Chickens have always been members of the family farm. In Hampton Remembers, Vera Hoffman and Evelyn Estabrooks recalled: “In those days chickens ran around loose and found food but we fed them, too – they ate a lot of table scraps and cracked corn and we had to put out ground oyster shells to make the egg shells firm. They hid their nests and we had to look for the eggs all over, besides in their proper nests, and they had clutches of little chicks they’d hatch in a nest they’d make for themselves in the barn. We had a china egg we’d put in the regular nest to get them to lay there instead of hiding all their eggs where we couldn’t find them.”

In an article titled “Fruit of the Land”, Pearl Scarpino reported that poultry farming grew here during the post-depression days and through the war years.   The Burdick brothers, for example, “diversified the farm and started raising broilers,” according to a Rural Heritage article that featured their farm, “supplying chickens to the war effort and providing the family with a new source of revenue as the price of milk dwindled.” Eight of the thirty farmers listed on the 1957 Grand List were poultry farmers.  The house that I was raised in was a chicken farm prior to my parents’ purchase of the property in 1956, a few lovely houses in town are converted chicken coops, and there is still evidence of the Huling poultry operation on Route 6. There was even a poultry farm on Main Street which housed tens of thousands of chickens!

Though there are no longer any poultry farms in town, there are plenty of chickens – even on Main Street.  Many residents raise at least a couple of hens and, perhaps, a rooster.  It’s so common, that when we confess that we have none, owners find this inexplicable, regaling us with evidence of their merits and their endearing personalities. These fine, feathered friends are like family to their owners, who speak with an affection exemplified in the articles of frequent columnist, Cindy Bezanson, who keeps us apprised of the escapades of her brood with stories that delight readers near and far, young and old. So here’s a tribute to the chickens – who continue to provide us with fresh eggs for ourselves and our neighbors, to entertain us, and to preserve our rural heritage.

“Three Cheers for The Working Hens!”

“Morning Phyllis.”

“Good Morning, Pat. Which box are you in this week?” Pat shuffled through her paperwork and found the assignment map. “I’ll be in fifty -five. Where will you be?” Phyllis excitedly announced that she’d be in box eight. “Wow!” Pat exclaimed, “That’s the best box in here!”

“I hear that it is! I’d switch with you but I’ve never laid in box eight before. I can’t wait to try it out,” Phyllis replied. Pat gave Phyllis a wink. “Meet you at the south waterer at noon?” she asked. “I’ll be there” Phyllis promised and both rushed off to their assigned locations.

“Excuse me, pardon me.” Pat apologized as she pushed through the rabble of hens. No one seemed to be in much of a hurry to get to work that day. The production hall was unusually chaotic.  “What’s going on!?” Pat was starting to get annoyed. She had a long walk down to box fifty-five and the dilly-dallying of her coworkers was starting to make her cranky.

“Haven’t you heard!” they all clucked at once. “Heard what?” Pat asked with mild disinterest. This group was notorious for their gossip and disorderly conduct. “The NEW girls are coming!”

“That can’t be right…” Pat thought. The only time a new, younger group moved in, was after an older, non-laying group had been moved out. Not wanting to be part of that crowd, Pat squeezed past the gossipy girls and rushed quickly to her box to lay her egg. “Ah, peace at last,” she sighed and cozied herself deep down into the pile of shavings.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the production house, Phyllis had found box eight and had already laid her egg. Phyllis, however, had no interest in leaving the nest. Box eight was hidden behind one of the structural beams, which offered much coveted privacy and the hum of the ‘egg belt’ below was calming as it drowned out the chaos of the crowded hall. “Oh yes!” Phyllis declared to herself. “This is the life. I think I will just… stay… right…here”. She sunk a little snugger into the nest.

A little while later, Pat stood at the south waterer wondering where her friend had gotten to. Phyllis and Pat were on the same schedule and they always met at the south waterer after they laid their eggs. “Where could she be?” she puzzled. One by one the rowdy group from earlier that day joined Pat, still whispering about the prospective new comers. “Ok ladies. What exactly is happening?” Pat asked.  Flo, the leader of the pack, told Pat that she had overheard the supervisor announce today as: ‘the day the bus arrives’. “The bus is full of girls who are coming here to lay eggs with us. We have to share boxes and the boss wants double production by the end of the week!” Flo announced. “Yeah, two to a box…share our space… double production” — the information swirled in Pat’s head. This was not good news. “And worse of all, the outdoor area will be closed for the duration of the week,” all the hens complained in unison.

Pat marched straight down the hall, all the way to the supervisor’s office. “Ahem,” Pat coughed and tapped on the door. “Yes, come in,” Maeve answered. “Pardon the intrusion,” Pat curtsied, “but I’d like for you to clear up some rumors I’ve been hearing today.”

“What rumors would those be”, Maeve rolled her eyes. “The ones about double production,” Pat hoped it wasn’t true. “No rumor,” Maeve confirmed. “The bus arrives soon and effective immediately, everyone will share a box until the end of the week. No exceptions.”

+Pat dragged her feet as she slowly closed her supervisor’s door and shuffled back down the long hall toward the south waterer. Still no Phyllis. Pat shuffled back up the hall and over to box eight. She peeked around the support beam only to find Phyllis sound asleep on the nest. Pat poked her on the shoulder. “Phyllis, Phyllis, something awful is happening!” Phyllis opened one eye. “It can’t be that bad,” she replied and went back to sleep. “Wake up,” Pat jostled her friend. “A bus is coming with a house full of girls and we have to share boxes and the outdoor area is closed for the rest of the week!” Pat sniffled. Now Phyllis was awake. “There must be some mistake!” Phyllis replied. “No. Maeve herself told me.” Pat answered.

As promised, the bus arrived and the new hens poured in. The large production house got very stuffy. They watched Maeve give the welcome speech as she guided the crowd through the introduction room. The girls gazed in awe at the early 20^th century paintings of old, rustic, wooden country coops in long rows in Windham county towns.  “Those girls must’ve been so cold in the winter,” a newbie exclaimed. Another picture, from 1948, showed a Glastonbury man named Frank Saglio with white chickens and a blue ribbon that read ‘best pure bred’. And of course, the oldest painting from 1860 featuring the Wilsonville farmer, Reverend Upham, with his famous Barred Rock chicken. “Wow! She’s beautiful,” they all sighed. “Alright girls, the tour is over. Everyone, match your assigned number to the corresponding box and get right to work,” Maeve encouraged. “We have a lot of work to do!” Hens raced this way and that, all anxious to find their nest spot and fulfill their obligation.

The resident hens were not as motivated. Their space had been invaded and for a whole week, they had to share a laying box. The only recreation they’d get would be the indoor sand bath. The supervisor announced that “the outdoor area would distract from the mission at hand and would not reopen until the end of the week.” The house hens reluctantly went back to their assigned spots, and sat down next to their new box-mates.

“I’m Dot,” the small red hen in box eight said to Phyllis, who was incredibly upset at having to share her prized space. “Why are you all so excited about this?” Phyllis grumbled. Dot explained that stress from the recent cold snap had shut down egg production in the whole town. Pipes had frozen and hens were relocated. There was not going be enough eggs. “Enough eggs for what?” Phyllis asked. “The children of course,” Dot answered. “They all start school this week and need a good breakfast to begin the day. We supply the eggs to feed the children. It will be hard for them to study without a nutritious morning meal.”

“The Children!” Phyllis jumped down from behind the structural beam. “Listen up!” she shouted. The whole house went silent. Phyllis was shy and rarely spoke. “This must be important,” Flo thought.  Phyllis continued, “Our new friend Dot has shared some critical information about this mission. The children start school this week and won’t have breakfast if we don’t provide enough eggs.” Many gasped, some got teary. “Oh, the children! We can’t let them go hungry! They need nutrition! They need our eggs!” It all became clear. Suddenly sharing boxes and the sand bath and the waterers and not being able to go outside, didn’t seem like such a big deal. Suddenly, all the hens in the whole production house were joined together, united, ready to accomplish this huge undertaking. “All for one and one for all! We’ll do it for the children!” Phyllis squawked. “For the children!” they all joined in. Phyllis let Dot have box eight to herself for the entire week. After she contributed her egg each day, she’d walk up and down the production hall, cheering on her coworkers. It wasn’t easy to produce an egg every single day. The job requirement was four per week. Each worker had to dig deep within herself to find the motivation and strength in order to produce enough eggs needed to feed each and every child in town.

The week went by very quickly, and soon the new girls were heading back out to the bus. “Thank you for helping us! We’ll miss you! Hope to see you again sometime!” the resident hens called to their visiting workmates. As the bus pulled away, the big boss, his bosses, and Maeve walked in. “Gather round,” he called to his ladies. The big boss picked Maeve up and straightened his glasses.

“We all know why we are here today, so I’m beginning with the obvious: a simple, heartfelt, and well-deserved THANK YOU! You girls worked very hard this week. I am happy to announce that, together with the visiting hens, you more than doubled egg production!” The other two men patted the big boss on the back. He continued, “I know it wasn’t easy at times: sharing boxes, reduced recreation and not being able to go outside. But all of you took on the challenge and rose to the occasion. The same gratitude goes to those who were on this project part time, working just as hard so that we could keep pace with our customer’s deadline. I’m so proud of every single one of you! We couldn’t have possibly imagined this success.” The big boss carefully set Maeve down amongst her crew. The other two bosses presented the whole production house with unlimited meal worms and cracked corn and announced that a ‘thank you’ shipment of the same was being sent to the part time helpers.  “How very fortunate I am!” the big boss’s smile was ear to ear. “Three cheers for the working hens!” all three men shouted.

“Three cheers for the working hens!” Maeve and all the ladies repeated as they happily dug into the delicious treats. And for the next few days, every hen enjoyed her well-earned reward of time off and as many treats as she could possibly eat. And most important of all, unrestricted and unlimited time in the outdoor area, which made for very happy hens indeed.

Cindy Bezanson