Rural Gardening:Three French Hens

jylgaskin Williamsburg, MI(Zone 4b) Jan 02, 2009

Four years ago a friend presented me with a big box on Christmas Eve. You can only imagine the surprize when I opened it and found three LIVE Rode Island Red hens inside. It seems that someone she knew had raised them from school project chicks in their house. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but by November, three full grown chickens in the laundry room proved to be a bit much. Of course she told them she knew just who would take them and wrapped them up for the christmas exchange.

We promply dubbed them "the Three French Hens" from the 12 Days of Christmas and named them Monique, Fi Fi and Jeanette. They were so tame that I didn't have the heart to put them in with the rest of the chickens in the coop, so they stayed in the fawn pen next to the house and had funn run of the back yard. Each morning, I would go out the back door and call their names. All three would come running to greet me and see what treats I had to offer. If I was late coming out, Monique would hop up to the window and peck to let me know they were waiting for their breakfast.

They followed me around the yard and garden for two years. Every day was like an Easter egg hunt. They would hide their eggs and I would try to find them before the dog. If the dog beat me to them, she would ete them on the living room rug. One summer went nearly three weeks without finding any eggs. Due to lack of evidence on the rug, assumed the dog was finding them and taking them elsewhere to eat. She wasn't. On a hot July day, I was moving things around in a back corner of the garden shed and uncovered a huge pile of eggs! They had been sneaking under the door and depositing their eggs behind the snowblower. They seemed sorely dissapointed when they discovered that I had found their repository and we went back to the daily egg hunt. To this day, there is still a pile of dark brown eggs under the smoke house where I could not reach them.

The third summer, we lost Jeanette to a fox and for saftey's sake, I integrated the other two to the laying flock in the coop. On a cool morning last autumn, we found Fi Fi expired in the hen house. We were down to one French Hen.

Time passes and Monique was such a quiet member of the flock, that I had almost forgotten who she was and where she had come from. Every few days we would find the charecteristic deep brown egg in the offerings of the girls. These beautiful eggs became less frequent of late.

About a week before Christmas, I was cleaning out the coop and noticed Monique sitting in the corner with her head down. She was old and thin and I didn't think she would last the night. I brought her in the house and fixed a nice box for her with food and water near the hot water heater where she would be warm and comfortable. She started in a laundry room and I figured she might as well end in a laundry room. The next morning, she had perked up considderably and was eating and drinking. She never made any effort to get out of her box, so I left her. Every time someone would go through the room, they would greet her or offer her a friendly pat. She seemed to relish the attention and offered treats. She stayed there untill Christmas Eve.

Every year on Christmas Eve, My son and I would stand outside in the snow at midnight and listen to the night. I had told him that at midnight the animals could speak. They would sing carols and each would have the chance to whisper in the Baby Jesus' ear. They would tell him who had been kind to them and who had not. They could ask for blessing for the people they loved and make wishes for the coming year. We always gave every animal in the house and yard, tame or wild, extra attention and food in the days leading up to this holy night. Sometimes we would whisper a message in their furry ears to be carried to the baby. My son is grown now and is seldom here on Christmas Eve, but I still find myself standing in the snow at midnight listening for the sound of voices.

This year was no diffrent and as I passed through the laundry room on the way to the back door, I noticed the French hen was failing. I picked her up and carried her outside beneath my coat. I stroked her silky red feathers and whispered in her ear that she had been a good hen and I was grateful to her for all the eggs and companionship she had given. I told her to tell the Baby Jesus, "Thank you"

We stood there in the silence of the night, with large white snowflakes drifting down. Christmas lights twinkled in the trees and the ground around us sparkled like diamonds. Far off in the distance, I heard the midnight church bells ring. Holding my breath, I swear I heard the whisper of many voices drifting through the air.

I wanted to stand there in the magic of the moment forever, but the cold seeped through my clothes . My reverie broken, I came back in the house and put the small, still body of the red hen in her box and closed the lid. As I went to bed I pictured her, strong and young in a stable, whispering in a baby's ear.