a waste. The first coop taught me what wasn’t working. The aviary taught me what was. Neither could have existed without the other. 

At one point during this project, I told my eldest daughter something I probably needed to hear myself. Nobody told me exactly how to do this. I’m learning as I go. Sometimes I’ll try things that fail. Sometimes I’ll build something and realize it needs to change, but if I give myself permission to keep failing until I succeed, then the project is still worth doing. 

Honestly, I think that’s true of more than just quail coops. It’s true of gardens, homesteads, careers, friendships, parenting…and maybe life itself. Sometimes success isn’t getting it right the first time. Sometimes success is simply being willing to build it again.