The Day My Mother's Leghorn Chickens Got Drunk...

We all think we have grown up in an ordinary fashion, because, of course our lives are ordinary to us. Frequently, when I relate stories of growing up in the country, people begin to wonder, just where in the world that was?

Rural Northern Ontario! Not in the wilderness…just remote from road access and in a beautiful and inaccessible location especially in winter! I was home schooled in grades 5, 6 and part of grade 7. I did very well in conventional school once we rejoined civilization! The experience, taught me a love of nature that has stayed with me throughout my life though I make my living in a very busy city!

Now, before people assume that all Northern Ontarians grew up, in an unorthodox fashion may I add... my childhood was different. There were many stories of animals that just happened...

Others in Northern Ontario have no experience, to speak of, with drunken chickens.

Childhood Shangri-La

My childhood home was one hundred acres and a tar paper shack my parents bought way back. It was our first home that belonged to just us. We were all happy to have our own acreage. Never mind it was nestled on the other side of a river with no road access. My mother decorated the inside prettily with bright colour and cheerful materials. It was like being at camp all year long (the word camp is the northern Ontario name for cottage!)There were other perks, like the quiet away from traffic, blueberry patches all over the place, wild strawberries, wildflowers in abundance and wildlife paying a visit now and then.

There were hardships, like no electricity and no friends close at hand. We did have a phone though! What was spectacular about the place was the location. Majestic elm trees, weeping willows, a grove of stunning maples and softly sighing pine trees. And spectacular views down the river. There were wildflowers I have never seen elsewhere in Ontario and, oh yes, and a patch of poison ivy. I lived there with my parents from the age of 10 to the age of 13 and I loved it.

My father worked various jobs and mother held the family together with her resourcefulness. She is definitely my role model for coping with life. She managed to stretch his meagre pay to make economical delicious food. Since she was a farm girl by birth, she was quite happy to raise a few chickens for eggs and meat to stretch the budget.

We got a huge cardboard box full of live, fluffy, yellow chicks by ordering from some magazine from Winnipeg. It was an experience to see all those yellow, peeping, balls of fluff. Mother tended them in their box in the house to keep them warm and dad made a chicken wire enclosure for the day they would be big enough to go outside, which was soon enough.They were soon pure white gorgeous Leghorn hens.

It turned out the chicks were allowed to free range outside and kept around the house without ever getting lost. They rarely ever made it into the enclosure except when there was chicken feed to serve and they would all come rushing to cluster around her to feed. The chickens did turn in to their own chicken coop to roost for the nights. It was an idyllic existence. Perhaps, not for my parents, but certainly for me!

The children were warned not to scare the hens as they grew up since they would eject an egg prematurely in their fright. The premature egg would just be a leathery sac ..sure enough…there were a few leathery eggs around.

The chickens grew to be beautiful Leghorn hens. According to my mother, Leghorn hens were very sensitive to being frightened as well as disease. Apparently, they are not as hardy as other breeds of chickens, so mother was sort of particular about caring for them.

Besides chicken farming, my parents also made a currant wine that was rather popular with visitors. There was a story of one guest who slugged back a glass, fooled by it’s mild and smooth flavor, not thinking how potent can homemade wine be. He had great difficulty walking once he tried to get up!

Well, back to the chickens.

One day, my mother glanced out the kitchen window to be horrified to find her prized Leghorn hens had something seriously wrong with them. They were falling over. Some had their wings spread out like something was wrong with their feet and they were having a real rough time getting back on their feet only to fall back down again They seemed to have also lost their sense of direction bumping into each other and knocking themselves off their feet. We watched in horror as it appeared this infection was not confined to a few, the entire flock was weaving around the yard and into things.

This was serious, since a disease would mean the flock was also not good for food if infected. Mother was rather distraught

We did not have running water or indoor plumbing (We had a sauna and carried our water supply from the river and had an outdoor loo!). As a result, there was a small dumpsite off in the bush and we carried our slop pail there several times a day with dishwater, coffee grounds along with vegetable peels and whatever would decay ( recycling way before anyone really thought of it mainstream)

Mother who was fastidious in her cleaning, had gone to empty the waste water and came back with a smile curving her face. When dad got home from work, there was considerable mirth because the chickens had discovered her “waste”currants left over from the fermentation of her currant wine and had gorged themselves.

The chickens were falling down drunk!

That was probably the first time the hens were confined to their enclosure. I remember there were jokes about what kind of eggs we would have the next day. So, as it turns out, not one chicken died of the mysterious malady; but it sure made for a great story to tell visitors as they sipped my mother’s currant wine and the incident created a great memory that was retold many times over the years!