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| Dr. John H. Jones |
Flash forward more than fifty years, and I am amazed at
how popular this avocation has become. Although most sources will say the
percentage of Americans directly involved in agriculture is less than 2 percent,
if the number of folks who raise backyard chickens is considered, that number
would increase exponentially. Much of this has to do with a real, innate desire
many of us have, which is to know where our food comes from. After all, there's
very little in life more important than that.
Of course, there are other reasons to raise chickens.
They are great to teach children basic animal husbandry skills, responsibility,
and that all too important lesson about the "circle of life."
Chickens are inexpensive to buy, inexpensive to feed, and make wonderful 4-H
projects. Many a meat pen of birds has helped subsidize more costly projects
such as a market hog or steer.
But chickens are not only good for kids; older people can
benefit from raising them as well. Besides the obvious nutritious, delicious
eggs hens provide, to care for them daily is a reason to get out of bed and start
moving. I'm reminded of that every morning when I see my father's face in the
mirror.
One thing I was not prepared for with this resurgence of
chicken raising is the emotional bond that some people share with their birds. They
actually love their chickens, and will go to any length, no matter whether the
malady is from injury or disease, to bring them back to health. I feel a twinge
of guilt about this because I have only "liked" my chickens, not
loved them. There was one, though, that I was quite fond of.
His name was "Lester," and he was a small,
Black Cochin bantam rooster. I bought him for $3 from a lady named Ada Beachy,
who lived a bit south of Plain City on U.S. Route 42.
Lester became part of my eighth-grade science project
which was based on the Russian physiologist, Ivan Pavlov's work on conditioned
responses. Lester was conditioned to ring a bell when he saw nuggets of corn.
He was so successful that we qualified to go to the district science fair at
Ohio State's French Field House, and he even had his picture in the newspaper.
Lester was the most famous chicken in Dublin.
For some reason, I thought of Lester one afternoon in
September, while tending to my current flock of Columbian Wyandottes.
Apparently, I was reminiscing about chickens from my youth and wondered:
Wouldn't it be fun to get some more Black Cochins like Lester? But from where?
Surely Mrs. Beachy would have passed away.
Forty-three years is indeed a long time.
So imagine my surprise that evening, shock really, as I
was leafing through the pages of " Rural Life Today," a Lima News
supplement, and came to page 21. "Oh my God. It's Mrs. Beachy!" Not
only was she alive, she was " A
Plain City institution." And at 91 years young , she is still going strong
growing vegetables.
The next morning I called my sister-in-law, Cindy, who,
coincidentally, lives a few miles north of Plain City, just off Route 42. I
asked for a favor. Cindy not only agreed,
she surpassed my request. She knew exactly where Mrs. Beachy lived, having seen
the "bantams" and "vegetables" signs mentioned in the story countless times before.
She also would be happy to stop that very afternoon.
Cindy said she had a nice visit with Mrs. Beachy. They
talked at length about vegetables, and Cindy even threw out that Mrs. Beachy
remembered me. When I replied, "Really?" with some disbelief, she
quickly brought me back to reality. "No!"
Unfortunately, Mrs.
Beachy didn't have many chickens left, either, none for sale, and only one
little black hen. She did say she might have more in the spring, and that I
should check back. That sounds like a good plan. I think I see a field trip in
my future.
John H. Jones, DVM has practiced mixed animal medicine at Delphos Animal Hospital in Delphos, Ohio since 1987.
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