Then we moved them to an old abandoned chicken run just behind the farmyard. They were safe there – and boy did the hens produce a LOT of eggs – but we never saw them. We had no relationship with them whatsoever. Besides the pleasure of having fresh eggs, it was if we didn’t even have chickens anymore. And that felt sad to us.
The other day, I came home from a trip to find that Christopher had moved the chickens to the old stable yard outside his painting studio, right across from our cottage. He built a wire fence on top of the wooden gate to keep the foxes out and set up two little houses in which they could sleep and the hens could lay their eggs. I now see the chickens every time I go in that yard to access my storage, visit Christopher in his studio, or dump a bag in the trash bins. It’s not the same as having them outside my kitchen window, but I can see them from my bedroom window. And I am happy that they are safe. Fingers crossed.