A Little Adventure

Hindsight, Chapter 1, Part 1.

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Hindsight by Neil Shooter (photo by author)

January 2020.

Just a week ago, they’d been taking the Christmas decorations down. Everything looked so bare without the glitter and the colours. For a little while. Until you got used to the drabness of normality again. Now they were off on a little adventure, on roads they’d never before travelled.

*

Will always felt sad about taking the Christmas decorations down.

Juss reached, from up on a chair, to take the star off the top of the tree.

“Next Christmas we’ll get a real tree,” Will said. They’d said they’d have a real one once they moved to the country, but with unpacking, and painting the house through, it hadn’t happened.

The tinsel, and the baubles, and the lights, and the branches of the tree, and the cardboard star, went back in their respective boxes.

Juss smiled. “If we feel up to it.”

“I hope I can do it with less swearing than your father ....”

That was one of Juss’ memories, one of Juss’ stories. Will’s “Christmas Magic” was more along the lines of his mother telling him to get the “Charlie Brown” out of the closet.

Will hefted the big box with the tree in it, and Juss followed with the smaller, lighter box of decorations. “Trimmings” is what Juss’ mother had called them. Back to the corner of the new basement, out of the way until next year.

Juss snorted at something. “You remember when Uncle Barry got drunk, and then pulled the whole tree down on himself, and then—”

He remembered the un-Christmassy cursing. A more recent Christmas. A shared one. Her brother Henry had made some joke, and everyone had laughed. It was difficult navigating the good old times because of the times that had come since.

The same thought must have crossed Juss’ mind, because she was suddenly subdued.

Then, out of nowhere, she said, “Let’s get chickens!”

“Chickens?”

“You know, clucky little things, they make eggs?”

“Ah, yes, I think I’ve heard of such creatures ....”

“There's a hatchery in Prince Edward County.”

“Is there ….”

“Oh come on, it’ll be fun. You remember me telling you about Uncle Barry’s farm?”

“Ah, so that was the connection.” Her bright eyes reminded him of the old magic of early rising, and childish squeals in a still-dark house. How could he possibly say no to her? “Alright.”

It ended up not being quite as simple as that. The hatchery had several breeds, and Juss was happy to tell him about the pros and cons of each of them. The thing was, they wouldn’t hatch until April. And that just wasn’t going to fly.

Instead she’d gone on Kijiji, and found a guy with hybrid hens described as “lean, mean laying machines” that were available now.

And that was why he had spent days finding and building a suitable coop, rather than working on the en-suite bathroom as he had planned.

And that was why, on the second Saturday morning in January, with a bit of a thaw on the ground, they were heading out on their little adventure.

The highway was clear and dry. The ragged cliffs from when the road was blasted out of the hill dripped in the mild air, the lakes no long fully frozen. The further north they got, the bleaker things looked. More like winter. And the winter would be longer out here than down in Toronto.

“You have the map, right?” Will asked, realizing it wasn’t for the first time.

Juss rolled her eyes. Just what he deserved. “Yes, I have everything right here.” She tapped the little binder on her lap, and the printout of the conversation she’d had with the guy (“for reference,” she had said), and two maps at different scales to get them there.

The road curved, and the thick pine forest loomed on each side.

Juss looked at him. “How about a cruise?”

He glanced over at her. He couldn’t tell if she was serious. Sometimes she merely entertained an idea for a while, without being committed to it. “Once we get these chickens we can’t go off on vacation. We’ll have responsibilities. Obligations.”

“Marcie and Peter are going in the middle of April. Blue sky. Bluer seas. Golden sands when we get to a Caribbean port destination. Paradise.” She sounded wistful.

Will considered. “So, we’ll need to make make friends with the neighbours and convince them to come feed the chickens.”

“Eric and Karen seem okay.”

Will snorted. “I guess. But imagine people we barely know poking around the garden while we’re away, peeking in through the windows to see if we have any nice furniture. Do you want that?”

She laughed, a sound like liquid gold.

“Why don’t we just ask my sister to do it. Then it wouldn’t be a stranger gawking at the considerable size of our TV and other expensive electronics. Much better, don’t you think?” He was being sarcastic, of course. It was six years since he’d spoken to her.

“Well,” Juss said, pretending to take the suggestion seriously, “they are only thirty-five minutes away.”

“Oh, at least forty, I’d say.”

“In that case they’d probably say no. A long way for them to come just to do someone a favour. Especially family.” The hint of bitterness eroded the merriment.

Will persisted. “Well, maybe Brian would do it. He’d be sixteen by now. Probably has his G1 and eager for the opportunity to make a quick buck.”

“With a G1 he still needs a responsible adult to sit in the passenger seat. He’d bring his mother. Or worse, his father.”

“No, you just said he’d need a responsible adult.”

They both chuckled. They were being ridiculous, and mean, and they both knew it.

“So you don’t want to invite Eric and Karen over for a nice casserole or something?” She had that marvellous earnest tone in her voice.

“I guess so. Still a bit mercenary, don’t you think?” Will glanced over and was gratified to see her expression change.

“A man’s gotta do….” They laughed again.

After only a moment’s consideration, Juss added, “You know, I think I’d rather just forgo vacations ....”

“Me too.”

“Chickens are more important than vacations, anyway.”

“But not more important than coffee,” Will said, turning into a parking lot. There was a sign that said ‘CAFE’.

“Or dessert,” Juss said.

*

They turned off the highway and Juss reached into the back seat for the butter tarts. “Third breakfast?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Will said, holding out his hand.

“Hold your horses.” She handed him one, and then took one for herself. “Too good to wait.”

On either side of the road they could see nothing but bare trees and snow on the ground. And according to her maps, no need for Juss to pay close attention to the road for the next little while.

Will swerved to avoid another pothole. “This road’s like playing Mario Cart.”

She made sounds of agreement through her butter tart.

“This place is pretty isolated. I hope we’re not walking into some kind of trap.”

“The Great Chicken Heist? Contraband chook-chooks?”

Will shrugged. “Who’d want to live out here?”

“Someone who doesn’t like people?”

“And he gets internet?” They’d had trouble getting internet just on the outskirts of the village, and looking at this barren wilderness, he couldn’t imagine how there was any service here at all.

“He’s got chickens, so I trust him!” She was mostly joking, but he knew there was an undercurrent of honesty too. She was generally inclined to trust the type of people with farm stands at the end of their driveway, who put honesty boxes next to their vegetables, apples, or eggs and just expected people to leave their money.

He was taking a breath to say something witty when she pointed at a looming side road.

“There! Turn left!”

He obliged. And before long there was a blue 911 sign with the house number they were looking for. Except for the driveway, the house number, and the beat-up black mailbox with no name marked on it, this looked like the miles of empty forest they’d been driving through. He hesitated.

“Yes, this is it.” She looked over to see what the problem was.

“It looks a bit ….” he said.

“Isolated? Yes, I know, we’ve been over this already.”

He sighed, and pulled into the driveway. It wound through the trees in a single rough track, and over a rise. Beyond the rise sat a little house, which looked like it could have been an original pioneer home from 150 years ago. There were barns, a couple of tractors, and a bit of a clearing with some pig pens, and beyond the house a couple of shipping containers, the kind hauled across the oceans of the world by freighters. The one he could see was blue, and had bold white Chinese characters on the side, partially obscured by the long accumulation of grime.

He pulled up outside the house, and a black and white dog padded over, his tail wagging. He barked twice.

Juss got out. The dog wasn’t being aggressive. The bark sounded like a routine alert to the pack, one of whom appeared from the house.

Juss smiled and said, “Hi, we’re here for some chickens.”

The woman was in her forties, and bright eyed. “Fresh or frozen?”

Juss stammered. “Uh, alive actually. Is Mike around?”

“Oh!” the woman said. “Hold on.” She walked around the other side of the house and bellowed at the top of her lungs: “Mike!”

Will could have sworn that snow fell from branches in response.

The woman came back around, and said, “He says to go down to the container.”

“You mean drive down?” Juss was looking how far the container was.

“Oh yeah. Sure you don’t want a dead one too?” The woman grinned at her own joke.

“No, I don’t think so. Uh, thanks!”

The woman nodded, waved, and snapped her fingers at the dog as she went in. He followed her.

Back in the passenger seat, Juss didn’t say a word.

Will looked over. “Cat got your tongue?”

Juss met his gaze. “She seemed … a bit wild, don’t you think?”

Will nodded. “Uh huh.”

He drove down the muddy track to the containers some hundred feet away. As they pulled up, a hulking giant of a man stepped out of one of them.

The man smiled, which Will supposed was intended to be something friendly and welcoming, but the revealed teeth took the shine off the intention.

Juss got out and introduced herself.

“Oh right, four hens. Come on in.” The man turned and climbed four rickety wooden steps into the nearest container.

Juss looked back at Will.

He shrugged.

She made eyes at him.

He got out.

Only then did she turn and follow Mike into the container. Will didn’t climb the stairs, but waited at the open door. Inside he could make out a floor-to-ceiling chain link fence halfway down the length of the container, with a full-height gate in it, which Mike had just stepped through.

“You want young ‘uns, right?”

Juss said, “Uh, yeah, they’re all laying, are they?”

“Yeah, all of these ‘uns are. Which ‘uns you want?”

She said, “Just any four that you can kind of tell apart? I want to be able to give them names…”

“Uh huh,” Mike said. “They’re all kind of the same lookin’, eh.” Nevertheless, he reached down and grabbed one of the red-brown hens by the legs, and let her dangle upside down. His eyes roved over the flock as he turned almost full circle, and then grabbed another. And then twice more.

Mike turned to Juss, and grinned when he saw Will standing outside. “These ‘uns are good?”

Will considered how random the selection had seemed. This moment would define the nature of their flock for the rest of time, because of these four hens that would be the founding members, and not four other hens among the ones still in the enclosure. And because they had these four hens, a certain set of possibilities existed, while with a different four hens, the future flock would be completely different. He could feel the weight of the moment, the selection that had already been made, the doors that had already closed.

“Uh, yeah. You’re sure they’re all laying?” Juss seemed a bit overwhelmed, and Will wondered if it was from the stench inside the shipping container.

“Oh yeah. The youngest is from August. You got a crate?”

“Uh, we have a box in the car,” Juss said. “In the back seat.”

Mike exited the cage, gently knocking one of the more sprightly hens back into the enclosure with his foot.

Will helped Juss down the steps, and then back to the car, conscious of the mud, and straw, and chicken poop.

“Where’re you guys from?” Mike came down the wooden steps.

“Tweed,” Juss said, automatically, and transparently. “Just moved there in October. From the city.”

That meant Toronto, of course.

Mike nodded sagely, as though that explained everything, and perhaps it did. He came around to the rear driver side, where Will stood with the large cardboard box. “In here?”

Will held the flaps open for the big man, and then held the flaps down while Juss scrambled into the back seat. She slipped her hand under the nearest flap, and started making funny noises.

Mike crouched and looked into the car at Juss. “You had chickens before?”

“My uncle had a farm when I was a kid. Down Belleville way.”

“Ah, good. Good layers, these. Not mean. That thing in the listing is just a joke. It’s a saying, I guess. They’re really interested in food, eh. But not mean.”

“Great.” Will took a step back, as a precursor to getting back in the car.

“I’ll bet you get an egg on the way home. Maybe two,” Mike said.

“Oh, that would be neat!” Juss said.

“Tweed you say?” Mike said, waiting for one of them to nod.

Will complied.

Mike sucked air in through his teeth. “Stony ground, eh. All rocks and pebbles around there.”

Juss said, “Really? I hope not.”

“Oh yeah, famous for it. Breed like rabbits, they say.”

“You know the area?”

“Jenny’s from down there, knows all about it. Sandy soil too, eh.”

“We just moved in in October,” Will said. “So we haven’t had much of a chance to be in the garden.”

“Ah, well. The manure’ll do yous some good. Just let it sit a whiles first.”

“Great. Good tip. Thanks.” Will peeked into the back seat at Juss. “You all set?”

Juss took the hint like a pro. “Yes, we should get going. Oh—the money!”

“Oh, right.” Will reached into his wallet and pulled out sixty bucks, holding it out to Mike.

Mike took it graciously. “You folks want any fresh or frozen chickens? We process ‘em ourselves. Twenty a bird?”

Will was ready with a regretful smile. “No, we’re good, thanks. Nice to meet you, Mike!”

Mike stuffed the cash into his jeans pocket and stuck out a filthy, meaty hand to Will.

Will took it, and glanced up at the farmer. “Nice place you have here. Peaceful.”

Mike seemed pleased at the compliment, and released Will’s hand. “Yeah, not many folks around here. Plenty of bears and coyotes though.”

Will smiled, and nodded. “Well, thanks again.”

Mike got the hint this time. “Well, you folks need any more chickens, let me know!”

“Will do!” Juss said, as Will closed the back door and got in the driver seat.

Mike smiled and waved at them as they backed up into a bit of slush and mud, and drove carefully up the track, past the house, and to the road. Will stopped at the end of the driveway, and took out the Lysol wipes. He sanitized his hands, and then the steering wheel and gear stick. When he glanced over his shoulder, Juss was smirking at him.

“What?” he asked her. “Did you see his hands? He was filthy!”

“Chicken shit,” she said. Describing, not insulting.

He laughed. “We made it. No ambush. And now we’ve got chickens. This… is 2020.”

*

Driving south and west felt like heading off into the sunset together. Like this was the chance for their happily ever after.

“Hello chook-chook!” Juss said. She was trying to make friends with them, and had her hand in the box with them, petting them, he supposed. “Boo-boo-boo-boo!”

Will smiled. This was the happiest and most relaxed she had been in a long time. Years, maybe. He had no experience with chickens. He didn’t know if he was going to love them or hate them. But he’d felt some satisfaction in building their coop, even if it had bumped the bathroom renovation down the list of priorities.

“Do you have any names picked out?” He was feeling left out of the conversation.

“Not really. I didn’t get a good look at them before they got boxed. Any ideas?”

“Polly,” he said, without missing a beat.

“Why?”

“From ‘poulet’.” He was quite proud of it, really.

She laughed. “I guess so. You have any other gems up your sleeve?”

“I’ll let you know when I think of one.”

“Lily. One of them will be Lily.”

Will remembered Juss talking about Uncle Barry’s chickens. Lily had been her favourite. And had lived for nine years because Uncle Barry knew she was Juss’ favourite. “You thought of surnames for these chickens?”

“No… why?”

“‘It’s not chicken: it’s Lily Dale…’”

Juss groaned. “And what about Polly? Polly Wolly-doodle-all-the-day?”

“Got a nice ring to it.”

“Surnames isn’t a bad idea, really. Helps to keep track of family trees. Uncle Barry used to use colour coded tags, and kept massive log books of laying stats and characteristics. I don’t know how he told them apart, though. I mean, besides the tags.”

“We should be okay with only four.”

“But they all looked the same to me.”

“Me too. Just call whichever one you like best ‘Lily’ and the rest can just be backups. No point in giving them all names if we can’t tell them apart.”

“I’ll figure out how to tell them apart. It’ll just take a bit of time. Some familiarity with them. I’ll need to anyway, so I can keep track of who is laying which egg.”

“What for? Seems like a lot of effort for no real gain.”

“Not if we’re going to breed them.”

“Assuming we’re going to breed them.”

“Uh, of course we’re going to breed them.”

“We don’t have a rooster, Juss.”

“I know that.”

“How do you get chicks without roosters?”

“I don’t need to explain the birds and the bees to you. Do I?”

Will snorted. “No you don’t.”

“There will always be roosters, darling. Half of all hatches are roosters, and most of those are more than people want.”

“So?”

“So free roosters! And if I put an order in at that hatchery in PEC, we’d probably get a rooster of two in there by accident. So we have lots of options.”

“You’re putting an order in?” He said this carefully, not sure if she was just being theoretical, or was already diving in head first.

“No,” she said. “Not yet.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah. We’ve only had these hens for five seconds. Let’s get a handle on taking care of these before we up the ante.”

“Anyway, I’m not sure I want to wait until April.”

“What’s your rush?”

“I’m not in any kind of rush. But have you seen baby chicks running around with their momma hen? I remember it so clearly. It’s just about the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I should be offended,” he said, with an obviously fake pout.

“Oh my darling, you’re far and away the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen,” she laughed, and rolled her eyes theatrically, as though patronizing some little child who didn’t realize they were being patronized.

He laughed too.

“But have you seen baby chicks?” she insisted. “They’re right up there with you.”

“Inconceivable!”

“It’s medicine for the soul, Will.”

He couldn’t take any kind of stance against that notion. He knew how much they both needed healing from what had happened in the city. All that wasted love. “So you want a rooster.”

“How kind of you to offer!”

“That’s not what—”

“I know!” She laughed hard enough to make one of the hens squawk.

That made him realize something. “Aren’t roosters loud?”

“Can be.”

“And mean?”

“Only the mean ones.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I. It’s like asking if people are mean. The answer isn’t just yes or no. It’s complicated. And everyone is different.”

“But we’re talking chickens. And roosters.”

“Roosters are chickens.”

“Fine, hens and roosters.”

“Better.”

“Chickens aren’t people, Juss.”

“No? They have personalities. They have wants. In many ways they are better than people. They are always honest, for a start.”

“No lying chickens?”

“Nope. If they’re hungry, you know it. If they don’t like you, you know it.”

“Are my chickens going to not like me?”

“OUR chickens.”

“Our chickens then.”

“If you’re nice to them.”

“What have I gotten myself into?”

“If you bring them treats, they’ll love you forever. Or until the treats run out. Whichever comes first.”

“I see what you did there.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you are implying.”

“Have you picked one out?”

“A rooster? No …”

“Good. But let’s not rush into some nasty cast-off rooster.”

“People don’t only let go of a rooster because he is evil.”

“Evil?”

“Figure of speech. Sometimes people just have too many roosters.”

“Too many roosters? And not too many evil roosters?”

“Oh my darling. I already told you about hatch ratios. You have much to learn ….”

“I’m going to regret this.”

“No you won’t. You’re going to fall in love.”

“I already am in love, my sweet.”

“Good answer.”

Laughter was indeed the best medicine.

*

Juss looked over at Will as he handed her a mug of tea. “I still can’t believe it.”

“What, that we have them?” He sat beside her on the living room couch.

“No. Well, yeah, but that there was an egg in the box.”

“Mike was right after all.” Will considered. “Don’t the hens seem a bit … skittish?”

“It’s traumatic, being moved like that.”

“Even with you cooing at them non-stop for an hour?”

“Even so. They’ll settle in. They’ll be eating out of your hand in no time.”

“Figuratively?”

“Literally, of course. Just give it some time and they will love the heckers out of you.”

He was more interested in getting the bathroom finished.

Juss sipped her tea, and then picked up her tablet. “So, there’s a free rooster in Tamworth ….”

He opened his mouth to speak.

She had the question in her eyes.

He closed his mouth. He sighed. Then he laughed. “This is how it begins, isn’t it?”

“How what begins?”

“Chicken math, of course.”

Thanks for reading!

Continue reading with the next part on Sunday!

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